I lost my dad, my major tools I got when they moved out of the house
to a condo. His hearing was gone and my speaking voice was hard for
him to hear. He was 82, a good man, flawed as we all are. Bit numb.
I'm sorry to learn of your loss. When my dad passed away, I took some
comfort when the pastor explained that people live on in at least 3
ways: What they taught others, what they built, and in our memories. I
have found it to be true, and it helps me understand life a little
better. When I look at photos, or other things, much comes back to me,
so I know the words of the pastor hold some truth. I wish you and your
family peace during this difficult time. If his wife is alive, she is
the one the will probably need your support the most.
On Friday, December 4, 2015 at 7:49:25 PM UTC-6, Markem wrote:
But, Dad is always Dad. That huge presence in our lives. When we can no lo
nger go to them, or call and hear their voices on the phone, it leaves a ho
le, a large gaping hole.
For me, that hole was made much smaller by two things, loving my dad, in li
fe, in spite of his flaws (as you said) realizing we all have them. Then t
here is that constant presence in my mind, that in many ways, is much close
r than when he was here. There are times I find myself seeing him in my mi
nd's eye, with that wry smile he always gave me when we both knew that what
I had just done was something we both knew was not what it should have bee
n. I treasure those times.
No I am not being weird, but as Bill said, we exist in much more than the m
May your sorrow be "bittersweet."
Mine has been gone going on 20 years. He used to come to my house on Wedne
sday mornings to pick up our trash, combine it with his and put it out for
Always got here before we were up and going and waited outside in his old t
ruck. Not a Wednesday goes by that I don't hit the garage opener and hope t
o see him sitting there. He was a cobbler and used big nails on everything
he built but I developed a love for woodworking from him. I'm not much bett
er but don't use big nails.
Prayers and condolences from my house to yours during your time of grief.
I lost mine about three years ago. It is a strange place to be. I was glad for him he was no longer suffering, and though I anticipated him leaving, nothing really prepares you for it.
Sorry for you loss. My thoughts and prayers go to you and your family.
First thanks to all who replied and those that thought and did not.
Way back when I was a Cub Scout, my dad took on den father for a year.
How many of you made pine wood derby cars. But my dad took it a bit
futher we built a full scale track, it was recycled paneling from one
of my grandpa's houses.
Also made rubber band gun that shot disks made out of hard board.
How old I was now eludes me.
Although my own dad is still around, he's only partially so. He's had
increasing difficulties over the past few years. I find myself more and
more often remembering little things like your anecdote above. And when
I do, I make sure to tell my daughter, my wife, my nephews ... anyone
who'll listen really. I even tell my Dad's stories to my Dad sometimes.
Shortly after we bought our house I put a hook on the front door to hang
a Christmas wreath. Per my general practice I never took it down. My
Dad, born in 1920 and frugal, would buy bagels every week when the
bakery had them on sale. He'd save 20%, but would buy three times as
many as he could use. He'd faithfully leave a bag on that hook every
Wednesday, and bought some for his neighbors as well.
Sometimes he really tested the strength of the hook, as he expanded his
range of "wares". There might be oranges, or corn, or even shirts he
found on closeout, neatly hung on wire hangers.
One year we decided to repaint the door. I removed the hook so I could
scrape and sand. The next couple of "deliveries" were left on the
threshold between the storm door and the main door, looking a little
forlorn there on the ground.
But after a couple of weeks, he'd apparently had enough. We came home
one day to find a brand-new hook on the door, with a bag of groceries,
He'd have been in his mid-eighties then.
I'm sorry for your loss. Remember him well, and when you remember, share
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