In thinking about how to remember Dad, I started with the literal route. I wrote out what he did in his life after his divorce from my mom, all the way to his death. I wanted to create a record of what happened in his life. It was not an uplifting exercise, and I didn’t want it to be read out loud to anyone.
My aunt, my dad’s sister, wrote something far more heartfelt and sympathetic than I ever could. Since he was ten years older than her, as she grew up, he was blossoming into adulthood. As I grew up, he was battling the demons that would eventually overtake his entire psyche. So his high school and college years would have been when he was his true, unadulterated self.
It makes me wistful to think he only had a few years to enjoy the life he was making before it began to crumble around him. He had ten years of being the head of the family he wanted to create. He held down a job, taught me to ride a bike, took us all camping, and enjoyed going to church right here at Northminster.
Unfortunately, I also have significant memories of my parents fighting, my dad playing some weird mind games with me, and a real sense that he was not himself in public, like he was wearing a mask.
When they were finally divorced, I was scared of Dad and didn't mind moving far away. My sister, on the other hand, did not know why Mom and I had such a problem with Dad. It was a long time before Mom could talk with both of us about what had happened.
As I was writing this, I wondered if I was even the right person for this task, if I couldn’t create a positive, uplifting message for him. What you are getting is a realistic, warts-and-all eulogy from one of the few people who knew him. Or did I? Maybe only as much as anyone could.
As hard as it was, I am actually grateful for the experience of talking to him so much. I live next to someone with a similar condition, and I am happy I can sometimes make her life a little bit better. I also have the patience to deal with her without becoming fed up. No small task.
As I was thinking about what mark he has left on this world, I was really struggling, and then it hit me. My sister and I were his legacy. (Definitely a case of, ‘I'd love to see the forest, but there are too many darn trees in the way.’) We were the ones who, in continuing the work we felt passionate about, would carry his spirit with us. The love he felt for us, the most important and concrete thing he gave me, would be his most enduring legacy.
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