A Year in Passing and St. Patrick's Day

(I put off posting this until now, hence the reference to St. Patrick's Day)

Ronnie Powell

St. Patrick's Day has a different meaning for me now. My dad's funeral was held on March 17, 2017, a day before my March birthday, and fitting (in my opinion) since Dad was partly Irish and redheaded. It’s been a year since his passing and still weird to be at family functions without seeing his cowboy hat and hearing the click of his boots.

Dad's fast departure from this life was difficult for us, but I'm glad he didn't have to suffer a long time with illness. He didn't want it that way. Dad's illnesses seemed to come fast and hard, but in reality had been percolating in the background. We were surprised by the diagnoses: COPD (he didn’t know), lung cancer (he didn’t know that one either until the hospital stay), pneumonia and a stroke at some point that (evidently) didn't slow him down because he never knew about the stroke. Doctors and nurses alike shook their heads regarding his shredded lungs and how he breathed without being connected to an oxygen tank, in his everyday life. He didn’t need the hospital oxygen either, they said, but they had to keep it attached to him. 

He did seem superhuman at times.

His viewing and the funeral were the best as those kind of services go. He'd joked with Mom that they would have to pay people to come to their funerals, since over the years they'd lost a lot of family and friends, but that was far from the truth. Many people attended. Each person who waited in line told us the history of their relationship with Dad. Most we knew, but some came as new information (at least to me). And many wanted to share a story about him. The funeral part was led by a pastor that we once knew. Dad was not a church goer, but he really liked this young fella. Evidently the feeling was mutual because they spent time together camping and hiking. Ben presented a message that touched the hearts of most who attended the service, from our community of friends and family, the religious and nonreligious alike.

Dad didn't compliment me much, but once said that I was a good driver. Told me he liked how I kept my house and property tidy. He loved my children an incredible amount, told me so and showed it. On our trips together and car rides to writing classes, Dad told me stories of his youth, probably some I didn't need to hear. 😉

People who have been in our lives and then die often leave their voice in our heads and claim a portion of our hearts. You'll still hear them at times influencing your actions and decisions. My dad influenced me in many ways. We both: 

• love writing.
• like mowing our yards.
• walk fast.
• are hard workers.

• entertain a bit of the no nonsense attitude.

• love singing. He loved to sing and felt that I got my (so called) talent from him.
• have a love affair with bacon and over easy eggs.
• love buzzards. We even talked about buzzards. I do like a pretty buzzard!

When you lose someone that you love, your life has to change; there's no way around it. After all these years, I have no answers for overcoming grief or living without the people that we still want in our lives.

I suspect there is no easy answer.

T.