A MEMORY SWEETER AS IT AGES (By Jennifer Blakeslee)

Twenty five years ago today, I lost my Dad. I still haven’t figured out why the world keeps turning, since my world stopped on that day.

I visited with my parents during May, 1982, fresh from quitting my old, demanding job, and on the brink of going back to college for another degree. I hadn’t decided where my new education would take me, but I was sure it would be a better life than the one I had known. Since I wouldn’t be able to have prolonged visits in Clinton with the family, I stayed for a week before my summer classes started.

One day during that week, I decided to sand and paint Mom’s outdoor furniture. I knew it would be a lengthy task, but I had the time and knew how to do the job properly.
When Daddy came home from work that afternoon, he found me in the back yard, covered in dust and hot. He pulled up a lawn chair under the oak tree where I was working, and we talked for a while. His thoughts drifted to younger days, speaking of the times we shared when I was a child, and times he’d known as a bachelor. I loved to hear his stories, as I learned something new about him with each telling. There was a note of sadness in his voice as he told of my sisters and me growing up, and becoming independent women. I think, secretly, he always thought he could keep us as his little ones.

I remember asking him that afternoon, if there was anything that he wanted to do that he hadn’t done, if there was a place to visit that he hadn’t seen, if there was anything unfinished. He thought for a moment and said, “No, not really. I have everything I need.” My heart sank. I knew that the time was drawing near for us to lose him. You see, it seems that when we have no more dreams, nothing more to strive for, that God takes us to our heavenly home and makes more room on earth for the younger ones. At least, I’ve always thought about life that way.

Almost three months to the day, he died. He had been busily working in the yard until 4:00 that afternoon, in the hot July sun, and came inside to cool off and rest. Sitting in his recliner, he wasn’t feeling well, but figured he had “overdone it” outside. When Mom came home from work, she found him in the chair, not breathing. Even though the paramedics tried to revive him, it was not to be. God had spoken his name.

I got the message while in class that evening. My motions betrayed my insanity, as I arrived at Mom’s with all the appropriate clothing needed to bury my father. The next days were a blur, but we survived. We even managed to laugh while planning his funeral.

Those last days will always be part of me. I will never forget how I felt when I was told of his death, of the passing of my greatest fan, of the loss of the man who would never disappoint me, who would always love me unconditionally, who thought I was the smartest, prettiest, wittiest girl in the world. No wonder the memory just gets sweeter.