Clever, with always the right word.
A jack of all trades, yet the drive to master them.
A public servant.
The man who had everything; who made shopping for a gift for him such a chore!
The day I learned of his death I stood in his office at the home he shared with my mom. His arms wrapped around my cold, shocked body; warming me with every memory. It was the last moment I spent with him… I numbly moved through the motions of preparing a memorial of his life. My mom and I talked about his experiences and wrote his eulogy. It was then that I got a glimpse of how much more there was to the man I knew, but I didn’t really come to know how many lives he touched until the day of his service. There is so much more I could add to the list of the great man I called my dad.
Moving through a fog, I remembered the repetitive phrase mumbled by everyone, “everything happens for a reason,” which was somehow supposed to make sense of such a horrific tragedy. I still don’t think I believe it. I struggled deeply to find meaning in his death, but sometimes $*%t happens; no rhyme, no reason. I can’t make sense of the loss of such a contributing member of society while a repeat drunk driving offender, drug addict, an abusive person, or a psychopath–or whomever the demon is–gets to live inflicting his/her wrath on the world. There is no reason. I think it’s the luck–or misfortune–of the draw.
Two years later to the day, a trial behind us–his murderer convicted–and his first grand-child born, I struggle. I miss him so much. I miss that I can’t ever call him when I need advice. I miss that my daughter will never hear his laugh or see the expression she’s genetically inherited. There is still a hole there. Everyone’s said it gets easier. I don’t believe this either. The birth of my daughter brought so many emotions. His loss has become greater. His absence from her life felt intensely.
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