Well, it’s gone, you bastards. He told me so many stories so many times that I thought I could never forget them, but I have.
He was the best man I ever met, and far better than I could ever relate. I cannot imagine that he needs my prayers nor yours, but pray for him anyway, as you might pray for me. I definitely need your prayers.
Prayers you shall have then, and for the repose of your father's soul. You describe him much as I would describe my late father, and it would seem we were very lucky men indeed, though it left us with shoes that feel way too big to fill properly. Certainly worse problems to have, I suppose.
ReplyDeleteI can relate to thinking you know the stories, and realizing you don't know them as well as you thought you did. And then there's the stuff you didn't know, and now when you want to ask about this old photo you found, or that old document, well, you can't. It can be difficult to deal with indeed.
Prayers, indeed.
ReplyDeleteAnd learn from your fallible memory. Write your own memoir, if only for your kid and his. Archiving this blog would be a good start, but only a start.
A high school friend of mine has been keeping journals since she was in grade school; I've been trying to get her to write her memoir for the same reason. The journals are a start, but only that.
It's why I wrote the political tracts that I've written--for my grandchildren.
Eric Hines