four years without a roof

Dear Dad,
Well it’s been four years. I kept putting off starting my blog entry for this day so I could really get in the best state of mind to funnel out all the things I’ve been thinking and feeling and wondering and remembering about the past four years, and the previous 19 before that, and all that quest for perfection just isn’t going to really cut it today. You can’t force those states out, so I’ll just start and see where we go.
Grandma hasn’t been to the cemetery since you passed I don’t think except for the funeral to bury pop, and she had asked about going over there sometime, so I thought today was the perfect day. It’s not that she didn’t want to go; she just never really had the chance once Pop had his stroke. She truly wanted to be by his side all the time. It sure was beautiful out today, even a cool breeze here and there. A cool breeze on a day like this is pretty close to a miracle too if you ask me, it’s really really hot, so I think I’ll remember it that way. I had a few stones from Montana I brought back to put buy your headstone, mom asked me to put a lucky dime down there too, so I did, and I also put a piece of okra from Brooks’ garden for good measure. The spinny thing is named “Self” so I left Self there with you too.
It’s strange to go to the grave sight because I’ve psyched myself up for so long now about how you’re not really there, it’s just a symbol. Once you died I figure you morphed into omniscience. I don’t have to go somewhere to hear you laugh or let you know I’m thinking about you, you are always here. Recently it’s been coming to my awareness that you’re not only around here, you ARE here, you are me. Some days I hear you in my voice, the way a syllable comes out of my mouth and then I hear it a moment later and it sounds familiar and I realize its because I sound like you, maybe I am dad? A little? A lot? A whole? Almost? But its in my hands I see you the most. I used to only see it in Lloyd, and then Brooks’ hands when he would make a gesture or something and I would think, “Wow! There’s dad!” but it was never in me, or if it was I didn't see it. In the last month it’s been getting more and more obvious that these hands are my fathers. It’s hard because I’m getting to the age where I really wish I could ask you if you thought about these things to. How did you deal with the Truth as it reveals and grows and become organic in your life? How did you set your path? When did you know, or not know, you know what I mean?
My thoughts of you have become more emotionally pregnant as the years go by also which leads me to ask if I really dealt with losing you. What sort of emotional direction am I supposed to be traveling? Am I supposed to cry less and less as the years go by or be sadder and sadder you’re not here, in body, when I really need you? Some of these questions are dangerous to be asking myself, I know, but I’m not shying away from anything anymore. I worry I did such a good job romanticizing the whole thing so I could be a support for my family and others that I didn’t really deal with it. What the hell does dealing with it mean?
I remember something Mr. Dillavou told me at a Poly football game the first year after Dad passed away and it was that I was never going to stop missing Dad. Mr. D said he still thinks about his Dad and misses him almost everyday, and he lived a long time and had been gone for a while when we spoke. It was such a small comment but it stuck with me, and it rings truer and truer as I get older. I’m never going to stop missing dad, I’m never going to stop wishing we could have had more time together, but that’s what being a dad is. You happened to be an exceptional father, which is priceless and great, but makes it a lot harder to miss you. That’s what makes a father so powerful- you will never get away from thinking about them, for better or worse or the same, they are irremovably a part of who I am, who you are, it’s part of life. As I grow older and hopefully have children of my own one day I can only assume I will both miss and understand you even more. It’s hard to know when you’re kidding yourself, but I try hard to know and see the line, and when its healthy, sure as heck I’m gonna kid myself if it makes me feel better, but I accept that it is what it is. I wouldn’t be who I was today if it weren’t for you dad, and I wouldn’t be who I am if you hadn’t have died four years ago. This is just how it is, this is how this lifetime setup the lessons we are to learn. Some people teach the world best when they are alive, and some people teach when they are alive and emblazon and enlighten and illuminate when they are called away early and leave people to wonder why him? Why do the good die young?
Well I think I can tell you why, because death is not a bad thing. When you do all you’re supposed to do it would seem death is the ultimate reward. Some people have to wait 90 years for it because that’s what they need and what the people who know and love them need, but some people can pack a whole lifetime of knowledge and experience and work into fifty some years, and then its in their wake that they continue to raise the level of the sea.
I love you Dad, and I miss you, and I’m doing my best to try and hear you through clearly the ages. I’ve been staying close to your home and mining back into your letters and your mama and your homestead and the people in the community that knew you. Through the Sunday school with grandma at the church I’ve met many folks who seem to be the parents of your boyhood friends, and they all have nothing but the best to say about you and Lloyd, Jim too. I had no idea what a phenomenal person you really were, are, whatever, until you moved on and I had to figure out who you were and who I am. It sure is a lot of responsibility to live up to you, but I’m trying. I don’t think you want me to do the same thing you did, that’s why you worked so hard to give Brooks and I opportunities you never had. It’s the passing of a torch and I’m honored. I even feel lucky that I get the responsibility of going out and having fun for the both of us. “I live vicariously through you, so go have fun.” Was one of the last things you told me. I don’t really see where you end and I begin anymore. It’s fuzzy and it bleeds over and the biggest difference seems to be time. It’s weird, its intense, and I can’t explain it to anyone but you I guess. I kind of like it that way, but I think I need to get some feedback from somewhere else, something solid I can hug and can steer me back when I’m wrong. I’m going to go sit down with Uncle Tom real soon and tell him to just tell me what he thinks you think I should do, given everything. Isn’t that strange? I think uncle tom knows I’m trying, and in the same way you respected his religious convictions, I try, but it just isn’t that easy for me. There are too many legitimate paths to the truth I’ve been exposed to that to just choose the comfortable one because it’s the social/cultural tradition I came from seems, well, arbitrary. I need an intellectual jousting partner. I feel like that’s what Tom was to you. He told me about the unspoken, nonverbal appreciation of beauty you two had and now I understand why we always went to national parks for family vacations.
Its strange because the deepest, most important questions I shape my life around are all things you taught me, and all things I have no idea how you felt about them. You taught them to me in your wake before I had the chance to grow up and talk to you about them over a beer in the backyard. If you hadn’t died though, I’m not sure you could have taught me these things. It’s a hard inverse teaching method the universe seems to have set up for me, and that’s why I’m doing my best to stay as close as possible to the simple goods that are for sure- i.e. Family, until I’m good and steady enough to be sure I’m on the right path to happiness. Losing Pop was a powerful lesson too, but it gives me peace of mind to know he’s with you now. They just finished bailing the last of the hay today, but I guess you guys already know that.

