Today is the fourth anniversary of my dad's death. He died on my little brother's 30th birthday (S. always joked that it took the pressure off of his turning 30!), after a year-long fight with Agnogenic Myeloid Metaplasia (a blood cancer, but not leukemia) and about 18 months after he retired. He was 62 years old.
It's impossible to describe my dad in a single blog entry, but he was a fantastic carpenter, an excellent cook, and an all-around smart guy.
I can't take pictures of all the things he fixed or helped/guided G. in fixing in our house. Here are two things that he built for my kids--a rocking horse as C's Big Sister gift, and a sidewalk cruiser for T:
I looked back through all my digital pictures and I don't have a lot of my dad--he was always kinda there, but in the background. But here are a few.
At our house, reading with T:
Watching Uncle S. play a game with C--probably giving "helpful advice" as they play:
At their house, the summer he was diagnosed, with my mom's extended family:
Filling up the Farmall Cub (his pride and joy) so G. can take the kids for a ride:
And the last picture we have of him, taken a few days before he went into the hospital--and the only picture we have of him with M.
His death is not a raw loss anymore, but there's not a week that goes by where I don't think "I wish I could show this to Dad!" or "I wish I could ask Dad about this" or even "I remember how Dad would..."
We're thinking about you today, Dad. M. and I made nitrate sandwiches for lunch and talked about all the good things you used to cook.