Hi, Dad

Hi Dad,

I’ve put a lot of thought into writing this. So much thought that I almost didn’t get it written at all. I’ve been sorting through various memories I have from different times in my life and what I would write about each of them.

Some of my best memories are from my early childhood before you and Mom got divorced. You always reminded me of Clark Griswold from the Vacation movies. Every year we would take a big family vacation. Something would always go wrong, like the truck breaking down the day we were supposed to leave one year, or the valve stem breaking off one of the tires on the fifth wheel camper when we were about to head out of town another time. We somehow always got past the obstacle and made it to our destination and had a great vacation, even though things usually didn’t go as planned.

I remember driving from Montana to Washington one year, then down the coast to California. I’ll never forget seeing a palm tree for the first time in real life, and I’ve loved them ever since. Another year we drove up into Canada, where we visited many different places, including Waterton Lakes National Park and Calaway Park in Calgary. My most vivid memory from that trip was seeing the different-colored lakes in Waterton–milky green, turquoise, and a variety of other shades of blue. On another trip we drove down to Las Vegas and then over to California to go to Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, and SeaWorld. The most exciting memory from that trip was staying in a campground in Orange County that had orange trees in it, where we were allowed to pick as many oranges as we wanted.

It wasn’t just the big vacations that have stuck with me, though. We also took many weekend camping or fishing trips, and Sunday drives into Canada or up to the mountains. We were always having new experiences and making new memories.

There were also many day-to-day experiences that I remember from my younger years. When we were driving down the road and Shelley and I were thirsty you would roll down the window and “scoop up some water” with your hand and give it to us to drink. When we complained that there was no water you would tell us we didn’t drink it fast enough and it had all run out. I guess we liked that game because we often said we were thirsty even when we weren’t. Shelley just reminded me the other day about the way you used to make fish out of pieces of paper that you folded in half and cut holes in. Then you would take a couple of sticks and tie several feet of dental floss on them and make a fish hook out of a paperclip. Then we would “catch” the paper fish by standing on the furniture and fishing for them.

After you and Mom got divorced life was different. Mom still took Shelley and me on vacations and weekend trips sometimes, but we no longer had the “family vacations” that had been a big part of our childhood. We also didn’t get to see you as often.

You eventually got remarried to a woman named Mary and we traveled back home to visit you for Thanksgiving after we had moved to another town. We got snowed in for a week and a half and couldn’t get back to our new home for school because the roads were closed. Then you and your wife moved to Nevada and we traveled down there to visit you. You took us to see the Valley of Fire and the car overheated. (I guess some things never change.) Luckily, a nice man stopped to help us and we got back on the road. I only remember meeting your wife briefly on one occasion. She was usually out of town for work when we came to visit. I’m not sure if it was because she didn’t want to be around us, or if you invited us while she was out of town because you wanted company.

You and Mary got divorced after a couple of years and you moved back to Montana. Then you got married a third time to Karen. At first she seemed like a nice person who would be a positive influence in your life. Over the course of your marriage, though, the majority of your friends and family stopped spending time with you because nobody could endure her treatment of them. Shelley and I tolerated her as much as we could in order to see you, but there were many times over the years where we reached our limits and had to disappear from your life for a while.

As your health declined and you lost contact with friends and family I know you felt trapped in your life and in your body. You told me things when your wife wasn’t around, and your “happy husband” facade slipped for just a moment, that made me wish I had the ability to help you leave her. By that time you had to depend on her for your survival. I have concluded over the years, though, that you chose to be there and you allowed her to damage your relationship with us and most of your other family members and close friends.

I have to admit that I felt rejected and angry that you would allow anyone to take control of your life and affect your relationship with your children. In recent years I have realized that even before your health started to fail you felt like you needed to be in a relationship to truly have a life. You also had the shadow of addiction to struggle with for most of your life. For many years it was alcohol, but when you managed to leave that behind gambling was there to fill the void.

I now believe that no matter what else happened you were the best dad you knew how to be, which is all that any parent can do. I have come to appreciate that, now that I am a parent. I know you truly loved Shelley, your grandsons, and me.

You left your physical body a little over a year ago, but I know you are still with us. I can still hear your voice and I know exactly what you would say in different situations. I know, for example, that at this point you would say, “Well, this is getting lengthy” the way you would at the end of a phone call. I’m glad your sense of humor is still intact.

I feel closer to you now than I did in the years before you died. I know you are everywhere now. You are in the mountains that you love, spending time with the wild animals all around the world that have always fascinated you. And I know you are with the friends and relatives that went before you.

Love,

Dawn