Dad

Hello.  My Dad would have turned 82 years old on February 8 of this year.  So, I suppose a happy birthday is in order.   Happy Birthday, Dad.

He died in 2003--just after Christmas.  I remember the last time I saw him before the stroke, he was waving good bye to me from the passenger seat of the car as he and Mom backed down the driveway, headed to meet Grandma Schmalley in some small southern Schmutah town.

That day had been a fun day.  He had been in remarkably good spirits--in hindsight I wonder if he knew that something was going to happen.  It was almost like he understood that the chronic pain he had been dealing with was nearly at an end or something.

He and I spent about an hour in the shop he'd built in the backyard of our familial home--the home that he had built using recycled railroad houses.   He contracted to tear down the railroad houses, then he cleaned up and re-used the materials to build our house.  He did almost all of the building work on the house himself--and even now, in many ways, that house is a physical representation of him--it is missing his signature mustache, but still.

He was particularly funny that day.  Silly even.   Jokes and smiles came easily and often.   I remember him sitting at the head of the table looking at me and Buffy, his wife, our six-month-old son Ike.  He loved us.

Eight years later, it's hard to believe he's gone.  In most ways I have dealt with it and moved on, but sometimes I miss him, and other times I wish I missed him more often.

Anyway, I assume my Dad is currently working on a mansion--probably built from old railroad mansions that he tore down and recycled.  I hope (the kind of religious hope that focuses on Christ's ability to save) to see him again one day and get reacquainted.

Until then,  Happy Birthday, Dad.