February 25

Has it really been 20 years? I read Aryn's post and could not believe it. For some reason I always think of my mom's passing in terms of my being 10, not how many years have passed since. I guess in a way it is just a point in time that has frozen for me. There are certain things that I see in my mind over and over from that day. I remember seeing the ambulance at our house while I was across the street at Keller. But that was not the first time it had happened, and Mom had been OK, and so it wasn't particularly alarming to a 10 year old me.

Then I recall the balloons that Mike Caughlin (Mr. Caughlin, at the time) had gotten for Dad's birthday. I always remember a melancholy about that day. It sits in my mind, and every memory I have of the day sort of glows in an almost halo-ish soft light in my mind. I remember us kids all gathered around to talk about what had happened and what it meant. How could any of us possibly have known what our Mother's passing would mean? I know I wouldn't fully understand it for years, and even to this date I don't have a complete comprehension, I just know I understand more and more what it meant for my life each day. And, like Aryn, I constantly wonder how things might be different if she were still alive.

I remember sitting at a table, just running a pen on a paper and crying. Someone was there comforting me. There were so many people there it seemed. The memory that stands out the most is the look I saw on my father's face as he came through our front door for the first time after losing Rae Lynn, knowing he would not come through those doors with her again. That look was all I ever needed to see. I knew right then what had happened before anything needed to be said.

I don't think I will ever understand what the past 20 years - and the two before that - have been like for Dad. So today he turns 60. He was 30 when I was born, and now I am 30. Amazing! Linda asked me to write my favorite memory of Dad for his birthday party, a party I regrettably could not attend. But I didn't write a memory either, and don't know if I ever will be able to. I have thought about his 60th birthday for months. What to do? What to say? I thought long and hard about a favorite memory. But thus far I haven't been able to put such a memory in words. Not because I have none. A boy's memory of his father cannot be fonder than mine. I simply can not find a way to express what my father has meant to me in words. He means far to much to sufficiently capture with my limited command of our language.

So if you're reading this blog, Dad, suffice it say I continue to grow aware of the profound sacrifices you have made and the love you have for me (and all of your kids), and it has meant everything to me for my life. As you yourself put it, I was born into most fortunate circumstances, and it is indeed a fact I do appreciate more deeply as I experience fatherhood.

So though I may try, I simply cannot at this point describe the feelings I have for my Dad. Just like I can't describe to Catherine why I still keep an old tattered and worn Navy T-shirt I've had for as long as I can remember. Perhaps only my siblings will get that.

And as I was typing this, I discovered that my own sons have raided our refrigerator and managed to spread chocolate syrup and salad dressing over half of the kitchen, living room, and Cal. Strangely, Bair kept it mainly on his hands and feet, while Cal ended up bathed from head to to toe...life continues to happen!

So with that, I will say happy 60th, Dad! I love you. And, uh, I am sorry for all the messes I made!