At this point, all this time without my father: Lost. Not lost like other people are lost. I’m lost because I lost the only person I wanted to talk to. The solutions guy is gone. I can’t talk to him anymore. That is a loss.Figure it out on my own from now on? I can do that. It was better when I could verify. He has been gone five years now this week.
Greatness piled upon greatness, he deserves more than I can ever write about. That greatness, it makes it easy for me to not be sad. I am simply fortunate to be his son.
The Arizona experiment a failure , I spent 95% of that time in places he enjoyed. Driving his roads. It was a reconnect. Not as good as still having him here I got to remember the childhood he gave me. 5 years ago today I flew to Arizona at his request. He was near the end.
My father was not the lovey dovey kind of father. When my brother Mark was deteriorating input he got was that he should tell Mark that he loves him. He asked me “Did you need me to tell you that I love you.” I said “No sir, and you don’t need to tell him either. You can if you want but it is irrelevant if you ask me.” He said “You were the one to ask. Other people might have trouble with it believe it or not. Did this bother you?” I looked straight at him and thought about it and said “No sir. I think the only thing that bothers me is that my brother is in a bad situation that is getting worse and I can’t do a thing about it.” I will never forget it. He handed me a fresh drink and said “Be thankful you never became a father.” I said “yes sir” again.
I said sir a lot to the man. Only at specific times but I did it. I believe at the times that it was the right time to show him extra respect. The guy deserved to be called sir in every sentence but he didn’t need it. Never did I meet a man who deserved so much but required nothing. He was just happy being involved. By involved, as little as possible, he knew he would have contact with the people we brought in. He didn’t actively work at bringing people in. He was just fine with being alone. But he was a magician around people.
The biggest loss. I moved into my house the same time that he died. All the things I would have asked him about and I can’t: 90% of them are about growing stuff. He was a farmer by birth. He knew it all. One of our last conversations right before I got into the house I asked him about citrus trees. He said “You should have planted it five years ago.” He would be impressed. I already have a lemon tree with lemons on it. One of the only sad things about selling an leaving
Ten times a day, thoughts about him being gone: Lose out to the memories of what I had. You only get so much time on Earth. He got 84 years in. I would rather he was still around and I died. The world would have come out better if that was the case. Alas, it was his time and not mine.
Bad enough I will never be in the presence of the man, (as I already said)I can’t talk to him anymore. He worked at it. He didn’t go halfway with communication. That was life for him. He had knowledge, he shared it.
My father, gone close to two years (not until February but he has been gone a while). My buddy called. 6 foot 9, 290 pounds. He talked about my father. I’ll never forget it. I had Shawn over. I took off for the bar, left Shawn with my father. I came back and before Shawn and I went off to another bar I talked to Pop. He said “You’ve got another one fooled.” I said “Yeah?” He said “He doesn’t even think you are a white guy.” I said, Yes sir. I am an umpire. I don’t care if you are black, yellow, white, pink. Never have. As an umpire: I was treated way worse than you ever were. Sorry to ruin it for you. My father: He was amused. This is just the tip of the iceberg with him. All the stuff I haven’t shared yet? It’s all there. I have it filed away. What that guy had to say was worth listening to. My father was pleased with how I treated people
When the stories started he said “You are going to have to deal with this. All these people act this way because they wish they could be you. I wish I could be you.”
I said “oh come on. Me? You would want to have my life? You’re a guy that could split the atom and you are interested in what I do?”
He said “Fishing is better. That is why people want to bring you down. Every one of them is jealous of your life.” In his own way, he loved me. He liked to catch a fish. I knew how to catch one better than anyone else he ever knew. I gave that to him. No cost. He was my fishing guide when I was little. I did it for him when he was old.
Bottom line: He was amused with what I did in life. Nothing more.
When it was at it’s worst and he wanted something, he would say “I’ll make it worth l’ll make it worth your while. Monetarily that was. I never took him up on it. A point of pride, he always liked it that I had my own money.
“Yes sir.”
Yes sir could be the topic of the article. My father never required it. I did it out of respect. He was from an era where this kind of respect was appreciated. I called him sir in our last conversation. I said it most of my life after I got old enough to be smart enough to do it. He commanded respect without asking for it. He was so easy going but my friends were somewhat intimidated. With me, we had it pretty easy. He talked to me pretty politely. I was never abused by the man. On that topic, it came up. I was talking about this news case. A kid his parents had pretty much beaten on. My father said “I wouldn’t do that to a stranger. I certainly wouldn’t do it to one of you.” That was truth. He handled things with words. And he was good at it. I wish he was still around to beat me.
Life without my father: It isn’t very good. It isn’t bad either. He wouldn’t want me to be a sissy. So I’m not being one. This world without the guy is an empty world. In a thousand years there probably wasn’t one guy that died who was a bigger loss. He didn’t know all of you. If he did you would probably still be in some serious mourning. For me, I am trying to adapt. Quite honestly, I’m not very good at it. I am more close to being lost than I have been in my entire life. I was happier when he was here. But I will be fine. Because of him.
But I still have my mother. A success story. They were together so long I was fearful of her life after his death. She rolled with it. It is a huge change but she has accepted it. She is approaching 88. I guess that worst part is that so many of her friends are gone now. Of the ones that are left, a lot of them have their problems. She has done way better with this than I thought she would. She enjoys life. That helps. Dedicated my book to my mother. Talk about an obvious one: My mother wanted more for me than anyone else on Earth. And she helped me. My mother is the most popular person among everyone I know: It’s not even close. Everyone likes her that much. My father really admired his wife. He was pleased that we all showed her some respect. There was an incident where something had happened to a friend of my mother. My father heard about it after the fact. He heard what I had done. He asked if it was true I affirmed. He looked at me. I said, “you can’t do that to someone’s mother.” He said, “you’ve got it.”
