My father died last week. American Independence Day was his favorite holiday, so today seems like the best day to share a little about him here. He loved fireworks, and would spend the rest of the year planning out his personal fireworks display for July 4th. We would sit on our back porch, and our neighbors would sit on their back porches, and sometimes guests would be invited too. It was only when I grew up that I fully understood how much planning went into it, and how much pride he took in providing one night of delight a year to the rest of us. Where I live now, fireflies are a recent phenomenon, only coming in the past five years or so and still not seen very often. But where I grew up, fireflies are common in summertime, and the 4th of July was the height of their show. I remember, as twilight came to our neighborhood, running in the front yard with friends, holding sparklers as hundreds of fireflies flew around us while we waited for it to be dark enough for my father’s fireworks show to begin.
Below is my father with his mother and his great-aunts (both are his mother’s aunts).
Below is my father with his father.
Below is my father with his aunts (both are his father’s sisters).
Below is my father with his little brother, Burrie.
Below is my father with his older cousin Janie. They are standing at the edge of the lake where his mother’s ashes were scattered and where his ashes will be scattered as well.
The thing that’s always gotten me the most about death is that life goes on. One life is snuffed out by natural causes or otherwise, a thousand lives in a tsunami or a battle, millions in a global epidemic or a genocide – no matter how it happens or how many die in one day or one event, the world spins on. Rain is lashing my windows as I finish this post, part of the huge Hurricane Arthur that is moving up the Atlantic Seaboard, and there are still bills to pay and a meal to cook. This is why I started my 52 Ancestors posts with my father’s little brother, Burrie, who died as a child, and why I photograph the gravestones of as many colonial children as I can. No one should be forgotten, no matter where or when they lived, no matter how recent or how long ago, no matter whether they lived for one minute or more than a century. After everyone who knew a person has died, it’s up to genealogists, historians, and archivists to carry on the mantle, to keep their existence known and preserve as much of the past as possible. I hope that after I am gone, this post will remain as a signpost to show that my father existed in this world.
Rest in peace, Dad.
A beautiful tribute to your Dad. So sorry to hear of his passing.
What a nice post it is Liz. Remember that he will always be with you.
Beautiful photographs, post and a very lovely tribute.
You have some wonderful photographs. But more important then that you have some wonderful memories. Thank you for sharing.
I am very sorry for your loss.
Liz,
I’m very sorry for your loss of your father. It’s wonderful you have those photographs (or copies) from his youth. So many times those are lost by not being valued and passed on to the next generation. Your shared memory of him complement them and helped give me a sense of who he was. Your family is very lucky to have a memory-keeper in it.
How touching Liz, A priviledge to be able to read it via our Brickwall Club.Thankyou for sharing
A lovely tribute to your father, Liz.
Hi Liz, just seen this. So sorry to hear about your father. As the others have said, this is a wonderful tribute: beautiful photos and warm words. Thoughts are with you xx
Liz,
Sorry for your loss of your father. Very touching and beautifully written remembrance. You are so right: it is up to us to preserve the past.
So sorry to hear about your loss, Liz. I lost my dad when I was 11. It’s difficult at any age. *BIG HUGS*
Thanks for the belated sympathies. (In case you didn’t realize, he died a year ago, which is why I shared the post on Twitter yesterday.)