Twenty Plus Ten

Three decades...30 years! It just doesn't seem possible it's been that long since my dad died. When I searched for this post, I first looked five years ago, but it's been 10 years since I wrote it. Time just pushes forward.

If I were to add anything after another decade, it would be my yearning to share with him the writing I've done for the Fish and Wildlife Service the last few years. I know he would enjoy it, and I think he would admire it, as any talent I have in that arena comes from him.

I hope he can see how happy and blessed I am in life...and watch his amazing granddaughter start 7th grade at the school where he taught. He deserves that satisfaction.

The post I wrote for my first blog, A Family on Five Acres, in 2010:

Twenty years ago today, alone in my tiny garden-level apartment in Fort Collins, Colorado, I heard my mother through the phone telling me my father had died.  I had moved from Massachusetts three weeks prior and just started my first year of graduate school.  Although he had been sick for a while, I had no idea it was so serious, and the news hit me like a freight train.

My angel that day was my new (and now very dear) friend Amanda.  She was the only person I knew in town, and I remember quite clearly her response when I called her -- "I'll be right there.  I'm going to pick up some sandwiches, and we're going to drive."  Her proper English accent gave her a comforting air of authority.  She was going to take care of things when I didn't know what to do.  Soon after, we were on the Interstate heading for Wyoming as I tried to grasp how my world had changed.  I don't recall where we ate, but I do remember how grateful I was for Amanda's generous heart.

After a week at home, I returned to Fort Collins determined to withdraw from school and move back to Massachusetts.  When the university refused to refund my tuition, I decided to persevere and at least finish the semester.  Exercise was the only thing that took away my pain, and I was in the best shape of my life that fall.

By January, the fog of grief had lifted, and I decided to continue my studies.  My father had always loved wildlife.  One of the last things he had told me was how proud he was of me for starting a new career in wildlife biology.  In retrospect, I realize that he didn't tell me how serious his illness was when I left for Colorado because he knew I wouldn't go.  He wanted me to pursue my dream.

I wish my dad could have lived to share my new career with me; he would have been fascinated by my work.  I wish he could have met Don; I know he would have liked and respected him.  And I wish he could have seen his only granddaughter, who, although she doesn't share his genes, has his sharp mind and smiling eyes.

I miss you, Daddy, and I love you as much as ever.