There are so many ways that I’m sim­i­lar to my Dad. Just this week, I filled my cof­fee cup a bit too full and had to sip some of the black cof­fee before I could add cream. As I not­ed that I found the black cof­fee accept­able, it remind­ed me that Dad took his cof­fee black.  Most­ly, as I thought this, I felt the sad­ness of loss.  I real­ized in that moment that while we were very dif­fer­ent peo­ple, I could do a lot worse than being a lit­tle more like my DaD.

I haven’t writ­ten in this blog since he died.  It was all very sud­den.  Dad died while tend­ing the farm.  It was a Sun­day and it was just after he had giv­en a ser­vice at the new church that was his new parish.  Not many peo­ple achieve a life­long dream, but Dad did… for a few short weeks.  The fol­low­ing pic­ture has become my favorite mem­o­ry of DaD.  It’s from his instal­la­tion ser­vice, dur­ing a hymn (you can see father Don­ald play­ing in the back­ground).  Dad rarely smiled for pic­tures, but this was a very hap­py day.

DaD, Smiling

DaD, as I remem­ber.

It’s time to con­tin­ue my blog.  I expect that I will have more to say about DaD, but it is impor­tant to con­tin­ue.  This blog has one few­er read­ers, but it is impor­tant to con­tin­ue.

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2 Responses to DaD

  1. Rebecca says:

    Beau­ti­ful. I think this day was the last day I saw him. I spoke to him after that, but only on the phone or irc.

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