I want more warm, sunny afternoons with you and your
wonderful family, on the patio in your beautiful back yard, watching our
grandchildren grow up, listening to the laughter of the
children and carrying on conversations with you and the outstanding man you
married.
I want it to be an easy hour’s drive on the Interstate, like
it used to be, to visit with our remarkable son and his talented wife and our
fast-maturing granddaughter. I want Zelda the cat to sit on my lap while I pet
Peach the dog, talking with your brother and his wife.
I want to roll back the years to the time when you and your
brother would come over for Sunday brunch, share with your mother and me what
was going on in your lives, and then go off to do the fun things young adults do.
I now understand why my late father was so happy when on the
rare occasions after we’d all grown up and started our own lives, he could say,
“all six of my kids, in the same place, at the same time.”
I want just one more evening when I could sit in my easy
chair in the home where we raised you, watching TV with your mother on the
couch a few feet away, our loyal and smart dog Shadow sleeping on my feet, and
our happy, goofy dog Sunny to my left, laying wedged between my easy chair and
the wall, with my hand resting on her beautiful coat of coarse, wiry hair.
I want one more warm, sunny day when I can get on the lawn
tractor and mow our expansive back yard, loving the luxurious smell of
fresh-cut grass, pausing along the south fence line to pick and eat those
delicious raspberries right off the bushes, coming back into the house to be
greeted by happy barks and wagging tails.
I want to be able again to walk freely and easily, without
worrying about whether I can make it to the next “touch-point” without losing
my balance, without constantly being afraid of falling.
I want to be able to take my mom to lunch, seeing the joy on
her face as she excitedly rides in my car on a grand outing to a restaurant
she’d chosen and had looked forward to going to many days in advance.
I want one more night of fishing for walleye on the Wolf
River with my dad. I could use a lot more of his pointers on how to navigate
life’s challenges.
I want one more time to feel the electricity and thrill of
playing with a really good band, with outstanding arrangements, everybody’s
road chops up, performing for an appreciative and enthusiastic audience.
I want one more sunny day behind the wheel of my ’68
Chevelle SS-396, the engine roaring as I shift gears while weaving through
traffic, then cruising on the open road, wind on my face, joy in my heart.
I want to be able to go back and change all the times when I
treated people harshly or impatiently and said intemperate things.
And I want my wife – my best friend - to always be happy,
and for my children and grandchildren to live in a world much better than the
one we left them.
