what matters most is the love.
|Family (minus baby brother) circa, 1968|
My dad passed away on January 7th. We knew it was coming. He had some serious health issues after years of being a paraplegic, plus he stopped reading his beloved books in October. He wouldn't even argue politics with me anymore.
Mom and two of my brothers (pictured above as their true naughty selves) were present when Dad passed. I was stuck on an icy highway.
Dad and I had a pretty challenging relationship throughout my life. Thankfully, I made my peace with him before he died, deciding that the cost of holding all that anger was just too high. 'Cause in the end, what really matters is the love.
|Dad and I, 1962|
I got my love of books from Dad. And my inquisitiveness. And my love for roadtrips. Actually, I think roadtrips will be a good way for all of us kids to connect with Dad. He knew every back road in western Michigan. The family rule is to never take the same way home.
Maybe that explains my aversion to making copies in my artwork.
I know when I need to remember him, I'll jump in the car and head out for a drive. We'll always be able to meet there.