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Something that was said at my father-in-law's memorial, in the discussions at lunch afterward, has been echoing for me ever since - because it is SO TRUE.
He was always, always about what he could do, and there were always things he could do and enjoy. He was one of the most active, doing people I have known.
He had health challenges, "disabilities," and while he never denied them, they never seemed to come up except rarely, either, and matter-of-factly then. He'd lost one leg from just below the knee, and while he could walk, he used a wheelchair or scooter much of the time, of necessity. He had poor eye sight.
My most vivid memory of the scooter is of him giving Drew, not yet a year old, rides through Walmart on it. As for his sight - it seldom seemed to be an issue, though I vividly remember borrowing his computer and needing help to dial the magnification back, once. ;)
What do I remember? I remember what he could do, and did. I remember an amazing (and happy) cook, a man who could often pick out the spices and flavorings in a dish by tasting it. I remember him playing "knock in the water" (Wii sports resort fencing) with Drew, and Drew's excitement at beating Grandpa, and Grandpa's astonishment. (Drew is VERY fast: the astonishment on the first bout is normal. Drew has knocked unsuspecting people off the platform before they realize the game has started.)
I remember polished rocks made into jewelry, and making a clock with a petrified wood frame. (Actually, that's a lie. I don't remember the clock at all. I remember him showing us the petrified wood, over Skype, with his face stuck in where the clock would go.)
I remember t-shirts with silly statements (sometimes profound, but always funny) on them. I remember laughter. I remember a back-and-forth debate with Drew where each claimed they were going to knock each other in the water the next time they played. I remember cookies. I remember hugs. I remember watching him cradle Ian, not yet a month old, so gently.
I remember stories of road trips, national parks, and casinos. I remember conversations about poker (though I don't remember the content, poker holding little interest for me other than as something they were enjoying). I remember his joy in having fresh oranges and grapefruit growing around them in Arizona.
I can still hear his voice. Whole phrases. And his laugh. His laugh was so big - when he was amused, it was clear. And he was often amused, being good at seeing the humor in things.
I think he very much lived in the moment, when he didn't need to be planning. And I think the moments were good to him - because he was good to them, and because he was focused on what could be done, what he wanted to do, what he was doing.
I will miss his laugh. And I will miss the fun of wondering what, when we next spoke, he would have taken up as the next thing to be doing.
He was always, always about what he could do, and there were always things he could do and enjoy. He was one of the most active, doing people I have known.
He had health challenges, "disabilities," and while he never denied them, they never seemed to come up except rarely, either, and matter-of-factly then. He'd lost one leg from just below the knee, and while he could walk, he used a wheelchair or scooter much of the time, of necessity. He had poor eye sight.
My most vivid memory of the scooter is of him giving Drew, not yet a year old, rides through Walmart on it. As for his sight - it seldom seemed to be an issue, though I vividly remember borrowing his computer and needing help to dial the magnification back, once. ;)
What do I remember? I remember what he could do, and did. I remember an amazing (and happy) cook, a man who could often pick out the spices and flavorings in a dish by tasting it. I remember him playing "knock in the water" (Wii sports resort fencing) with Drew, and Drew's excitement at beating Grandpa, and Grandpa's astonishment. (Drew is VERY fast: the astonishment on the first bout is normal. Drew has knocked unsuspecting people off the platform before they realize the game has started.)
I remember polished rocks made into jewelry, and making a clock with a petrified wood frame. (Actually, that's a lie. I don't remember the clock at all. I remember him showing us the petrified wood, over Skype, with his face stuck in where the clock would go.)
I remember t-shirts with silly statements (sometimes profound, but always funny) on them. I remember laughter. I remember a back-and-forth debate with Drew where each claimed they were going to knock each other in the water the next time they played. I remember cookies. I remember hugs. I remember watching him cradle Ian, not yet a month old, so gently.
I remember stories of road trips, national parks, and casinos. I remember conversations about poker (though I don't remember the content, poker holding little interest for me other than as something they were enjoying). I remember his joy in having fresh oranges and grapefruit growing around them in Arizona.
I can still hear his voice. Whole phrases. And his laugh. His laugh was so big - when he was amused, it was clear. And he was often amused, being good at seeing the humor in things.
I think he very much lived in the moment, when he didn't need to be planning. And I think the moments were good to him - because he was good to them, and because he was focused on what could be done, what he wanted to do, what he was doing.
I will miss his laugh. And I will miss the fun of wondering what, when we next spoke, he would have taken up as the next thing to be doing.
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I think he very much lived in the moment, when he didn't need to be planning. And I think the moments were good to him - because he was good to them, and because he was focused on what could be done, what he wanted to do, what he was doing.
This is what I aspire to although I've never seen it articulated. Now I have the words to go with the idea. Thank you.
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