For Dad

January 29, 1934 – April 17, 2018

Dad, you gave me a love of the water. My favorite times were in in our first little wooden boat, named for each of us. When Kadie plowed through the waves, the floorboards jumped and rattled. I held on tight and giggled with glee, delighted in the feel of the spray on my face.

I still love that feeling. I love being in a small boat, as close as I can be to the waves, where I can run my hand through the water. The squeal of gulls overhead, the smell of crisp air and seaweed, the lapping of waves against the hull: these small delights give me clarity.

What I saw these same delights give to you were smiles. And peace. The water was home to you. It was your birthright. And I feel a sense of wholeness knowing you’re home. You’re where you belong, where you can find peace and completeness, plying the waves to Valhalla and beyond.

I miss you here beside me, but all I need do to feel your hand in mine is to run my fingers through the water.

Go with peace, Dad. Delight in the feel of the spray against your face and the squeal of gulls…or is that just the sound of giggling little girls riding your wake?

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