Remember

The last picture Larry took of Dad.

Today is the third anniversary of the day my dad died. At this point most of the pain is gone with this memory.  Still, I miss him. A lot. But as Mom so sweetly reminded me this morning, if he was still here, he'd be suffering. This is better.

So just a post to enjoy a few pictures and memories.

Of course I don't remember this next one, but it is the first picture that acknowledges my existence.

We have more pictures of me with Dad than with Mom. I've wondered if this is because Mom is the one thinking about taking pictures. At any rate, I've been told that this was the way I liked to fall asleep.

This is not me in the picture. It's my sister, Annette. It is one of my favorite pictures of Dad...very Norman Rockwellesque, I think. On his right is my Grandma Bartel, his mother. On his left is Aunt Lola, my mother's sister.

 

Every year at Christmas, Dad read a Christmas book that had some connection to the Christmas story. He could rarely get through the story without shedding tears, and we have pictures from multiple years of Christmas story time. This one captures the smile through the tears.

This is the last picture taken at our rural home. Mom and Dad had already moved to Hesston, but we had some stuff to clean up, including the heavy old pool table from the basement. We broke it up,  burned it, and roasted hot dogs over the fire for supper that night.

The day before my dad died, our dog Harvey ran in front of a vehicle on the road. He was a one of a kind dog, and can't be replaced, but by now I can say the same thing about Fritz, who took a wonderful sunset walk with me this evening.

But for today, here's to Harvey.