Whenever I mowed the lawn, Dad would always watch. I would make laps around the lawn, and as I turned toward the house, Dad would suddenly be standing by the front door, arms folded, in his garments and pajama bottoms viewing my progress. I would do a couple laps with him standing there. Then on a lap as I turned toward the house, he would have disappeared back inside. Then, after completing a few more laps, he would reappear.
Once, Dad was trying to fertilize the lawn. He was pushing the fertilizer across the slope of our lawn, and I could observe the weariness in his face. His mouth open, gasping for air. I could also see that he was losing control of this fertilizer. His momentum could not be stopped. He tripped and fell over the fertilizer onto the grass.
In the middle of the night, I heard Dad cry out. I rushed out into the hallway and turned on the light. I looked around and I could not see Dad immediately. I looked down on the floor, and there he was, sprawled out on the carpet. I also spotted Montana scurrying away, with her tail between her legs. Dad revealed to me that he had tripped over Montana in the darkness.
I am going through all our pictures to make albums for my children. I came across this picture tonight on a memory card from Claire's camera. It was taken when Dad came to New Jersey in March 2009. I love it because its my home and my Dad walking into it. I love the grin on his face. I love the memories associated with this weekend.
Dad came that weekend for Claire's baptism. He brought several gifts for her. It seemed to me like he had walked through the "baptism" section of the Far West bookstore and grabbed one of everything. I remember feeling at the time that some of the gifts were kind of random and that I didn't quite know what to do with some of them.
After Dad died, I came home and helped to clean out my daughters' closet. While doing so, I came across one of the gifts. I couldn't believe how meaningful it was and I asked Claire if I could borrow it.
It now sits on my nightstand and helps me to feel hopeful when I am down:
One night, when I was a junior or senior in high school, I came home pretty late. I didn’t expect anyone to be up. I knew it was possible, however, that Dad would be up.
I turned onto the driveway and the headlights lit up at a large person at the top of the hill. He stood in a dress shirt and sweatpants, arms crossed, chin high. His stance was powerful and square. The headlights cast a shadow against the garage door and his hair was combed high that night. As I drove up the hill, I tried to make out his facial expression. His face seemed emotionless and I could not see his eyes because the headlights reflected off the lenses of his glasses.
I got out of the car.
“I was just hanging out with friends. Sorry if I am late.”
No response. Just kept his chin up and kept looking down at me with his arms crossed and in the same stance.
I kept walking to the house, trying to avoid any confrontation. Still nothing. I figured I was in trouble and I’d better stay outside so he wouldn’t have to yell at me inside and wake people up.
“I require…,” he paused and looked away into the sky for a moment.
“…a cream soda and…,” he paused again, looking away.
“…a Mr. Goodbar. Get yourself a soda.”
He gave me his debit card and I ran his errand.
I miss running his errands and seeing him at the top of the driveway. I always laugh when I think about his practice of standing at the top of the driveway to greet us when we drive up. I imagine that late night he had been laying in the grass, looking at the stars, when he saw me driving up Rachel Road in the white Nissan pick-up truck. When he saw me, he probably hurried to get up to stand at the top of the driveway.
Ryan
Dad came to pick me up after my last semester at BYU-Idaho in June 2004.
He drove into the parking lot at Harris Hall with his flip-up sunglasses. We packed my stuff into the car and we drove around to some of the sites that he remembered from his days there.
We drove up Viking Drive to Rigby Hall, the men’s dorm where he was a Resident Assistant after his mission.
We drove by the apartment/housing area where he had met Mom on a blind date. He watched it fondly as we drove by.
We left the town and were driving somewhere between Idaho Falls and Mountain Home. Out in the desolation, there was a solitary home on top of hill off the side of the highway. It had been silent in the car for maybe a half an hour when he pointed to the house and said:
“I would go crazy if I lived out here.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Isolation.”
I don’t know why I remember that comment. I am sure we talked about many other things in the car, including my future, church doctrine, or politics. Maybe because it was ordinary yet unexpected. Dad has a knack for saying something ordinary but making it memorable and funny. I think the comment about the clever rainbow jello probably falls into that category.
Ryan
go here to see the huff's halloween!
http://huffblodgett.blogspot.com/2010/10/my-halloween-2010.html
