My dad passed away on January 3rd. Pancreatic cancer. We found out the week of Thanksgiving, but dad knew months before we did. I think we had just under 6 weeks to get in all the visits and time we could. It wasn’t nearly enough.
While everyone went about planning the funeral and celebration of life, I was tasked with writing the obituary. Having never written one, I wasn’t sure where to start or what to include. How do you condense 81 years into a short paragraph? Eighty-one years of a very full life is impossible to condense into a few adjectives, titles and interests. Avid reader, tinkerer, husband, father, grandfather. His life was so much richer than that.
I will try to do him justice.
My dad was the oldest, and smallest, of four boys–Forrest Ray (Frosty, my dad), Phillip Richard (Dick), Daniel Robert (Bob) and David. He was born in Wichita, Kansas but lived in Washington for most of his childhood. He was raised by both his mother and, at times, his grandparents. He was a bit of a wild child with a mischievous streak and regularly had adventures that bordered on dangerous. He was quiet and shy growing up. Nothing like he was later in life.
He joined the U.S. Marines and the mischievous nature was not quelled. If anything, it was amplified. He was proud to serve as a Marine and served for 5 years–from 1959 to 1964. He shared stories of the men he served with as well as the things they did and the trouble they caused. He was always a kid at heart.
He had a short marriage to my biological mother (who had a daughter) and had me. After they divorced, he raised me and my sister on his own. It was the 70’s and dads rarely got custody, but mine did. It wasn’t too long after the divorce he met Linda, my step mom (just mom). He loved my mom. He wasn’t much of a romantic, but when you saw them together, his love for her was always apparent, in his words and deeds. With mom came two kids that he raised and loved as if they were his own. Blending a family is never easy, but they did the best they could, and all their kids turned out pretty well.
Dad was an avid reader. He loved politics and history, science and space. He devoured one book and moved to the next. He read magazines and newspapers and online news resources. He loved learning and studying. When he was in college, he was studying to become a history teacher. Life happened and he never became a teacher in the traditional sense, but he did spend his life teaching–how to repair things. how to build things, how to best grow plants in your garden, etc. There wasn’t a lot he didn’t know or couldn’t figure out.
One thing everyone agrees on is that my dad could talk. He talked about everything. He loved a good conversation and he could talk to anyone. Everything he read about, he talked about. My sister and I can talk a lot, but when my dad would get going, he could beat us both.
He loved his yard and loved keeping it beautiful. He taught us, and anyone, really, what would grow well and the best way to get the various garden and yard plants to grow. His mother was a magician when it came to her garden and greenhouse, and she passed that gift on to my dad. Up until he got sick, he mowed his own lawn and kept his yard immaculate.
My dad was a generous man. While he never had a lot of money, he was always generous with his time, assistance and attention. All anyone had to say was, “I need help with xxxxx”, and my dad’s response was “I will be there in 20 minutes.” He would drop whatever he was doing, gather the necessary tools and go to wherever there was a need. He never hesitated to help his kids, grandkids, neighbors and strangers. Dad to the rescue, too many times to count.
His home was open to anyone–we often had “strays” in our house. Yes, there were stray animals, but I am referring to the human strays. Anyone who needed a meal or a place to stay, they were welcome in our home. When I was a single mom and my oldest son was tiny, my parents would often give me their last $5 to make sure I had enough gas in my care to make it to payday and I don’t know how many times they would go through their pantry and fill up a grocery bag to make sure my son and I had enough to eat.
He loved his kids, but oh my gosh, did he love his grandkids. He doted on them. He loved talking to them, spending time with them and sharing with them. Whether it was his art, his stories, a skill he had picked up or his lunch. I don’t think anything made him happier than his grandkids. Except for Mom.
His life was rich and full. He was happy-go-lucky and not much got to him. He was not a worrier. I miss his laugh. I miss talking to him. I miss his stories (that he told over and over again). I miss his sarcasm. Every time I go see my mom, I expect to see him in his chair watching the news, the weather channel or some history program. Life will not be the same without his presence. Rest in peace, dad. I love you.
My Forties Reboot 