Wednesday, April 6, 2016
The sentence you never want to write
Just like you never get a chance to make a first impression, there are some sentences you will only write once.
My father died today.
He was a gentle soul. Everyone says that of him, because he was.
Smart as they come. Sharp-witted, yet soft-spoken. When he spoke up, it was worth hearing and almost always cut right to the heart of the matter, with a unique insight that snapped you to attention and made you glad you were there to hear it.
A bit of a cad and adventurer in his youth - you can read all about that in his memoir that he wrote and published on the iPad I gave him for Christmas 2010 - he settled contentedly into life as a devoted husband and provider, and a doting and sometimes (some would say often times) indulgent father. He fulfilled these roles with a complete and gentle embrace of duty that was as subtle, quiet and deep as it was steadfast and unwavering.
For a man who would prefer to go unnoticed in a room of five or more, in a room of 20, 19 would jump to tell you that they loved Bob, Robert, or Earl, as he was known to family. A guy so witty and loveable that he needed three names. Ask him which he preferred and he would simply shrug and say with sincerity, “whichever.�
Easy-going, witty, smart, loving and generous and gentle of spirit. If ever I question my own worthiness, proof of God’s good grace and love is that He gave me the gift of this man as my father.
~ Leisa LaDell Ashbaugh 6/12/15
