Pictures of the Past

Today promised to be a full one as we nailed down the last of the details.  We needed to be at the funeral home to give the director pictures we had selected of Dad to be shown in the presentation before the service.  There were a lot of good ones.  There was one of him as a baby; he had super chubby cheeks.  Another one of him when he was six or seven holding his baby sister like he would a large bowl of salad.  There was one of him with his brother and some cousins, all of whom were lanky with wind blown hair and lopsided grins.  There was one of him in the 80's with his brother and sister and their spouses and little children on the beach in Mexico.  They drove from the States to Mexico the day after Christmas.  Then there is the wedding picture and the one of him holding my brother as a toddler while riding the lawn mower.  My favorite one is of him waving while we were in Oregon in 2010.  He had a happy smile, and he wore a straw hat.  That one will be the last picture shown.

 

Later in the afternoon we went back to the funeral home to view the body.  I entered the room with trepidation.  As his body lay in the casket I am amazed by the fact that he didn't look like the dad I have stamped on my memory.  The dad that I remember was strong, vibrant, sometimes ornery and can fix anything.  That is the memory that I will hold on to.

 

Tomorrow is the funeral.   I am typing this as my mother irons her dress, and my brother's closest friend is playing the piano.  Our minds are so full, our bodies so tired.  Mom wants my brother and me to say a few words regarding Dad during the service tomorrow.  I told my brother he should tell the story when Dad demonstrated how to swing like Tarzan from a tree vine.  My brother was five years old at the time, and after the second demonstration the tree vine broke and so did Dad's leg.  It was not a happy moment at the time, but our family still gets a kick out of hearing that story.

 

Good night, world.  Good night, Dad.