Randomly, I came across a reference to Jonathan Livingston Seagull.  I searched out Neil Diamond singing “Be” on iTunes. Sure took me back, to the time Dad gave me that book. He knew I was different from other kids, struggling to fit in; the book was his surefire way to tell me it’s okay to be who we are, that loners can be leaders….that I would “be” who I would be.

My dad was kind of my philosophical muse that way. He introduced me to new perspectives and literature until he passed, but he still influences my actions and thoughts. I am like him in that I am a reader, a writer, an observer, a questioner.

I really got to know my dad after he and my mom separated in my single-digit years. He was more comfortable with older kids, and divorce required making an effort to spend time together – weekends, in the summer, and on holidays. As the only daughter with two brothers, however, I learned that men “do things” as a way of communicating. I learned to throw a baseball, to bowl, to golf. We visited baseball stadiums, caves and canyons and waterfalls, our family grave site in Kentucky. He survived my emotional teenage years of silence and anger, most of which fell on my mother in typical fashion.  After one stormy outburst while he was visiting, I heard him ask my mom “what is wrong with her?” But he didn’t give up and found a way to communicate through books and music. He accepted my theater friends without question or judgment.

During those teenage years, Dad brought a step-family into our lives. I was 17 when they married, but Dianne and her four children were an integral part of our lives long before the wedding. Dianne became the mother/friend that my own mother couldn’t be for me at that time in my life. She remains so today, and as my last surviving parent, is as much mother as friend. My step-siblings and I share a long history of memories.

My dad left church ministry when I was young, not because he stopped believing but because he was weighed down by the politics of organized religion. He was called to a different ministry, working in the mental health arena. He was a compassionate advocate for the mentally ill for the remainder of his days, reaching out to others in ways we didn’t know about until later. In every aspect of his life, my dad treated every person with acceptance and kindness and equality; I witnessed the impact of knowing people’s names and using them. I learned about reinventing yourself.

Dad was the parent who talked to me as an adult about choosing a college, making decisions about classes, cars, apartments, resumes, jobs. I could discuss things like office politics and finances with him. We talked on the phone early every Saturday morning for years, because we were the only ones awake. It was a special time of connection. He was my go-to guy for advice, and in memory, still is. He challenged my thinking. His patience and wisdom grounded me and taught me to keep perspective. He modeled tolerance and humility and grace. I learned valuable life lessons without even realizing it.

Grandfather-hood suited my dad, coming at a time when his pace had slowed (a little), and he could enjoy special relationships with these little people. He was willing to play, read, cuddle, and even become Santa Claus. In pictures, I see his large hands covered in flour, teaching three-year-old Rebecca to bake cookies. I see him reading to Jacob and watching the kids skate. He had endless patience as a Papa. How grateful I am for the trip to the zoo on Jacob’s 9th birthday, not knowing it would be our last time together, the final pictures of Papa.

The years have been long in some ways, short in others since my father collapsed and died within a matter of hours. A seemingly healthy and relatively young man, his death was a stunning, heartbreaking blow. We comforted ourselves knowing this would have been his ending of choice if one got to choose, but there were months of deeply grieving the unsaid goodbyes.

How many times have I needed his wisdom and counsel? All the milestones for my children – prom, graduation, honors, college, first jobs – it would have meant so much to him to share those moments. Walking through the path of my mother’s illness – the decisions, the unknowns, the stress – I could have used his calm guidance and support. The transitions in my career – surely Dad would have advised and encouraged me. I know my dad was my biggest fan, and I know he left me with the lessons and skills to handle those situations. But I miss him.

There will be more of these life events, cherishing that which brings joy and remembering the loved ones watching over us. It’s what my dad would want and one of the many lessons he taught me. Just Be.