My dad passed away two years ago today. I was recently in Arizona, but didn’t visit his grave site. This is what I wrote to my family about that.
It was great to be in Arizona at the end of June and July. I had really wanted to visit Dad’s grave while I was there. I even got up early the day after I got back from Germany to run over there, like literally run over there, but I only made it to Longmore and 8th Street (now for some dumb reason renamed Rio Solado Pwky). I never did make it to the cemetery, though. This made me a bit sad, like I wasn’t honoring Dad, or remembering him appropriately.
But then I thought, you know, Dad’s body is the only thing over there, and it’s only been there for 2 years. Dad really isn’t there, he’s at home, where he lived for nearly (or over?) 40 years of his life. Then I started seeing how I remembered and honored him when I was there, at home, for a few short days. I honored Dad when I fixed the toilet and changed the light bulb in the ceiling fan in Mom and Dad’s room. Dad always fixed up the house, was always doing repairs. I paused for a moment and looked at his dresser. Much cleaner now than before. But I loved the mystery that was always Dad’s dresser. I just knew there were interesting and exciting things to find in there… as well as $300 in quarters.
I remembered Dad when I sat at the computer desk to do some emails. Dad sure did love solitaire. Which also reminded me of pre-computer times when Dad taught us how to play solitaire with cards. He used to do that a lot when I was young.
I remembered Dad when I would read books to my kids, on the trip to AZ and since. Dad read us the Hobbit, the Lord of the Rings trilogy and more (even though I fell asleep all the time, which is probably the original goal anyways).
I remembered Dad every time I went into the back yard. He planted all of those trees (well, Aaron and I planted the big Ash tree, if I remember right). But he was a good landscaper designer. He put those sheds in the back yard to hold all of his tools. I remember how good he was at making, fixing, and repairing things. I like to think he knew enough to put an AC unit out there so that Mom would be able to turn it into the Kids Club House (or the Black Light District, as I like to call it).
I made pancakes one morning, and that reminded me of Dad, too. They were plain, no ham or corn in them. Dad loved to cook, so I remember Dad every time I cook.
So, it doesn’t matter that I didn’t go to the cemetery, because Dad’s not really there. He’s at home with Mom, right where he always is.
You are the best family ever. I am so thankful we are eternal.
Love,
Ammon