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Dear Friends:
Could it be just a month ago I wrote about how important our elders are to the fabric of our lives and community? How much I appreciate those who raise us and help shape us?
I shared that letter I wrote for our last newsletter with my dad, who was prominently featured in it. I could see him blush a little under his suntanned, sweet face as he read nice things about himself. He certainly appreciated a good compliment but, like many of us, wasn’t always quick to accept one. We’re hardest on ourselves, aren’t we?
Dad died at the excellent age of 91 on December 26, the day of his wedding anniversary to my mom.
I spent a good deal of time with my dad in his last years, and I am grateful I had the wisdom to do so. Like all of us I have my regrets, but that is one I’ll never have. I heard his stories and wrote them down. I asked him lots of questions. He read me letters my mom had saved—ones he had written to her before they were married, when they were continents apart. He blushed reading parts of those, too! We drank wine and laughed and cried and toasted our ancestors. Now he is one of mine. And then my sisters and I drank wine and laughed and cried and toasted Dad as we said goodbye on Ft. Myers, Beach, where he loved to be.
Please remember the gift our elders are. Even the ones who were far from perfect, which, if we’re honest, includes most of us, right? Ask them about their lives, get their stories. They are a part of your history, your family’s history, and the history of humanity. Those stories are passed around like a good wine. They get better with the telling, the longer they are around.
Rest in peace and love, Dad. I will miss you as long as I live.
Wishing you all great stories and a happy 2025.
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