Today is the anniversary of my dad’s death. It blows my mind that it has already been nine years…nine years of thinking of him often, nine years of wishing he could meet my children, and nine years of trying to find our new “normal” as a family without its patriarch. My dad was one of those guys you’d want to meet— he modeled the value of relationships, parented sternly and quietly, and demonstrated honesty in all he did.
In the confines of our home, and sometimes while mowing the lawn, my dad might not have been known for his fashion prowess. Today, as nutty as it sounds, I find myself yearning to see him once again, even if he is in those ugly purple sweatpants with a gold NORTHWESTERN written the entire length of his left leg— oh, those sweatpants he wore with black socks and white walking shoes! (It’s a good thing God matched him with his bride, Maureen, whose fashion seems to come naturally). I miss my dad. I really do… Even in his ugly purple sweatpants.