One year ago, in the early morning hours of Sunday, October 27th, my dad took his last breath. It still doesn’t feel real. I still can’t believe he’s gone. I feel his loss everyday like a part of me is missing. But in his honor and memory, I share the words I spoke at his memorial and the video of memories and songs that filled his life. Love you so much, Dad.
He was THE BEST dad. He used to say that his kids are the best of him, but he was also the best of himself when he was with us. He loved us more than anything in this world, and there was nothing that he wouldn’t do to support us and keep us safe. But his love and commitment also extended beyond his kids. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his family. Dad carried the weight of many things and for many of us. He always tried to cushion the blow of life’s harsh realities for those he loved, but that also meant that he absorbed a great deal of that struggle for himself. And while he often tried to deal with that quietly, so as not to pass the burden onto others, especially his kids, it also created an armor of thick skin and toughness that could be difficult for him to lay down. He was a complex man, born of creativity and intelligence, talent and ingenuity, rebellion and determination, curiosity and independence, but Dad’s lightness and laughter, his joy and passion and vulnerability never shined more brightly than when he was with his children – and maybe a close second to that was when he was playing his guitar.
Dad was a soft place to fall. He’d scoop you up, give you a good squeeze, and let you cry it out. But afterward, he’d also stand you back up, give you a slap on the butt, and tell you to get back out there. “We’re made of tough stuff,” he’d say. He was the most consistent, reliable, present person I’ve ever known. He was ALWAYS there, even when you didn’t know that he was, and he ALWAYS showed up, even when you’d least expect him.
Dad never hid himself from his kids. We knew exactly who he was, where he’d been, and what he’d done – for better or worse. “Learn from my mistakes,” he would say, “and, if anything, try to do as I say, not as I’ve done.” He was a deep well of emotion and an endless fountain of wisdom. I can still hear the sound of his tears and the sound of his belly laugh and the string of expletives he would use when things would go sideways. He was always there to listen, any time of day or night, and to offer sound guidance. He would always say…
– Get yourself 30,000 feet up (that’s the altitude at which an airplane flies, by the way).
– Get some perspective, see the big picture here.
– Get a grip on the reality of things.
– Recognize what is within your control and let go of anything that isn’t.
– Conserve your energy, channel it into productive places, less is more.
– Stay loose, stay relaxed, stay engaged, and keep your eyes peeled – you never know when opportunity is going to come knocking at your door.
– Keep clawing for the high ground.
– Stay centered, don’t lose your equilibrium, and watch out for the assholes.
– Don’t let ANYONE undermine your self-confidence.
– You aren’t alone. You’ve always got me in your corner.
– Love and perseverance always wins in the end.
Dad lived a hundred different lives. From Boston to Pasadena, to Gamber to Baltimore, to Sykesville to Gettysburg, to Mt. Airy to Hagerstown. From milking cows and driving tractors to running around the city on a bicycle and playing his guitar underage in nightclubs. From epic family road trips to New Mexico to dancing on the Buddy Deane Show. From digging the foundation of the house on White Rock Road by hand to being senior class President. From studying physics and chemistry in college to being a sergeant in the Army Reserves and being shipped all around the country. From spending a week, or maybe a month, living out of a van on the beach and surfing all day in the Outer Banks to running heavy equipment, and almost overturning into the Patapsco River, on the final completion of route 70. From climbing every telephone pole and servicing just about every house in the state of Maryland to working his way up through the ranks of C&P Telephone, Bell Atlantic and finally retiring as an Area Manager of Verizon. From the Prodigals and countless iterations of Woody Graham and the Circus to throwing together or sitting in with dozens of other musicians and bands. From hanging out with Elton John in a Baltimore nightclub to opening for Creedance Clearwater Revival at Painter’s Mill Music Fair. Three marriages to three amazing women and three only children later, here we all are.
