A Son's Last Words

My father was a huge man, a giant in both stature and intellect. His 6'4", three hundred pound frame dominated any room and his intelligence was evident in even the most casual of conversations. My grandmother told me he read an entire set of encyclopedias, cover to cover, as a sophomore in high school. Most people knew him as Doctor Taylor, a professional at the top of a lucrative medical career, respected by patients and colleagues alike. I knew him as dad.

He was a master chess player and an amateur astronomer with a fascination for the sky and the great beyond. He was a SCUBA diver, a competitive shooter, and a pilot. He was an outdoors man, a Civil War buff, and a Star Trek-y. He was a man who enjoyed life in all its aspects and lived every moment to the fullest. He had a deep, full belly laugh that was infectious and matched his build and personality perfectly. At night I would hear him laugh from my bedroom as he talked with my mother or watched late night TV. For me, those laughs were reassuring. They acted as a warm security blanket against the doubts of darkness and the cold of night. My mother speaks fondly of his rich singing voice and tells me I would kick in her womb to the rhythm of his songs. Their marriage wasn't easy or perfect, but they stayed together and loved each other to the end. Despite a world set against marriage and the vows of matrimony.

If I sound like a son with an inadequacy complex, then you are probably getting an accurate picture. My father presented an image and lived a life that is hard to live up to. He never meant to pressure me or measure me against his accomplishments, but the self-created pressure was there and still is in many ways. As a teenager and young adult, I resented it to the point of irrational and often undirected anger. I had a hard time finding myself or my place in life; very little fit and what did wasn't good enough (in my eyes) or didn't fully remove me from my father's massive shadow. This inner conflict, which erupted into explosive arguments with my dad, came to an apex when I graduated from high school. He wanted me to go to college and I wanted to do things myself, so I joined the Navy and left with little more than a good-bye. I was gone for four years. When I left, my father was a healthy middle-aged man in the prime of his physical and professional life. When I returned, he was in the ravages of a disease that physically destroyed him.

His illness came as a complicated collage of problems as precise and methodical as the man they attacked. Slowly it stripped him of everything that had surrounded the man I knew as my dad. His physical presence, his hobbies and his career were all taken from him over a very short period of time. Even his beautiful singing voice was reduced to a gravelly whisper. But my dad remained. The loving and doting father he had always been shown even brighter in the face of his daunting illness. For over a decade he struggled through ups and downs, never fully recovering but always getting back up. My father fought for more time with his family and lived to see all of his children married and the arrival of three grandchildren. A few months ago, he told me his illness had been a blessing and that he had fallen in love with our mom all over again.

I didn't get to say good-bye to my dad the night he died. But, if I had been afforded that opportunity, I would have put my arms around him and held him the way he used to hold me when I skinned my knees. I would have said, "I love you dad and in many ways I am you. Your voice, your laugh, and your love will always be with me. If I could take your place, if I could take your illness from you, I would, but God hasn't answered that prayer. So, I will do everything I can to make you proud and live up to your expectations, both expressed and unexpressed. You are my role model and hero. Anything I become or am able to accomplish in this life, I owe to you. By no means were you a perfect father and by no means am I a perfect son; but for all your flaws and for all of mine, you are my best friend and a man of whom I am proud to be called son."

I Love You Dad