I found a letter Jeff Frazier, who I don’t know but I guess worked for you, wrote back in 1999. I was going to post the letter I wrote to you and read at your funeral, but I think I’ll save it. This letter says a lot more and helps me keep perspective. I love you I love you I love you, see I feel like you even more the way you used to say, “Have I told you I loved you today?” “Yes Dad,” I would moan. “Well, I love you.” I didn’t understand how rare and lucky it is to grow up in an environment of unconditional love like that, and I’m sorry I ever moaned, but I know you know I was just a kid. I did know you loved me, I didn’t know anything else. I assumed everybody had a superdad, and as I get out and travel the world and meet as many people from as many backgrounds as I can, I see that your and mom’s unconditional love is the single most important blessing I have been given in this life.
This felt good to talk to you Dad, I’ll have to try this more often this year. I hear you listening and it warms my heart.

Love,
Cole

Ps. We’re going to get Grandma out to California for Thanksgiving! She’s finally going to get to see your magical house she’s heard so much about. It should be the ultimate field trip.



Dear Allan,

I’ve been meaning to drop you a line for some time, I keep thinking you will be back soon, and I can deliver my comments in person. It’s becoming obvious that that won’t be happening anytime soon. I just want you to know how much you are missed – by me – and many others.

I respect your right to keep your private life to yourself, and although no one seems to really know what is wrong, it’s obviously something very serious to keep you away so long. I give you my heartfelt concern for your health and well being. I wish your family a patient and empathetic heart as they care for you.

I hope you don’t feel that you’re a burden to them, as caring for a loved one with a long term illness is often the only way a family can demonstrate their love for someone like yourself, one who has given so much to his family. You are a great example to those of us with families, teaching the importance of keeping our priorities straight. As I have watched you over the years giving your boys every opportunity for success, and supporting them in their interests, I have stood back in awe of what a great father you are.

Your leadership is surely missed as CLS, however, Aubrey is doing a fine job holding things together. My hat goes off to you for putting together such a magnificent machine. Because of your foresight, your policies in developing the company have resulted in a group that hums so nicely, your absence has not crippled the operation- something most companies our size could never survive long term. You should be very proud of what you have done.

You deserve to cash in on the hard work over the years, and enjoy the fruits of your labors. I feel badly though, that you time off is to convalesce, rather than to recreate. I hope that day will also come soon for you. What a blessing to be in a position to take the time to recover, without the financial ruin of not being able to go to work and provide for your family.

Allan, I hope you know that many of us care for you personally. You are more than just “the boss” or “the owner”. You are our friend and our advocate for success. I very much appreciate the opportunity to have associated with you. You are a great man to work for, and I know I speak for many, because we talk behind your back all the time! I’ve never worked for someone who so many people have so many great things to say in his absence.

I wish you a speedy recovery and look forward to your return. If you ever feel like you need a break, I would love to come up and take you out to lunch sometime. No questions asked no stories told.

May God Bless You. Your Friend and Colleague,
Jeff Frasier



Miles From Nowhere
Cat Stevens

Miles from nowhere
I guess I'll take my time
Oh yeah, to reach there

Look up at the mountain
I have to climb
Oh yeah, to reach there.

Lord my body has been a good friend
But I won't need it when I reach the end

Miles from nowhere
Guess I'll take my time
Oh yeah, to reach there

I creep through the valleys
And I grope through the woods
'cause I know when I find it my honey
It's gonna make me feel good

I love everything
So don't it make you feel sad
'cause I'll drink to you, my baby
I'll think to that, I'll think to that.

Miles from nowhere
Not a soul in sight
Oh yeah, but it's alright

I have my freedom
I can make my own rules
Oh yeah, the ones that I choose

Lord my body has been a good friend
But I won't need it when I reach the end

Miles from nowhere
Guess I'll take my time
Oh yeah, to reach there.