It's been four weeks since my Dad died. My heart still hurts when I think of him, and especially his efforts to stay in touch, in the last few years. His eyesight was failing, but my home phone number was one of the few he made every effort to remember, and he would call almost every morning, and often would leave a message, since we would already have hurriedly left the house, to beat the breakfast crowd at our local restaurants. Now, every time I look at my answering machine, it gets me. If the message waiting light is blinking, I momentary wonder if he left a message, and get a pang when I realize it can't be true. If it's not blinking, I am reminded with a pang, that he will never again leave one of his cheery good morning messages.
My cousin posted this quote in his honor. She thought he had read it aloud to her once, and I believe it, since I found a copy in his files. Attributed to Hunter S Thompson:
“Life’s journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting ‘Holy shit…what a ride!'”
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