Hey, Dad. It’s Aug. 24, 2019, 19 days since you passed. Today, we took care of the last item on your short list of requests: We set the headstone and sprinkled some of your ashes over the plot.
It was an odd day for late August, cloudy, a bit of a breeze and somewhat cool. As the wind picked up, I kept hoping we wouldn’t Lebowski the ceremony, which consisted of Dan and I’s families.
Even though you’d purchased this plot, along with several others in case other family members wanted to be close to you some day, today was the first time I’d seen it. The cemetery in Overbrook is on the east end of town, tucked behind a pasture and the town’s baseball fields.
As we followed Dan to the northeast corner of the cemetery, I found it fitting that your spot is a bit away from everybody else. Even in the afterlife, your privacy is important. I wasn’t surprised you asked to rest near a tree with a little shade. You always loved nature.
I thought this would be another one of the moments where I might lose my composure. I didn’t, though I did tear up when Dan prayed and said how grateful we all were to have you in our lives.
Dan, Tricia and I sprinkled ashes today. I don’t remember whose idea that was, but I remember you got emotional when one of us presented it to you. As of today, the ashes set on your resting place and your father’s in Joplin. That seems fitting.
As for life, it’s different. It always will be. There have been a few times that I thought to myself, “I’ve got to call Dad and tell him about this.” From now on, I’ll just share that with you in my thoughts and here. I know you’re still listening.
Going back to work this week has helped bring a sense of normalcy back. I was worried I wouldn’t handle the plethora of “I’m sorry to hear about your dad” condolences this week, but I’ve found that it actually makes me feel better. It’s nice to know people care.
Dan and I are still planning to work the craft shows you booked in Mound City and Hannibal in October. We took inventory of all the stock you’d built up and discussed the nuances of your business. As always, I’m blown away how you managed all that by yourself for so many years.
Both of us researched business and tax licenses for working the shows. To put it mildly, it’s complicated and frustrating. Dan and I joked that you would have broken a computer or four trying to navigate the websites and forms that need to be submitted.
Meanwhile, a few more cards trickled in this week. Those also help. One was from the mother of a classmate who remembered watching us play basketball at the park in Burlingame, a fine memory of a father and son spending quality time together.
There have been a lot of those moments in the last three weeks. We’ve heard stories from your brother and sister that we’d never heard, along with some tales from folks like the Vannosters, who drove nearly three hours to attend your service a few weeks ago.
Your service is something I always remember and cherish. The variety of people who came to pay their respects ranged from longtime friends to several members of Shana’s family. They drove from Oklahoma, Missouri and elsewhere.
I think that says a lot about the impact you had in this life. It’s one of the reasons we miss and love you, Dad.
Love,
E.B.