Dad

This isn't the most flattering photo ever taken of my father but it's accurate. He was 82 years old, had an injured hand, was standing on a ladder helping Russ and me install a sheet of sheetrock. He was doing what he most loved to do.

We had the memorial service for him last Friday in Sun City, AZ. The funeral home recorded it for the benefit of those who could not attend in person. (I can provide a link to anyone who requests it.) Dad died Tuesday, Feb. 22 after a little over a year battling with lung cancer. I guess even people who have never smoked can get it. My sisters and I have had the great blessing of spending time with him and with each other during that time. He would have been 85 in a couple of weeks and he and Mom were married 65 years ago as of this coming May, having stayed faithful through better and worse. They have taken care of each other. My father has really gone the extra mile these past couple of decades to take care of my mother as she got weaker and less able to do things for herself. Mom will miss him. Russ and I will stay near her as she stays in a nursing home, until she at last joins Dad with no more pain, weakness, or fear.

It's hard to not contemplate my own future. How old will I get to be? Will I lose mental or physical abilities? I hope above all else that I will be as pleasant as my father has been, no matter what happens.