Rememberance

I'd like to make my first blog ever be about my father, his life, death, and the aftermath. Being the youngest of six and the only son, I had a bond with my dad, that unfortunately was cut way too short. My dad died in October of 1979 when I was just 13. Now, I am not asking for your sympathy. Dealing with the death of him was something that, at times, was very difficult; perhaps, in some ways, I am still coming to terms with it.

You see, my dad and I did a lot of things together, but I was too young to really be willing or able to ask the questions of him that I find now are so important.

My dad grew up on a farm near a small farming community of southern Minnesota. He was the oldest of five kids, three of whom are still living. He attended a small country school for his grammar school education and graduated from Kenyon High School. Pretty much right out of high school he joined the Marine Corps and fought in Okinawa, Japan during World War II. He spent much of has active duty in China once the war ended, coming home in 1946.

When he returned he met my mother and eventually they were married. They proceeded to have five daughters, Linda, Shari, Ann, Paula, and Gail before I arrived. All of my sisters are still alive. All total there are 16 grand children and six great grand children. It saddens me to know that my dad missed out on so much of his lineage.

But what saddens me most is what I mentioned before, the questions left unasked. I never had the opportunity to talk to my dad about the war. He was never one to open up about it, and me being so young never figured he'd die so soon. I never had the opportunity to talk about Okinawa (I spent a year there myself when I was in the Marine Corps). I think my dad might even have tried to make it over there if he'd been alive at the time. The experiences he endured through his years would have been fascinating to hear; this is one of my biggest regrets.

Now, my dad loved to go fishing. We had the 14-ft alumacraft with a 7-hp evenrude. He and I would spend hours on Lake Byllesby near Cannon Falls, MN or French or Roberds Lakes near Faribault, MN. Often we would spend a week or two camping near Byllesby. Get up early in the morning, go fishing, come in for a quick lunch, and head back out. We literally spent the entire day and well into the evening on the lake. We'd catch enough fish to make a good dinner that night, sit by a fire, and go to sleep, basically exhausted - just to get up and do it all over the next day.

Now my dad was no father of the year when it came to our outings. Often he would have to leave me alone in the tent to go tend bar at the VFW in Kenyon. One day I was so frightened because a severe thunderstorm roared through the area, and I was (literally) the only person in the campground. People had heard the weather reports and packed and left. When we arrived off the lake my dad had to go to work. I was going to sit by the fire and enjoy the night, but the storm came in so fast, that I barely had enough time to actually get in the tent (which of course leaked).

Another grand time fishing/camping, my dad picked up a guy who was walking the length of Minnesota from south to north and brought him to our campsite and left me with him for the night...YIKES..I know. These things are a part of my relationship with my father that I laugh about now.

What I don't laugh about are the things that I miss most about him. I miss our time together on the lake. Our times in his car as we drove to the lake, to the Sportsman's Show, or hunting. Finally, I miss his voice. See, my dad had a stroke two years before he died, and he could no longer talk well. So, I have forgotten what my dad sounded like. His voice, his cadence when he spoke...these are things that have been forever taken away. It's funny because every once in a while I'll hear a laugh or a voice, and I'll look to see if its him (Perhaps a distant whisper of him catching my ear).

It's been 30 years now...and that's a long time.