My Father's Passing: Three Years On

My father passed away three years ago, today, at the age of 88. Wednesday, February 11th of 2009.

That first night of the 11th, I had a dream. I awakened with it in my head. Carole King was singing "So Far Away." I remember that most distinctly.

Dad cut a regal jib as an student aviator.

He learned how to fly for the US Army Air Corps, the precursor to the US Air Force. Here he is at flight school, in front of a huge radial-engined Harvard.

Here, my father is an AAF Captain at Roswell Army Air Field, New Mexico, which opened in 1941 as a flight school. He was a flight instructor with his friend, Joel Kuykendahl.

He married my mother, Betty, on April 24th of 1942.

My father, Richard, was proud of having served in the United States Air Force during World War II and Vietnam.

Our family lived in this house for almost 60 years. My father said his first payments were $42 a month and, with a new family, he had no idea how he was going to make it on his salary.

Those days, the father worked and the mother stayed home and took charge of the children and the household. Our back yard was manicured to the Nth degree, even in the final years of my mother's life. She passed away on May 14th of 2002, having just celebrated her 80th birthday. She also lived to see her 60th anniversary.

I was very surprised. Dad lived another seven years past Mom; I wasn't sure that would occur. But Dad was, as were many men of his generation, The Greatest Generation, tough as nails. He'd survived and pulled through five major open-thoracic operations for cancer and tumors. In his 80s.


My father's funeral featured an official contingent from the Travis AFB Elite Honor Guard.

I've rewritten this post twice. The first went into much, much more detail. Now, I've kept it much shorter and concise.

I miss you Dad, very much. I think of you frequently. I'll never stop loving you as my father, my hero.

I'll bet my Dad's flying high above the earth right now, in an open cockpit Consolidated Vultee BT-13, canopy slided back, where the skies are blue, the weather fair, and he's young, strong and free. So free.

God bless you, Dad. Hold Mom's hand. Step into your past, may it be untroubled and calm and fair. May your love be unfettered and limitless and beautiful. Whatever your ideal reality would be, let it be.

BZ