Author’s Note: This post is dedicated to all our fathers.
Today, May seventh, is the one year anniversary of our dad’s death. This is the stone that has just been put up to mark his grave.
You’ll notice the words “Great Guy” at the bottom. I know. Probably not traditional.
But when it came time to engrave his epitaph for posterity, out of all the words I had at my disposal, these two kept repeating themselves.
I ran it by Kenny and he concurred.
“Great Guy” just summed him up.
Here he is at around nineteen or twenty. Kenny and I weren’t even twinkles in his eye yet. But this is how I like to think of him. Young, smiling, handsome. He was always that. To the very last, he looked terrific. And when he died at almost ninety-four, he had less gray hair than me. Gyp.
He was a fabulous father. He never said no.
I don’t mean about material things. He was a hard-working salesman his entire life, and there were times that he couldn’t give us some of the same clothes or trips or extras that many of our other New Trier friends regularly received.
What he gave instead was his unlimited approval and approbation. He was just crazy about Kenny and me.
His unwavering support was like a blank check in terms of our self-confidence and self-esteem. Throughout our lives, we drew courage from his limitless affection and his sweet nature.
And he was the same to all he met.
My brother and my dad worked together for thirty years. I would drop by the office every once in awhile. Shall we eavesdrop on a typical work conversation I found going on there?
Ben: Okay, Ken.
Ken: Okay, Ben.
Ben: (passing an invoice over to be checked) Here you go, Ken.
Ken: Thanks, Ben.
Ben: Okay, Ken.
Ken: Okay, Ben.
That’s it.
No drama, no conflict, no power struggles. Just two amiable people getting along with the business of doing business.
His long life, good health and “never say no” attitude came into play when he became a grandfather, as well.
Needless to say, he adored the kids. Natasha was his first grandchild- and the only girl out of the four still to arrive- and he was always there for her.
The summer of 1999, Natasha had driven with friends from Trinity College in Connecticut to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. She was a camp counselor down there- running a program for guests’ kids.
As I said, she had made the road trip with several other kids, but she was scheduled to make the 802 mile drive back alone.
Enter my eighty year old father.
Grandpa wouldn’t hear of his little girl driving back alone, so he flew to Hilton Head.
Where he was immediately hit with the news that a hurricane was coming and the island was being evacuated.
Natasha had been mobilized, and she had already packed up her car. She gave him a fast tour, and then it was time to get the hell out of Dodge.
Into the night they drove. And drove and drove. The quicker evacuees had already filled up all the hotels and motels along the route for hundreds of miles. “No Vacancy” signs were lit up every where.
My dad was beginning to flag. Suddenly he spotted a nursing home.
“I’m getting tired, Natasha. What if I just pull in there and get a room?” he teased.
“But Grandpa!” she said worriedly. “What if they keep you?”
My father laughed about this gag for years.
Well, in the end, they did keep him. Four years in a nursing home where the in-room dialysis five days a week was a painful, onerous ordeal.
But it kept him alive, and so that machine was our best friend.
We talked about death once in awhile. My father saw it as all part of the circle of life. He felt like he would be making room for some new wonderful soul to claim a rightful spot on earth.
And two months after his passing, this is who showed up.
(Photograph courtesy of Natasha Tofias)
When I was eight, my dad took me to see the movie, Houseboat. I loved it, and I never forgot how the writers explained their philosophy of what happens after we die.
I bought it then, and I believe it now.
Our father’s spirit is everywhere.
And that is carved in stone.
Now I’ll let Cary (my dad’s favorite movie star) explain it all to you.
God bless our fathers.
Pitch-perfect tribute to your Dad, Ellen. My thoughts are with your family on this significant anniversary.
Thank you, my friend. Glad you approved.
I think this is the best blog that you have written, Ellen — full of love and affection, and playful spirit, as if you were introducing your father to each of your readers. My condolences to you and your family. May the wonderful memories of a life well-lived comfort you on this anniversary of your father’s death.
Thanks, Jack. I’m happy that you “met” him. After all, my readers are my friends and I’d like everyone to get to know everyone. I take comfort in his memory every day. Books, music, movies, jokes- all started with him and the things he liked. I smile whenever I think of him. His final gift to me.
Thanks for the good cry to start my morning! I was very lucky to know your Dad 60 years ago & he was a very handsome & quiet man who loved you & Kenny so much & complemented your gregarious Mom (who was beautiful). He & my Dad were a lot alike & I think of Mr. Roffe every time I sweep my garage with the broom he gave us. I love the Natasha story & the idea of Sam coming into this world after he was gone. You & Kenny were so lucky to be loved by such a special Dad. So glad I knew him!
Thanks, 814! Your father was so nice, too, but it’s funny. My memories of your dad seem to be of his mowing the lawn or fixing something. My dad was all thumbs, and I was always impressed that your father was so handy. Boy, that was a long time ago now. And it went by in a blink of an eye. Thanks for chiming in this morning, Ellen. It was so thoughtful. (But then again, my mother always did like you better than me.) Love, 810
Your words offer insight and perspective for your readers who have lost their parents. Thanks for articulating them so beautifully, and in doing so, making me smile. Today will be a good day!
Oh, thank you, Arnie. I’m so happy that this was your takeaway. And yes, today is going to be gorgeous. Thanks for this- and all your other encouragement.
Ellen,
What a wonderful tribute to your dad. I love that “great guy” is on his headstone — those simple two words are so powerful and wonderful!
Thinking of you, Kenny and my wonderful dad today and always.
Love,
Nancy
Thanks, Nancy. You had the same kind of father. Boy, did he love you. He would light up at the mere mention of your name. And you know how I felt about him. A king among men. What a head start a loving father gives a girl. A gift beyond price. Thanks for your thumbs up, today, Nancy. It means a lot coming from you.
Yes we both had great ones. God bless them
They are always with us. (Of course, I was thinking of you- and your very recent loss- as I wrote this.)
Ellen,
I got chills reading this.
Nothing else needs to be said………….
Thanks, my friend. How kind. Loved being with you and your brother at the Denny Tribute. Hope to see you again soon.
Dearest Ellen,
What a loving tribute to a “great guy”.
Handsome, smart, kind, adoring
and doting – what more could any child/adult
want? Lucky you and Kenny. What a pleasure
it was meeting your hero – what a love.
I’ll see you later to celebrate his life with
you and your family. May your Dad’s memory
be for a blessing!!
Thank you, dear Joan. The feeling was mutual. Whenever I would mention your name, my dad would give a big smile and say, “Ah, Joan. So glamorous.” And he was right! (And wonderful.) Love to you all.
Just beautiful Ellen!! I’m speechless but deeply touched by your eloquent words of love and respect for your dad. Great guy!! Perfect. Amen!!
Thanks, Marshall. So nice of you to say this. I’m touched and I know Kenny and my dad would be, as well. How’s that cute Coco? You must be a pretty proud grandpa. She’s adorable.
I’m late. Yes you did sum him up. Eternally “Great Guy”. Great Post!!
Thanks
No problem, bro. Just hope I did him- and you- justice.
Great sendoff. One can only hope that when my time comes the boys will feel the same. You can only try and do what you think is the best for all concerned and then hope for the best. Obviously your dad did that and more. Allan
Thanks, Allan. I think I can say- based on my conversations with Mitch- that you don’t have to worry. You are aces in their books. You are a terrific father. And don’t be in any hurry. I need you around- and commenting- for a long, long, time.