Tribute to a Dear Follower

Ever since I've been a blogger I've had one family member who has been a particularly dedicated follower: my dad. He's also read all the comments and has occasionally commented himself, either as “Curmudgeon” or simply, “Dave's Dad.”

I was looking back at the last time he left a comment here. It was in the spring, in response to a blog I titled “Hoops and Shots” about the struggles my wife and I faced trying to get our Covid vaccination, very difficult to do earlier in the year. In his comment, my dad complained how he felt similarly overlooked despite his age. Then he learned his younger brother, my uncle Jim who was in his 80s, had already received his vaccination. So my dad said he “squawked”, feeling the squeaky wheel gets the oil. And he did receive his Covid shot promptly afterwards.

My uncle Jim died at the end of July. Then last week my dad passed away as well. Ironically, Covid had nothing to do with their passing.

Although my dad lived over 91 years, his death was still unexpected. He was physically active, mentally sharp and even bloodwork done recently was normal. When my own primary care doctor would inquire if my parents were still living, I not only said that they were, but added that they were healthier than I. So his passing after a minor medical procedure and a subsequent illness is a mystery. It does demonstrate how each day is a gift as you never know your own destiny in this life.

I always had difficulty speaking with my dad directly. I've never mastered the art of conversation, particularly making small talk, so I mostly speak with my mother when I call home. But sometimes my mother would say, “Just a minute. Your father wants to say something.”

He would get on the line and it would often be about something I wrote somewhere, something I said in a blog or e-mail, perhaps something I posted on Facebook or somewhere else. With my blog he seemed to be on the look-out on behalf of my readers.

“You know you made a mistake on your last blog,” he told me once. I already knew there was a missing word or two somewhere, but he made sure I knew. I told him I could still fix it even though my blog was published. It seems like sometimes he would disagree with my recollection of events as well, but nothing specific comes to mind.

I wrote his obituary shortly after being notified in the early morning hours via text message that he had died. I've written at least one previous obituary for family as well as eulogies for my all my grandparents. But I'm not sure that my father was comfortable about my writing about him. He once told me that he wanted to read any eulogy I intended to write about him before I delivered it. I didn't ask why but maybe he wanted to proofread it for accuracy.

In my dad's obituary, I wrote about his culinary skills, his military service in Korea that earned him a purple heart, his hobby as an amateur archeologist, his extensive studies of Native American culture and history, his ability as a natural mechanic, and, well, just being a loving grandpa.

I had a couple family members read it over but it went mostly unedited except for the addition of a surviving step-grandson I'd forgotten about. Later, however, I thought I might have made an error with reference to something he did in his past. I was haunted by my father telling me, “You know, you made a mistake in my obituary.”

Well, I'm not going to say anything. Nobody who's read the obituary has said that I got something wrong. Perhaps I'm being a little insecure and self-conscious. It's hard for sons sometimes to live up to their father's expectations. But then again, maybe I got it all right after all. So I'm going to let it rest in peace. Dad, may you rest in peace as well.