A Death in the Family

    After twenty five years of a fruitful marriage, my wife thinks that I write a eulogy, obituary, or memorial homage of all those that die.

    Truth be told, I do not. I cannot. I believe that there are millions or at least hundreds of thousands of people who die, every day. I am woefully behind when it comes to writing about them all. I can only do so much. There are some eulogies that I could write, perhaps, even quasi-eloquently, that I have not. Some write-ups are more required than others.

    I would be remiss and ungrateful if I did not write and reflect on my father-in-law, who left this earth in the spirit early this morning.

    I saw him laugh, and love, and care, sharing with many, many people. He was upbeat, and funny; he had interests and unique qualities that were admirable. He made my wife laugh and smile. He taught her many things growing up that came in handy in her life and our shared life. He imbued in her many qualities that I have enjoyed for the last quarter of a century, and I hope to have another 25 to go, the fourth child of this young octogenarian. Or more than another twenty-five years with my spouse might be best. Like me, my wife is now a little more grown up since the passing of a parent. He will always be the dad that raised her and gave her her foundation. I am grateful to him for that.

    Steve was a man of many inner strengths, and external ones, too. He, like the rest of us, was by no means perfect. He knew he had limitations, like we all do. I remember when he was perhaps 72 or so years-old he sent out an email or text to his eight children and by extension the spouses and his dozens of grandchildren that it was hard to be able to keep up with all of them, and us, spread out from Virginia, Texas, California, Utah, and Washington. And sometimes further, like Mexico, Guatemala, Peru, and Sierra Leone. Understood. Life was not always as simple as we would like to have it, that is for sure. Communication and messaging is not that easy for many of us, especially when the numbers become more prolific.

    Steve brought love and joy to those that knew him, and maintained close relationships. But at times the relationships grew distant and there was some hidden strains of separation. Or how else to call it? But I know that the love and care that he was able to share was noted by those that knew and loved him. He would bother to pay attention to me, a distant son-in-law, even in his last days. He was surrounded by many who cared for him, including a dear grandson that he was able to relay his last word of thanks to shortly in his last breaths.

    My point of view is mostly farther and more distant than those that he raised and then later came to know, like his grandchildren and others. I met him a little after meeting his daughter in Southern California, about a half year after moving to the Golden State. Okay, I am not sure how long after our acquaintance, but it was enough time to know that I wanted to marry her, which might have been quite a few weeks in. Now that I think of it, had I proposed to her yet? Probably not... But I informed her father at the French style restaurant Mimi's that I was serious about his adult child and pursuing her, and she me, enough for marriage. Steve seemed agreeable, amiable, to my statement of intention;  I think that he more or less intimated back that if she was interested, that he would be good with the arrangement. Maybe he said that seemed like a decent enough guy.

    Later that spring I saw him and my fiancé in his vehicle near his work in Redlands, California, while I was waiting in line for a play. Out of context, I was not sure who he was, smiling with shiny white teeth from the darkened cab, me without my glasses and having no idea that he was in a large black pick-up truck, then realizing my girl friend was sitting next to him! Papa Steve, as some called him. Dad and daughter riding together again.

    We went to Lake Havasu right before our wedding, he taking us out on a boat in the refreshing river waters, and sleeping in the hot desert night in and around his camping RV. Over the years we saw him in different parts of Southern California, with my wife seeing him more in his his later years in Washington State, which is where he finished out his days.

    82 years. How to measure those revolutions around the sun, the birthdates young to old? In children sired? Those progeny raised? In the grandchildren produced, as results of the children now made adults? In who the person loved, or assisted, or touched, or supported?  In his professions, his interests, his hobbies, his passions?

    How do we measure lives? In memories, feelings, gifts, times and experiences, lessons learned, looks, embraces, tears shed, laughs and smiles rendered.

    We visited with him on the East Coast when my wife celebrated a significant milestone. We took him to a number of places, as a family, but my wife was able to spend some times alone with him, including a dinner that she had with him at an Olive Garden, one I pass on the way to work every day. When I see it, this Italian food restaurant, I think of a past colleague that took my wife, children, and I there on his work voucher, treating us two adults and five children, followed by ice cream at a nearby mall. 

    Memorable to me, for sure, when getting a full family meal for his largesse, a friend and cohort from a previous place coming close to my home. Most of the kids, even though some were toddlers, still remember Kent's contributions there. But not my wife. The Olive Garden is where she ate with her dad.

    Fittingly so. That is where she ate with her dad.

    You see that Olive Garden? That is where Steve ate a memorable meal with his beloved daughter.

    'Tis so.

    He is gone now, in the new year with other family thinking and reflecting on his life of presence and love. Some mixed memories of melancholy and loss. Family and friends spread across the country and  globe. His spirit has moved to the next plain. The others are moving on with their lives, forever holding in their hearts and minds a man who was with them, brought them to the sea, the beach, the lakes, the mountains, to his plants and gardens, his garages and classic cars, his meals and movies, his jokes and stories.

    May his spirit, his life, his death and passing, his personality and his loved ones, be in a peaceful way, and the legacy of his light and hopes go on forever.