Before You Go

There are seasons in the life of a man. He grows quickly in his Spring, raises his family in the warmth of Summer, fades slowly into Autumn, and faces his mortality in the aching cold of Winter.

My father is seventy-two years old. His once keen and bright blue eyes have faded a bit. He sometimes doesn’t hear what I said, and he’s no longer the immensely strong man I remember from my youth.

As my Dad fades with his advancing years, I’ve come to appreciate what a wonderfully positive influence he’s been in my life.

If a man is fortunate, he had someone in his life to look up to, to learn from, to turn to when he was troubled, to trust implicitly. For me, my father was that person. Dad was, and is, my hero. He was father, friend, confidante, and steady guide into a world he hated to see me grow into.

I owe him for my love of laughter, for my belief in myself, for my spirit that never failed me. From him I learned to work hard, to care for my families needs, both physically and emotionally, and to always be available to a child with a question, no matter how tired I was.

I’m grateful to you, Dad. Thank you for your love, your patience, and your understanding as I grew up. It wasn’t easy for you, I see that now. I’ve come to know how difficult it is to let your child fall, to allow them to make their own mistakes. Like you, I was always there to pick them up and dust them off when it was over.

I haven’t said it often, but you’re the best man I know. I honor you. I respect you more than any man alive, and I love you with all my heart.

I just wanted you to know before you go.