It seemed there was nothing Dad hadn’t seen and no place he hadn’t been. And he had a story, usually absurd and hilarious, and always with a lesson to be learned, about everything. He knew every road like he’d been there a million times. Some of his last words to me were, “little girl, we went everywhere together,“ and we did, because Dad knew what was important – having experiences and making memories with the people you love.
I may be biased, but Dad was an incredible guitarist, though he would never give himself credit for it. He always said he really had to work at it, but I thought Dad was an artist. He was a natural-born entertainer and sitting on the side of the stage as a kid, getting to see him play, was the most exciting thing. Dad made music come alive for me. I can see and feel it because of him, and that’s probably why I do what I do and why my career has been what it has – I think I owe it all to him. But my favorite memories are being little sitting on the couch with him on Saturday mornings, eating breakfast and watching TV, while he played his guitar.
Dad was a force. When the chips were down, you always wanted Woody Graham in your corner, and you definitely did NOT want to be on the opposing side. Dad was scrappy and smart, quick witted with a silver tough, strategic and tenacious. He was tough. He could build anything, fix anything, do anything. He seemed invincible, larger than life, and I think most of us thought he would live forever.
Dad was also a man of science and curiosity, and he had an insatiable thirst for knowledge and understanding. He was a voracious reader. When I was a kid, he’d stay up at night reading the encyclopedia and by the time I hit high school I think he had read every volume multiple times over. He was fascinated by quantum physics and astro physics, history and pre-history. His favorite conversations were debates about the nature of reality, the origins of the universe, and what comes next. He’d always say, “I don’t know what’s after this life, but I hope there’s something, and you can bet that I’m gonna make it better by the time you get there.”
I’m sure we’re all hoping that Dad is now at peace, but let’s be honest, wherever he might be right now, I’m sure he’s raising Hell.
I feel like I’ve been slowly mourning the loss of my dad for some time now. I think many of us feel that way. The Parkinsons was crushing him, and it was hard to see him struggle – A man who was so boundlessly brilliant and capable come to be so confined and claustrophobic in his own body and mind. And he resisted it, as hard as he could for as long as he could. And my heart broke for him. But he was adamant that he did not want pity or help. He did not want to be taken care of – because he was supposed to be the one to take care of us. He didn’t want to rely on others – because he was supposed to be the one to be relied on. Dad lived his life on his own terms, and that wasn’t going to change for him. And while it doesn’t feel like he went on his own terms, I do think that this was as close as he could get. Dad was trapped. And now he’s free. But I will miss him and his love and the sound of his voice every single day for the rest of my life.
It is strange, though, because I do feel him all around me, all the time. I can see him in my son’s curious eyes and fiery little personality. I can hear him in my words and feel him in who I am as a mother. I can see him in my Uncle Dan’s hands, and hear him in my Uncle Doug’s laughter, and feel him in my Aunt Pat’s hugs. I can see him in the faces of my sister and brother. I can even hear pieces of him in the words of Darlene, and my mom, and Beverly. He is woven into the fabric of who so many of us are, and he was such a strong influence in how so many of us see and experience the world. The world is a better place because he was here. And we are better people because he was a part of our lives. We all got really lucky.
So…
– Go watch some old episodes of Star Trek or Cheers or Seinfeld and think of him.
– Read some Albert Einstein or Stephen Hawking or Horatio Hornblower or the Encyclopedia Brittanica and think of him.
– Listen to some Eric Clapton or Chet Atkins or Willie Nelson or just get out and see some live music and think of him.
– Turn on Dances with Wolves or Quigley Down Under or Father of the Bride or Forrest Gump and think of him.
– Go for a jog and do some calisthenics (his words) or strap on some roller skates or rollerblades or just get in the car, take a drive, and see where you end up and think of him.
Dad always used to say how heartbreakingly beautiful life is, but that you can’t have the one without the other, so you’ve got to hold onto the good stuff with everything you’ve got. So hold onto the good stuff.
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