Dad

A year ago yesterday, my father passed away, after years of declining health. He never got to meet Hannah . . . he was in a hospital in Wisconsin when she was born, trying to recover from the surgery that we hoped would give him back some mobility. He never did get back on his feet, and was gone a month later. I'm thankful that he lived long enough to hear that Hannah would survive, but regret almost every day that he's not around to see what a wonderful little girl she's become.




I have a slideshow running on the living room PC that has become an obsession for Hannah. It shows pictures of family, friends, vacations, pets and other animals, lots of pictures of Hannah, and of course pictures of Dad. She'll watch it for minutes at a time, squealing when she sees pictures of herself, her mom, or her favorite toys. When she bumps the mouse or keyboard and the screensaver disappears, she'll fuss and whine until the pictures come back. She'll eventually associate the faces in those photos with the faces that she sees when we visit or have visitors. And I look forward to the day she notices that one of those faces is one she's never seen in person, and I can start telling her all about Grandpa Minor: his garden, his fondness for dogs and children, and his heart so big that, even while he lay fading away, he worried most about his new granddaughter and her brother, struggling for a foothold on life a thousand miles away.

My cousin Greg sent us a photo today of Dad's grave up in Iron River. It was a small gesture, but one that was hugely comforting at this sad anniversary. The stones behind Dad's are those of my Uncle Jack (Dad's brother and Greg's father) and Aunt Judy, and my Dad's parents.



On a brighter note . . . I caught Hannah kissing the baby in the mirror the other day. Can't say I blame her; that baby in the mirror is awfully cute. Probably tastes a bit like Windex, though.