My dad and I shared a birthday. This year, we were planning a family party to celebrate, along with my nephew, Jerome. As many of you already know, Dad had a serious heart attack early in the morning of June 9.
While we kept vigil in his hospital room, my stepmother, Edith, gave me a beautiful card Dad had picked out especially for me. It showed a lone cowboy in silhouette, riding along the crest of a hill, with a dazzling sunset behind him. Inside, the card read, “Even the wide open spaces aren’t big enough to hold my love for you.” On some level, he must have known he’d be taking another trail soon, and this was his way of reminding me that he loved me, and that he was depending on me to use the strength he gave me.
Last night, just before nine, my all-time favorite cowboy turned his horse and rode into that sunset. And while I will miss him until I too catch up with the herd, I am profoundly grateful that this active, dignified man did not languish in a long illness. He would have hated that so much. He loved his home, his flowers, his family and his friends. And in my memory, I see that smile and those clear blue eyes.
Happy trails, Cowboy. I’ll see you on the other side of the river. In the meantime, I’ll do what’s there to be done.
