Reflections From A Father Who Misses His Father

As Father's Day approaches I can’t help but think about my own dad, Larry, who passed away last November from a brain disease called Pick’s Syndrome. An amazing, soulful man, who lived his life in the service of others, his accolades are too vast, and my cherished memories are too many to summarize here, so I won’t try. But what I will do is share one of my favorite moments with my pop. The following is an excerpt from an essay I recently wrote about my dad, “The Emptying Hourglass” which was first published in THROB (The Hawaii Review of Books).

Of all the memories I strive to hold on to, the one that best encapsulates our once unshakeable alliance was a cross-country drive following the collapse of my first marriage. 

I was broken when he met me and my U-Haul in Salt Lake City. We transferred the sad remnants of a sudden divorce—a rumpled pile of clothes, laptop, and coffee pot—into his truck. Over the next two days, we drove north through Utah and into southern Idaho, then crossed through Montana, northern Idaho, and into Washington State, where we’d land in my hometown of Spangle and I’d attempt to reset my life.

I find it hard to put into words just how perfect he was over the course of that road trip. At the U-Haul center, he embraced me and didn’t bat an eye at the tears falling from his grown-man son. As we drove, he could sense when I needed to rant about a wife who’d just left me for her spiritual guru, or when to sit comfortably in our silence. When I asked him for advice or brought up a new point of outrage, he would listen with his whole heart, and after thinking on it, sometimes for miles at a time, he’d offer me, in his no-nonsense style, useful, practical guidance. He felt for me. He was there for me. Simple and perfect as that.

At one point, while driving through Montana he slowed to a 35 mph crawl on the highway and pointed out my passenger window to a sloping valley. 

“What are you doing?” A line of cars zipped past us in the fast lane. The car directly behind us shot off an annoyed honk before skirting past when the lane was clear.

“Look at that,” he said. 

“Jesus!” About a hundred yards off a grizzly chewed at the guts of another large animal. A young deer if I had to guess, but with its intestines yanked out and splattered in its own blood it was hard to say. 

“The grizzly...that’s Cassandra,” he said. “And the deer…” He smiled at me. “…well, that’s you, I’m afraid.” 

I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard in my life. 

Dad, I love you, I thank you for everything you left me: your wisdom, gentle spirit, and unconditional love, which helps me every day as I attempt to emulate you and be the kind of father I want to be with my own daughters. This Father’s Day, as you watch over us, I hope it is with that infectious smile back on your lips, your guitar in hand, now free from the pain of the last years, singing your sweet songs…