From two days ago, posted on Facebook (improved here)

A blog post is inadequate to express how I feel, will always feel, about him. Or to encapsulate a person. I’ve got notes everywhere, physical and digital; scattered thoughts scattered all over. Memories appear, are jotted down, and I wait for more to come. I hope for more to come. Tears flow. It hurts.

My dad died a bit over two-and-a-half days ago. That’s an eon, and the blink of an eye. Time’s heading in the wrong direction.

He was hilarious.
He was kind.
He had a temper that would flick into and out of existence like light from fireflies, like antimatter.
He was talented in everything — except with anything mechanical.
He loved words. We’d talk about them for hours.
He loved history, too, which connects to his love of words, often little histories of their own.
He loved books and reading. He’d often awaken at 2 or 3 am, if he’d even slept by then, and read for a few hours before falling back to sleep, even on weeknights.
Christ, he could cuss!
He was so smart.
He loved (and loathed) politics.
He loved quotations. We shared so many of these, too.
He loved dogs. He taught me they are also people. Often, they are the best people.
He loved movies. We saw so many movies together that I can’t even offer a guess at the number. It’s in the thousands. If he wasn’t traveling, we’d see one or two per weekend, usually two; we saw more countless times. We saw so many movies together that we sometimes had to drive ridiculous distances to see a new one. Or we’d just give up and go eat dinner.
He loved learning, travel, and the arts.
He thought and felt deeply.
He loved philosophy and better arguments.
He loved context and nuance.
He was ethical.
He loved museums.
He loved science, especially astronomy.
He could fall asleep anywhere.
He had a sense of direction.
He worked hard
He loved loud music and blonde women.
He could write.
He could spell.
He loved drawing but rarely did it.
His favorite color was taxicab-yellow.
He had beautiful penmanship.
He had a sense of direction.
His favorite poem was “Ozymandias”.
He loved music and played the guitar.
He loved tacos, and beef with broccoli, and hot and sour soup, and chili.
He loved Diet Coke and Diet Dr Pepper.
He loved milkshakes, and pumpkin pie, and yellow M&Ms.
He always knew he’d have a beard when he grew up, and he did.
He was short and that was okay.
His fine hair had a perfect part.
He paid attention.
He was engaged.
He cared.
Big things mattered to him.
He hated injustice and cruelty.
He hated onions and the Republican Party.
He always chose the side of the afflicted over the afflicters.
He loved.
He suffered.
He experienced tragedy.
He was wise and comforting.
He had a calming voice.
He was a natural storyteller.
He knew how to tell a joke. And more importantly, he could take a joke.
His laugh was big and contagious.
He was a sergeant.
He was human.
He was complicated.
He deserved more from life than he got.
He was self-aware, but he was too self-deprecatory.
He made mistakes and he had regrets.
He was apologetic.
He was nostalgic.
He was generous and empathetic.
He was open-minded.
His liberalism never ossified into conservatism.
He was honest.
He was humane.
He was good and he was decent.
He didn’t live long enough.
He loved Vonnegut.
He loved Tolkien.
He loved Don Martin.
He loved Catch-22.
He loved Mark Twain.
He loved Tabasco Sauce
He loved 1960s folk music.
He loved Yellowstone.
He loved the Tetons.
He wanted his ashes spread at the base of Mt Moran.
He loved the Beatles.
He loved Bobby.
He loved Brandy, Powder and Sugar, and Red and Bear.
He loved family.
He loved [my sister].
He loved me.

I can’t imagine a day will ever pass without thinking of him. I hope one never does. All my favorite memories of childhood include him. I wish my future would. I can’t believe he’s gone.

He was my best friend.