Father's Day

While at the cabin last week I spent some time pursing past posts I had made to a diary I have in my little office/study area. One entry was about the hardest part for me of accepting my father's old age and resulting need for help. He was an extremely private person and valued his independence. I noted in the diary the occasion when Rose and I responded to Park Place's management that it was time for dad to move to assisted living from independent living. We drove to Billings to find him very disoriented and distressed. He was so glad to see us. Rose and I cleaned the apartment, visited with dad and Janet, and tried to devise an approach to getting his approval for the move to the "first floor" and assisted living. After a few days we eased into a discussion of the move. When I finally said, "Dad, what do you think?" He turned directly toward me and replied, "Son, what ever you think is right." He was handing his independence and well being over to me. How hard it must have been for him. Obviously, I was moved to tears. Tears I have as I write this. Deep down I can only hope "I did him proud".

I have this blog for many reasons; probably the most important of which is to pass on to my daughters and grandchildren stories of my life. Perhaps this is for selfish reasons, i.e. to understand the actions of their father better. But, also I do it to give them all an appreciation from "whence they came", i.e. ranch background, small town values, working for college education etc. Most of the stories/experiences that I write about come to mind as though they occurred only yesterday. They come easy to mind.

Dad and I became very close during the last five or so years of his life. Not that we were not close all of our lives. But during the last years of his life we talked a lot - over a wide range of topics. But during those discussions rarely, if ever, did he talk about his life prior to his high school years. He once told of his and his older sister Phoebe's presence when his father tried to kill his mother; where he and his sister were (under the washing machine), the sound of the gun discharge, etc. In generalities he told of what happened after that, i.e. being sent, along with his brothers, to an orphanage, Phoebe living with his mother, foster homes for the twins, etc. But - no specific stories. Generalities. No references to his father - ever. His memories must have been terrible. And, I know he had a life time quest to prove that he was not his father. God, I hope he finally realized that he was not his father. He was not! He was the best father that a boy could hope for. How, I loved that man. Our cowboy. Our hero.

Happy father's day, Dad.

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