A challenge. Facing a problem. I have to decide what my father would tell me. This one I can reasonably guess he would say I have handled it about right. A situation I never got to talk to him about: He knew. He talked to other people about it. He talked to other people about it ten years before it happened. That’s how smart that guy was.
There was a lot of kindness. He grew his garden. He gave away as much as he kept for them. He gave and he gave. I think about the thousands of people he did this for over the years. It is pretty impressive.
I learned that from him. I don’t mind saying that I am pretty generous myself. Generous to people who probably don’t deserve it. He never got into any of that. I won’t give to people I don’t care for. He was able to always be around all of that. All of that stuff was unimportant to him. He took care of business and that was it. He left having enemies to me.
Several months after his death, I sat and stared at a picture of him. His last big snook. Pompano hole in the background. Broom stick up against his belly that he used for balance and walking. His favorite fishing spot. Every time there I stare at the spots he used to stand in the water, wade fishing for seven hours at a time. Kind of unreal for me that he will never be there again. Back when they first came to Florida: The end of the rocks. I finally got him to move 100 yards, he caught redfish, then that’s where he would go from then on. He did like fishing. He just liked being out there but he usually did pretty well. Now, they don’t even allow you to park there. I’m glad he never had to see that.
Remembering. Imagining. I remember the things he said. I have to guess at what he would say. It is a loss for so many that they would find out what he thought before they made a move. I was at the top of that list. I got the most out of it. More than anyone on Earth most likely. It is not good that I don’t have it anymore but I had him until he got 84 years old. I can ride forward with what he taught me. I’ll probably do very well. One fishing spot, three times a week or more, I have to paddle past where he would stand for eight hours at a time. It is good and bad. It is good to remember how much fun he had right there. It is bad to have to absorb that I will never see him stand there again.
On a daily basis it is fascinating. I just can’t believe he is gone. The concept is still difficult to completely embrace. The guy was tough as nails. There are a lot of wimpy doctors in the world. My father was tough. A cold or the flu wouldn’t stop him. I never saw anything that really slowed him down. His last six years he had it hard. He fell. A lot. But did that ever slow him down? No. He just kept doing it.
The memories are still pretty strong. He let me have it a few times. He would usually acknowledge that he knew what I was trying for but he was teaching me what not to do. Disobeyed that recently. That loud sucking noise you heard was coming from my place.
So many stories that I haven’t told. That I will never tell. It is still hard to believe that he doesn’t live anymore. It is a sadness I have never experienced before. But not one that negatively affects my life. I used to tell him “I wish I could turn the clock back for you.” Things had become tougher for him. I would say his last seven years had challenges. I can remember him talking about getting older when he was about 40. At 84 it was more pronounced.
The stupidity of a couple of decisions. I am sorry I didn’t get to tell him about it. His response would be “You won’t do that again.” He never got too upset. One of his greatest qualities. Nothing mattered that much. He got wound up about some stuff but it was funny the things they were.
Amazing how things fell apart when he left. People turn their back on people. The idiocy of life. The good thing: He wasn’t here to see it. If he was, he would be insulted by how I have been treated. Without detail: It is just the way it is. I can stand on my own two feet. The fault is not mine. Life goes on. He would be disturbed. No question. He would be surprised. He would be disappointed. Someone he would not be disappointed in? Me. I’m the same as I was when he was alive. He had no problem with me when he was alive.
The guy: He just did it all right.. Everything. He was a hero. He was a fun guy. He was one to be admired. He had it all.
It is a strange feeling still, every day, that I will never see him again. Talk to him. Just something I never comprehended before it happened. I have now published my first book, something he wouldn’t have cared less for. He would have been happy I dedicated it to my Mom. She was the best Mom anyone ever had. She encouraged my writing all along. She gave more suggestions than anyone else.
Dad, I just wonder now about the afterlife more than I ever have before. Is there one? Is Dad sitting with Mark and Grandpa Taylor. Can they see what I’m doing? Or is dying just mean it is over? No one knows. 90% of the population has faith that there is something else. Dad and I, believe it or not, talked about it. We were both skeptical. Like Grandpa Taylor we both said “Why risk it?” If there is heaven and my father’s not there: The system’s busted.
I have decided, I discovered real love. Late but I have realized it. I will carry on. I won’t carry on the same. Life was better when my Dad was here.
Redundancy: How many times did I say I just can’t believe I can’t talk to him anymore? It is a theme. Of course, not an idiot, I can still hear his voice and I can remember what he would be telling me. I am better equipped than the common guy. I had the right information. I paid attention. So, that part of my life is over, but my father’s legacy continues. I am him. A cheaper, less successful version, but I am my father.
I do still have to laugh. Pictures of him holding big fish. Fish that I took him to: That was the beauty of my life, I got to do that for him. He just enjoyed it. He never said much other than during a phone conversation he once said “I see you’ve got your people catching a lot of fish.” I said yes and he said “that’s the game. Keep dong that.” When I told him that it had basically been like that all along he didn’t say anything but I know that he was pleased.
Again: The move to Arizona. A sudden decision. Time in Arizona: I’m driving. I think about how many times he drove these roads. More then me (but I’m catching up fast). I look at the trees. The rocks and mountains. I think about how he once looked at these same things. Five years later: I still think this way.
Thank you Doctor Taylor.
- The Neil Blog… - July 26, 2023
- The Catfish - July 26, 2023
- update - July 22, 2023
