A Note From Dad

My dad wrote me something recently and gave me permission to post it to our website if I saw fit. I like it when dad puts his thoughts to paper because I think he's a more talented writer than he gives himself credit for, and his words often serve to remind me of concepts and ideas that I'd never speak aloud.

Dad is also a formulaic writer, which is something that I think we all have to do in order to improve our ability to express ourselves. Sam was also a formulaic writer in his personal work. There is a security in sticking with formula that I am often unable to emulate, as though I'm only comfortable when I am so far outside the box that it is actually impossible for a person to be comfortable. This is where I think my family and I sometimes differ.

Where we stay the same, however, lies in our collective desire to keep things simple. If the meaning of our words isn't plain, we'll rewrite it as many times as it takes to make it so. We'll happily eschew skip the big words in favor of something more easily understood. I think that's a common thread in my family. We want to make certain that we are understood.

I think dad accomplishes that handily.

--------

Last year seems so very surreal to me. The year seemed to last forever and yet, was gone overnight. It was the last year of my son’s life. Sam was diagnosed with terminal heart cancer during Spring Break of 2008. As we approach a new spring break, I begin to reflect on the agony of the previous one.

After we brought Sam home in mid March of last year, he got better for about two weeks; he then began a permanent slide downward that lasted for three months. He lost nearly 100 pounds of bodyweight and was sick almost every minute of every day for the three months. He never complained about the nausea or the pain or the headaches or the weakness in his muscles. He took it all in stride. He had more poise and dignity those last months than I have ever mustered in my entire life. I am so very proud to be his father. I miss his quiet dignity.

The University of Tyler sent us his diploma last week. I wish I could have watched him cross the stage and pick it up in person. I put a lot of emphasis on doing well in school and Sam always took it to heart. He studied hard and graduated with honors. He was an A student. I used to accuse him of being a vampire since he would sometimes stay up all night and study for a test, then sleep the remainder of the day after the test was over. He would always smile and made some wry comment when I harassed him that way. I miss his wry comments.

I tend to misspeak often. Once Sam asked for an advance on his allowance and I pulled my wallet out of my pocket to give it to him. I first asked why he wanted the money and his explanation was not sufficient for the advance, so I told him no. I also meant to say “I was going to put my wallet back in my pocket”, but somehow I managed to say “I was going to put my wallet back in my butt”. Sam howled! He thought that was hilarious. I gave him the advance just to get him to quit talking about my mistake. He, however, never forgot. Years later he would still remind me of the words I said that day and he would laugh every time. I miss his warped sense of humor.

At Christmas, Sam always made lists of what everyone wanted and was always diligent about getting every person something on the list. He cared enough to make sure everyone would get something that they wanted. If I mentioned a specific DVD, then I would find it gift wrapped under the tree on Christmas morning and Sam was always willing to watch it with me, even if it wasn’t a movie he wanted to see. Last Christmas was very difficult to endure without him. I miss his caring ways.

The last few years Sam and I were at home alone most of the time. My wife, Penny, works as a flight attendant and is gone a lot. Lee, my other son, works in College Station. Sam and I became very close during this time. We talked a lot and watched television together and would go to Tyler State Park together. He was fun to be with and I feel much lonelier now that he is gone. I miss being with him.

These days my passion for life is banked. Without Sam to fan the coals back to a flame, I will never regain what I once was. Every day without Sam seems a little dimmer, a faded parchment that will never regain its former color. When I get up in the morning, I think of Sam. When I go to bed at night, I think of Sam. Slices of everyday that I observe make me think of Sam. As in: Sam would think that was funny, or Sam would be upset about that, or Sam would want to see that movie, and on and on and on. Almost everything makes me think of him. I miss Sam.