My Dad died two weeks ago today, which is why I've been away most of this month. Losing someone so close takes a lot out of you, I've learned. Grief leaves you fatigued, and in the midst of everything there is a lot of work to be done. I've spent the time working with my sisters and mother on Dad's memorial—arranging the venue, planning the service, writing a eulogy, laying out and printing the program.
We had the memorial last Friday, and it went beautifully. So many of our good friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in decades, came out. Dad would have been very pleased and proud.
As awesome a guy as my Dad was, I have to be honest: he had nothing to do with anything that you read here (besides raising the nerd who types out this stilted twaddle). He wasn't a great music lover, and he wasn't much for pursuing his own hobbies or passions. From my first KISS album to whatever hapless thing I mail ordered last week, my obsession with all this noise and nonsense has been self-directed.
None of that is important, though. I'm uncomfortable with the idea that it defines who I am. No, the important things, the core stuff, are what I hope I got from my Dad. He was a hard-working, funny guy who loved his family, treasured his friends, helped a lot of people achieve their best, and left everyone with hundreds of fond memories of him.
Music is fun and all, but my fantastic dad's fantastic life is what's impressing me the most at the moment.