06/16/2024
Of the tens of thousands of photos I’ve taken, this will forever be my favorite. Dad. He had stage 4 cancer in this photo, and 19 short days after this was taken, one week shy of his birthday, he died. When you look at the photo, what do you see? A happy man. Joyful, perhaps. Blue eyes. Shameless grin. Sparse white hair. Thin body and face. Synthetic blue fleecy jacket. That’s what you see. That’s what’s in the photo. But that’s not what I see.
I see so much more. I see those gorgeous, sparkling blue eyes, so different from my own; those eyes intrigued me for as long as I can remember. They were blue like his mother’s, hers a magical, icy shade of pale blue, whereas his were intense, dark, and playful.
I see the broad smile he frequently wore, causing a soundtrack of his easy laughter to play in my mind - he was the king of “dad humor” and never failed to laugh at his own jokes.
I see the family trademark snow white hair, now thin because of treatments and because of the years but still strong and defiant, symbolic of his stoicism and resilience.
I see the fuzzy jacket from Costco that he got the Christmas before and that he wore every waking hour during the last weeks of his life as he was hungry for warmth. It still hangs on a hanger at the back door of Mom’s house - when I visit, I wear it when I’m cold. And to be close to him.
And in that photo, I also see the unseen - his indomitable, optimistic spirit shining so strong and bright despite how viciously the cancerous army was marching forward to destroy it.
I see his quiet, reserved demeanor but his ever-so-powerful strength of character. I see the fierce loyalty he had for his wife and sons, accompanied by an unending well of encouragement and support. I see his endless capacity to love his family and friends. I see fifty-some years of memories wash over me.
At the very end of his life, ravaged in pain and suffering in untold, inhumane ways as cancer greedily robbed him of his life, I was grateful to be with him, holding his hand as he peacefully slipped away. Such a tragic moment, yes, but it is also a treasured moment for me. It was part of his story.
Thankfully, my last memory of him was not of the agony of his last hours here on earth. That isn’t what is etched in my mind. I struggle to recall some of the finer details of his death. My guess is if my mom and I compared stories, we’d both muddle many of the facts and details of that night.
No, that memory, while still powerful, isn’t the defining memory for me. The defining memory for me is this photo. Dad smiling in a blue fleecy hoodie from Costco. This photo and the memories it prompts to rush forward when I see it. That is what I cherish. This shot, impromptu, taken quickly on my iPhone, isn’t a remarkable shot. But to me, it’s the best shot.
And it’s a reminder to me that capturing moments matters because even though this wasn’t the last time I saw him, this is how I remember him.
And I always will.
Until further notice, celebrate everything.
Happy heavenly Father’s Day, Dad. I love and miss you.
