That Day in May
It was nearing the end of May in 2014 and it was a beautiful Sunday morning. I remember the day like it was yesterday. My dad pulled up in front of the house in his fashionable white Volkswagen Beetle. I was sitting on the porch waiting for him to come over to help me hang crown molding in my bathroom. I remember watching him pull out his miter saw and other tools from the Beetle. I could see how excited he was to help me with the project. Growing up, I was never overly interested in learning too much about woodworking. He truly was an amazing carpenter and he loved to share his talent with others. He would spend hours creating beautiful projects and simply give them away to people. Looking back, I know he wanted me to spend time with him learning and he offered to teach me, but I often had plans with friends, sports, or other things that took precedence over learning a trade. After my wife and I bought our first house, my priorities quickly changed and now I needed to know how to do things like hang molding, replace a light switch, and other practical tasks. He would frequently call me to check on the status of my projects he knew I was working on. When I asked him to come over to help with the molding, he immediately accepted the offer.
I will always remember his advice on cutting the miter joints. He would say, “You have to nibble at it. Nibble, nibble, nibble.” I looked at him and asked, “What the hell does that mean?”. He laughed and explained that you always want to be cautious about cutting too much off the joint, and it’s easier to make several cuts on the molding than several trips to Home Depot. He made me perform all of the cuts and pin nail the molding in the bathroom. I will never forget how proud he was of me and how accomplished I felt after it was finished. I was 25-years-old at the time, but he looked at me like I looked at my son after his first little league game. He could not have been more proud. Now this project took several hours because we took multiple breaks to drink beer and watch the Tigers game. I remember my wife coming in the living room laughing at us “working” on the bathroom molding.
It was truly one of the best days of my life. We talked about my lack of interest in woodworking as a child. He laughed it off and said he knew I would come around. We finished off the last of my Bud Light Platinum’s I had bought the night before for us. It was his favorite beer when he wanted to feel “classy”. As I helped him pack up the Beetle, he gave me a hug and he said, “I love ya man.” He got into his car and drove off. I remember walking inside feeling weird for saying I love you to my dad as it was not something we casually said. We both knew we did, but it was not talked about so openly!
That was the last conversation I ever had with my dad.
Not even a full week later, he had a stroke and was admitted to St. Mary Mercy hospital and put on a ventilator. A short time later and he passed without any of us in the family being able to say goodbye. He died on this day seven years ago. I remember feeling shocked and I had my private moments where I was emotional, but I internalized a lot of these emotions. When I became a father, a lot of my grief came out at random times. The moments of showing my son how to swing a golf club or use a nail gun have caused me to break down and cry after he had gone inside. Or driving off to work and missing my son’s baseball game or not being able to read my daughter a bed-time story or playing with my youngest son has resulted in me sitting in a bathroom stall crying at work on a few occasions.
I have replayed many memories from my childhood. I remember one Thanksgiving, my dad came into the living room and was very emotional that he would not be able to pay for all of the food he wanted to buy for the holiday season. He felt so defeated by this. I recall another time I went to visit him at work and he apologized for working late hours. I remember watching ESPN with him late into the night when I got home from hanging out with friends. He would wait up and we would sometimes just sit in silence watching baseball replays and talking about how no team was as fun to watch as the early 1990s Atlanta Braves. And I even remember the times when I was in elementary school and he would take me fishing and us not getting home until way past my bedtime. Especially that one time we took my sister and him and I got into the car after we packed away the fishing gear and started to drive off. We were talking about the fishing most likely, but my dad noticed my sister in the rear view mirror jumping up-and-down as we had driven off without her! Those are some of the prominent moments that stand out.
I would love to sit down with my dad, crack open another Bud Light Platinum, and tell him thank you. It’s hard being a dad. He was not a perfect man. We did not always see eye-to-eye. But I respected him and I’d love to get his advice on life, finances, and ask him how to build this custom pantry cabinet that connects to a built-in bench in my dining room to complete my wife’s dream kitchen. I would love to hear him say everything will be ok. I know it will be, but man it would mean a lot. I would love to see him interact with my kids. I would appreciate the time to vent about my trivial problems. I would love to watch him see me be a father. I hope he’d be proud. I am thankful I had that day in May to spend with him and it’s weird how life gives us those opportunities.
What I learned from all of this is to enjoy our time with our loved ones. Take a moment to share your feelings with those you care about. Don’t be afraid to say “I love you”. It is ok, you don’t lose cool points for being honest. But deep down, I learned that I am hard on myself. I focus on what I don’t do, or can’t do for my kids and family. But when I look back on my childhood, I have so many great memories. I don’t remember not having the ham and turkey for Thanksgiving that one year or that he worked long hours on some nights. I am learning to live in the moment, appreciate the past, and be thankful for every moment we have in the future.
I love and miss you dad.
Thomas W. Eldred ~ August 10th, 1955—June 2nd, 2014
