Heart of Gold: 23 Years on the 23rd

Living gratefully today, I appreciate time with my husband Darcy’s family and that our dog Oliver is with us for this visit. 

I give thanks for both of my parents and the start in life they gave my siblings and me. 

My dad died suddenly twenty-three years ago today. It was a Friday morning and he was at my brother’s farm, our family’s home place, helping with the fall harvest. There was no reviving him. A heart attack took him quickly. When my mom got there, coming from the funeral dinner she was working at, his body was in the ambulance already. 

I remember Mom saying that he was still warm. Somehow I appreciate that she had the opportunity to feel his physical warmth one last time before it sank in that her husband of 48 years was gone in the earthly sense.

I had last seen my dad in mid-August, just a few weeks after he and Mom had walked me down the “aisle” at my wedding. 

I next saw him at the family viewing prior to the start of his public wake on that Sunday afternoon, in the casket a few of us had helped Mom pick out early on Saturday. That was hard. Really hard. I was still in shock. Still regretting I hadn’t called my parents that Thursday evening, deciding to wait until the weekend. We don’t always get a chance to say our goodbyes on our terms. 

I believe Dad went out on terms that fit him; doing his life’s work on the farm that had been his home much of his life. He had slowed down some, but was still active at age 74. 

Today is the golden anniversary of Dad’s death. He was a gentle and kind man with a heart of gold. I remember his dry humor which sometimes came out in playful teasing of his wife, his kids, his grandkids. I remember him dozing off in the recliner, the newspaper folding over on his lap. I remember his love of playing cards and his risky bidding. I remember him in many heartfelt ways. His legacy is strong. He is missed and honored. 

Here are three pictures that help capture his life: 

Baling hay with his brother Cletus in June, 1981. Dad is stacking bales on the wagon. 

Mom and Dad’s wedding picture from August 30, 1950. 

Dad doing spring field work, probably in the early 1980’s. 

He is driving the John Deere 4020, the tractor my son Sam first learned to drive. And even though the picture is blurry, a copy from our local newspaper, we know he is wearing his striped bib overalls and a seed corn or implement dealer hat. 

He died on a tractor too. A farmer to the end. We love you and miss you Dad. ❤️