My sister chose this photo of our father for his obituary, which I love--it catches my favorite side of him, doing some silly dance in his p.j.s.
From 2015, he's eighty-four years old here (January 1931–July 2017), on the beach in southern California where he and my sister went on vacation several years running--he liked to watch the seals and whales nearby, and pick up feathers.
The full picture of my father is much more complex, of course, and involves far darker qualities, but as his body goes to cremation tomorrow, I feel free to remember this, his endearing side, first and foremost.
My father took the Eeyore I rescued & restored for him to California, and Eeyore is going on this last trip with him too.
From 2015, he's eighty-four years old here (January 1931–July 2017), on the beach in southern California where he and my sister went on vacation several years running--he liked to watch the seals and whales nearby, and pick up feathers.
The full picture of my father is much more complex, of course, and involves far darker qualities, but as his body goes to cremation tomorrow, I feel free to remember this, his endearing side, first and foremost.
My father took the Eeyore I rescued & restored for him to California, and Eeyore is going on this last trip with him too.
