Frank, Arianna, my father and me

The start of this blog began with a challenge from my daughter: 'Dad, you're the quiet one, you need a blog to let people know what you're thinking

Today I'm thinking about my father, as I have every day since his death Dec. 4. I've wondered how in the world I could even begin to capture a portion of my thoughts of the last 6 weeks. Frank Rich and Arianna Huffington helped me out.

Frank Rich's op-ed essay today is about the remake of 'True Grit' and its popularity in the context of today's cultural setting. What struck me most about the essay was the listing of the other movies nominated for Oscars that year (1969): 'Easy Rider', 'Midnight Cowboy', and 'The Wild Bunch'. This is an amazing group of movies, and a year of movies like this doesn't come along very often. I thought of the phenomenon of clusters of special events. I've often thought that there have been short periods of time in my life that seem richer and denser than others (my time in the Indian Health Service, for example), and many other, much longer periods of time when nothing eventful seems to have occurred. Wouldn't it be great to be fully aware in the moment of such clusters of what is happening, and to slow enough to appreciate what is happening? And, conversely, to appreciate the quieter constancy and deepness of those stretches of time when 'nothing' seems to be happening.

Today Arianna Huffington started her column by listing a few things that had happened in the past week: Larry Page taking over Google, President Obama hosting President Hu at the White House with the seeming backdrop of Chinese ascendancy and US decline, Steve Jobs taking another medical leave, Citizens United now one year old, Keith Olberman stepping down...
An amazing list for one week. Yet if we are mindful and fully aware would any other week be much different? If we are paying attention, life is constantly full.

My father died when he was 93. I had the great fortune to have had 65 years with him...most of which I can remember, and the bulk of which were characterized by an adult-adult as opposed to a child-parent relationship. I have so many memories,and so many varieties of memories: happy and sad, thankful and perplexing, simple and complicated, singular moments and constant presence. Frank Rich and Arianna Huffington's essays gave me a framework on which to place many of these memories...at least for today.

There are many singular moments: the river trips; the golf weekends with his Denver cronies, where I was privileged to see him interacting as friends do, joking and needling and being aware of each other's lives; getting to the football games early and having a beer and a hot dog in the sun; skiing with him on his 80th birthday down Spar Gulch on Aspen mountain and then walking down the streets of Aspen with feelings of warm accomplishment; being the son of the man who overcame his initial conservative instincts and chose to confront segregation in the Denver Public Schools.

And, at the same time, the memory of a constant presence which is now a glaring absence. The voice on the other end of the telephone asking if he had to worry about me today; always providing answers to my earnest and sometimes inane questions; an unwavering generosity and loyalty; the steadfast love of his grandchildren, and the ability to fully embrace the grandparent role after having learned from the ups and downs of parenting; accepting Sara completely even while endlessly arguing with her while hunkered over the crossword puzzle on the kitchen table.

I'm thankful for both levels of memory, the special moments and the constant presence. I wish he were still here. Thinking of him in this context, I'm even more mindful of opportunities to come. To acknowledge and appreciate the future singular moments with my own family and friends, birthdays, trips, holidays spent together. To value and be thankful for the constancy of morning walks and talks; the ability to be of value to others; the opportunity to be a presence in other lives; the wonderfulness of Wednesday night dinners. This is a new legacy of my father I've come to today.