Wednesday Jan 27

Today was the day I made contact with the attorney who will be helping me with Dad's estate. Like all the people from Arkansas I have talked to on the phone, she was very kind and supportive. She said the secretary in her Hardy office went to church with Dad. This is the story I have heard over and over: I knew your dad and he was a good person. I'm so sorry for your loss.

My dad and his church is an interesting facet of his life. Up until the time he moved to Arkansas, he was a devout atheist. The type of atheist who was up for a debate on the existence of God, and who thought that people who believed in God were silly and unenlightened. Flash forward to his move to Arkansas, and all of a sudden he's talking about his church, and sending me emails praising Jesus. I remember telling a friend that I had mixed feelings about it. I've never thought of myself as an atheist, but my values seemed to line up closer to atheism than a conservative Baptist church, like the one he started attending. (I'm making huge assumptions, I've never talked with him about his religious beliefs or been to his church.) Now, I'm not so sure about that. Politically I'm sure the teachings of his particular church and my nebulous beliefs about a god (or goddess or whatever, idk) are not aligned. But, maybe the sheer faith that there is something bigger than us mere mortals in corporal form doing whatever it is we do for 80-100 years on Earth, maybe that sheer faith is greater than any political ideology or specifics about what a particular religious organization teaches or believes. In that sense, maybe I'm closer with Dad spiritually than I was when he was that devout atheist.

In any case, what is clear is that his church was a huge part of him, socially and spiritually. I am thankful that he found such a supportive community. He liked to sing in his church choir, and it makes me sad that the choir was canceled last March due to corona. 

Here is a picture of me and my dad on my wedding day, June 27, 1997. I miss him and love him. 

 

Jan. 26 -- getting up to speed

My father died of covid on Jan. 21. He tested positive on Jan. 6, went to the hospital on the 11th, went on a ventilator the morning of Jan 16, got taken off during the inauguration on Jan 20 and died a day later. He would have been 81 on March 19, 2021.

He lived in Cherokee Village, Arkansas. I live in Portland, Oregon. I'm unable to travel there because of covid. So, I have been making arrangements via phone. Almost everyone I call knew my dad. The person at the funeral home "Oh yeah, I know yer dad, he went to the same church. They sat one pew in front of us and a few seats down." The real estate company, too, knew my dad. He has neighbors who were a huge help for him and are a huge help now. I've been connected to his pastor at his church too. 

These are all people who are new to me. My dad moved to Arkansas in 2002. It was a confusing choice at the time. He was born in Denver, but lived in Portland since he was 9 years old. He worked at Tekronix in Beaverton for many years until he was laid off in the 1990s as technology was changing. This is where he met my mom. He grew up in North Portland and went to Jefferson High School. By the time I came into the picture, his parents lived in a house on 24th and Caruthers, one block north of Division. After his parents died, he lived in the house for a while, and eventually settled on moving to property in Arkansas. 

He lived on Lake Thunderbird, on the border of Sharp and Fulton Counties in Northeast Arkansas. I visited him four times total out there. It is gorgeous, in the foothills of the Ozarks.

I love him very much. I am navigating the estate process on my own. I have a lot of support from family and friends, but I'm his only heir, and ultimately it's a lonely place to be in. A singular flow of heredity and memories. I feel a responsibility and desire to keep his life fresh in my memory and therefore still existent in the world. When my mom died, I remember feeling her presence just on the other side of a gauze curtain, that all she or I had to do was reach through and we'd see each other again. Since my dad wasn't in my day to day life, I don't feel that as much, and I'm even more afraid of his life sifting through my fingers like sand, the individual grains pouring into the great expanse of a coast line and losing their identity. 

I miss him so much.