Farewell

BeanSS and I moved to Tucson from Sacramento a little over 5 years ago. We'd been in Phoenix (and the Sonoran desert had been in us) for many years before the NorCal detour and so moving to the Old Pueblo was a homecoming of sorts.

As we began to move forward in life with new jobs, our first home, a second dog, and all of those grown-up things, another aspect of our lives was moving backwards. It began with my mother's death two weeks after we arrived in Arizona. Three years later, we lost our two beloved dogs within months of one another. There were other scares, tragedies, and losses that I won't describe because I don't own the grief they caused, but they took their toll as well. And then, last night, as the first winter storm of the season began to soak the desert in earnest, my dad slipped away in a hospital in Glendale.

I only learned of my father's passing this morning and it's still processing. Given his overall health, it wasn't entirely unexpected. Then again, he oftentimes seemed so bulletproof (he survived World War II, after all) that his living for another 10 years wouldn't have been a surprise either.

So far, I've experienced a strong desire to go wet a line somewhere - my dad taught me to fish as a kid and took me to so many great places. I still have all of his old tackle and even his boat. He was singlespeeding before singlespeeding was cool. My dad tried to be the chronicler of a family that had spread across the country. Well into his 60s, he could pin me at will in arm wrestling. He adored his six children and three granddaughters. He loved sharks.

BeanSS reminded me of when she first met my dad and he said in a rather loud voice "Hello, Connie!". My wife is not named Connie or Constance or anything even similar, nor is anyone else I've known for that matter. My dad used to surprise me with Orangeboom Lagers from time to time, so I plan on toasting him with a couple of those later on this evening.

If these good memories keep coming to the surface, then I know things will be OK.