The Death of the Man Who Was an Extraordinary Island
He dropped in on earth and stayed a while
The man was an island of sorts, dependent on no one. This man, true in fatherhood and friendship, was a subtle invader—unique and quietly rebellious in a world of brainless conformity. Others artlessly drifted toward him. He was never a follower.
It was 4 a.m. in a frozen, windy winter when I saw my father for the last time.
My father’s presence was a mirror of perennials. The kings of the garden that reach blooms of enrichment — guardians of protection and nutrition for others. Season after season, year after year.
A war veteran and a lifetime firefighter, he led an honorable and somewhat alluring life. A tower of patience, he held a knack for removing himself from the negative or repairing the broken and then flowing forward without complaints. Those were super talents. Friends were many and in his life forever. He was an amiable, confident, magical dude with a slightly mischievous smile that dazzled even strangers who fell under his spell.
Dads are a magical light in a daughter’s world too. We shine when they enter a room, and that room glows. And it dims a little when they leave. It’s special.
