My dad would've been 80 today. He was hoping he might live to see 70 but was only 66 when he died. I don't think it's a surprise that he died younger than he would've like since he was in ill health for 50 years of his life (he had ankylosing spondylitis) and when he came down with the pneumonia that killed him, he was in a weakened state, having ( Read more... )

Back in January, I accidentally rolled down the car window. It had stopped working several years before but I hit the wrong button and of course it went down 3 inches. We never did get it back up again and I spent the winter and early spring driving around with layers of sweaters, coats, hats, scarves, and gloves on as well as a blanket over my ( Read more... )

In my parents' wedding photos, dad is a slim, straight-backed young man of 21. This was five years after he was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis in his spine and hips but before that disease stole his good posture, his height, even the ability to turn his head from side to side. He stood five feet, nine inches tall, a good seven inches taller ( Read more... )

Recently someone posted on our family website a photo of my Gramma (dad's mom) taken in 1910 when she was 12. I felt exactly as I did when I saw the photo of her at 17 - just like looking in a mirror. (Also, what is up with that bow!) I think the photos are big so behind a cut....

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My dad began writing poetry at the age of 16 and would write a poem at the drop of a hat. Each of his girls, his grandkids, and many of his nieces and nephews have poems written just for them. I won't claim dad's work is Shakespeare quality - I probably can't even say how good or not they are since I'm very prejudiced! - but I love them and wish ( Read more... )

I was looking through Emily Dickinson's poems and found one I hadn't read yet. Of course it made me think of my dad and made me cry but I'm posting it anyway because I find that I like it, and it's a good poem ( Read more... )

Ok, I don't think there's a real St. Clive's; November 29th is my personal, made-up holiday to celebrate C. S. Lewis in particular (it's his birthday) and, I guess, favorite authors in general (it's also the birthday of Louisa May Alcott and Madeleine L'Engle).

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It's been over a year since Dad died - definitely a new kind of year for me, one in which I never knew, emotionally, just what to expect. It's funny, every single anniversary and birthday which I would've expected to upset me didn't. Christmas - I was fine. Dad's birthday - I was fine. Father's Day - I deliberately didn't go to church anywhere ( Read more... )

My dad died last Friday ( Read more... )