My father died on October 24 in 1986. My son was six months old, and I was only then starting to appreciate what my father had meant to me. He suffered a massive heart attack at work. My mother was spared the physical reality of his death.
Dean Matthew Caldwell was a good father and a good man. I blamed him for many things when I was a young man, and I blamed him for many things after he died. I have many regrets because of this. Mostly, I just wish he was around so I could tell him I love him, so I could tell him I’m sorry, and so I could ask him for his advice once in a while.
It’s been twenty-one years. For some reason, this anniversary was a tough one.
I miss him.
One Comment
Tim,
First, thanks for the ongoing notes on your blog - your enthusiasm always buoys…
And about this post, I’m terribly sorry to hear the regret here, but I’m also sure that he knew of your appreciation, regardless of how little of it you might have shared before he passed. I hope your sadness has dissipated by now and autumn is bringing you around … I love this season!
Good luck with the teaching stuff - keep us posted!
Be well,
Amy
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