Anyway, about Dad...
He was nuts, in the very best way. Funny, creative, intelligent, and devoted to his family. I get my love of puns from him, as well as my eyes. He was everybody's rock, and we're all wobbling without him.
Things I miss: his smile; his laugh; his hugs; his bread (my dad baked the best bread in the world); his unique way of looking at things; stories from his Army days, and his theater days; talking through plot problems with him; recasting old movies together. There's more of course, but I can't remember all of it at the moment. Oh, him playing the guitar. He didn't do that as much in the last few years, but I remember Daddy and his guitar a lot more than Daddy and his harmonica. When I was a kid and the guitar came out we all knew it was time to sing. Not to rehearse for anything, but just to be together, sharing the music.
Wish I'd asked him more questions, about himself, about his life, about his childhood. Wish I'd hugged him more. Wish I'd told him how much his support has meant over the years. When things were bad with the boys, we never would have gotten through without "Grandpa."
I wish he'd read the first draft of North Pole: Confidential, but in a way it is oddly fitting that he didn't. Dad always talked about getting "around to it." At some point he and Mom decided "a round to-it" was some kind of furniture they were going to buy--most likely a small table. Back to the book though, he would have loved that crazy story, and I decided long ago to dedicate it to him.
There's really far too much in my heart for one blog post, but it didn't feel right to not write about this. Dad never liked a fuss, so there was no funeral, there's no cemetery plot to visit. In a way, this is my memorial to him. And for a writer, I am sadly unable to truly put into words how wonderful and how loved my father was, and how much he is missed. The world is better for his example, and dimmer without him in it.
Rest in peace, Daddy.