My dad’s dead. Sorry, I’ve written flowery and attempts at humor and a lot of other stuff, but it just hides the issue.
My dad is dead. He died this afternoon. Ivan Kirklin Spencer, age 78. A life well lived, so well so that it will take days to let everyone who knew and liked him know of his passing. And I know of none, not even those with whom he occasionally butted heads, who will delight in his passing.
It was not sudden. He went to the hospital at the end of last week, and while there had complications that while not unexpected were certainly unwelcome. As a result I’ve been preparing to say farewell – and doing so in my heart – for a few days now.
I know that he did not fear death, and preferred it to a life (if that’s what you call it) forever looking on the living of others instead of being a part of it. In his faith he believed there was a better life coming after death. And if the unbelievers are right and you only live as long as you are remembered by those you’ve touched, he’s destined to live a good life for a long, long time.
Happy trails, old man. I love you.