I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE HE IS GONE

Today I looked at this picture of him.

And it hit me like a freight train that he is gone. It's just so hard to believe sometimes. Looking at pictures makes me think about the fact that there won't be anymore new pictures. There won't be anymore new events that become memories. When I look at Shery's new baby, I am reminded of how much he enjoyed his grandbabies. And how McCoy will never know him, or understand "Mercy, Mercy".

The night that it happened I couldn't sleep at all. I had to write down everything that was going through my head. Here is some of what I wrote:

He was one of the greatest men I knew. He didn't say I love you out loud very often but we knew it by the attention he gave us. I am honored to be accused of being his favorite. And it was a compliment when someone would say I was daddy's little girl. Most recently I am especially grateful for the priesthood responsibilities that he performed on mine and my children's behalf. He was key in the molding and forming of the person I am today. He had a profound and positive affect on my life. I love him. My dad taught me how to ride a bike, play softball and drive a stick shift. He gave me away at my wedding. All the things that a girls needs from her dad. Two things I know for sure.

1. Accidents = no answers

2. Tickles, spinnies, pokes, wet willies = LOVE.

More Pictures of Dad's Funeral

Sorry I don't know how to do a fancy slide show thing, so here are some more.

Dad's Funeral

Today I attended the funeral of our dear friends' brother-in-law. As the wood casket with yellow and orange flowers rolled past us I felt like it was time to write about my dad's funeral. I think most of you that read this blog were able to attend the funeral, but in case you didn't or don't have your own pictures, here are a bunch taken by my sweet friend Raedawn.

It really was a pretty cool funeral. I think (and hope) we did his life justice with the displays, pictures, stories, talks, thoughts, Harley riders, EMT/firefighter honor guard and National Park Service friends and co-workers. It was extremely difficult to get my mom to start planning the funeral. The displays of his things and the pictures were her idea. Luckily my uncles volunteered to scan the pictures and make CD to be used at the viewing. I am eternally grateful for my extended family for helping immensely through it all. I volunteered to do the life sketch thinking that would be the least hardest because it is just the facts and dates of his life.It was probably the hardest thing I have ever had to do ...... I'm not really sure what I was thinking. Sherylen begged me to sing with her and I really REALLY RRREEEEAAALLLLYYY did not want to and told her no, but duty and responsibility won out and I gave in. We talked Jen into singing as well while we were driving to Heber to meet my aunt with yet more pictures to scan. Jim did not want to speak either, but my mom has a way of talking him into things and I think that duty and responsibility probably won out for him too.

My aunt mentioned something in one of her letters a couple of weeks after the funeral. She said that one good thing that could be said of the whole tragedy was that we were brought closer together as a family. How true that statement is. So many prayers were given on our behalf, so many hugs and I love you-s said that I think for maybe a short time I felt what it was like to be in heaven. Where all my family was around me with so much love and support to offer. I really do believe that our family support system carried us through the whole ordeal and is still carrying us.

Ramblings

As I am having a hard night tonight I thought maybe writing something about dad would help to lift the sorrow. I was thinking what a horrible way to die it was for him. And how I know that he wanted to grow old like his dad and watch his kids, grand kids and great grand kids run around his yard playing and having fun all while he presided over them as patriarch. Just satisfied to give a few pokes and tickles to whoever may venture close enough for him to reach; or tease a grand daughter about her new boyfriend. He loved his parents and I think he wanted to continue in their footsteps. Someone wrote a nice letter to me and said that maybe our loved ones can be of more help to us on the other side, but I don't see how that is possible. I am still selfish and want him here with me. I hate the thought that he suffered. I hate the thought that he was scared. I hate to think what might have gone through his mind in those last few seconds of his life. I am sure they were thoughts of mom. As he always trying to take care of her.

I remember that when Brandon asked dad if he could marry me, dad asked Brandon "do you really love her?" But who can honestly love someone as much as a father loves his children. I know my dad loved me. I have never once questioned that in all of my life. I'm sure he wasn't happy with some of the choices I made, but I never wondered if he loved me.

All-Stars

This year in the 8U division (8 years old and younger for those of you that don't know softball lingo :) they decided to make 2 all-star teams. Maddie made one of them. I am so proud of her. Oh and in case you are thinking "wow- they start em young in G-ville"; it is a coach pitch league. So no, the girls do not pitch to each other.
They had their first tournament this weekend in Tooele. They won 1 game and lost 3. Not a great start but they all had fun and kept asking when their next game was. Next up, Riverton on July 16 and 17. Wish her luck if you see her.

Dad and Softball

When I was 12 I really started to get into playing softball. That year I made the All-Star team and dad was my coach. What a lucky girl I was. My dad taught me how to throw and catch and hit and even let me use his glove. Which was by far the best glove in the house. He bought me my first pair of cleats. Who knew what a defining impact playing softball would have on my life. The summer before I left for Snow College my dad gave me some of the best advice of my life and it has stayed with me ever since.

He told me that when he went to college he wanted to play football for Dixie, but his parents wanted him to focus on his schooling and put his grades and education first. He said that he had always regretted not even trying out for the team. He said if playing softball in college was something I really wanted to do, then I should go for it; not just try-out and see if you make the team, but really go for it. But your whole self into it. Give everything you have every practice, every weight lifting/conditioning session, every game. Regret is the worst thing you can feel. Play and practice so that when you leave college you'll know that you put it all out there and there was not one thing you could have done better. Nobody should out work you in practice. You may not have as much talent as the next player, but nobody should practice, work or try harder than you. And if you can leave college and know that there was not one more thing you could have done to be the best player you can be -Then that is success!

Some of the best times of my life were at college. I grew as a person, and a player so much in two years. I learned many life lessons, met my life partner, and lived how I wanted.

I loved when he would ride his motorcycle down on a Saturday, watch my games and then we would strap my laundry basket and book bag on the back of his motorcycle and he would bring me home for the rest of the weekend. He was my biggest fan. And supported me through and through. I hope I made him proud during that time in my life.

What a fun and cherished time it was when we played co-ed slow pitch softball together years later. He was the pitcher and he always liked to put a spin on the ball. He would get so mad at himself if he walked someone or didn't get a hit. I don't have to wonder where my competitiveness came from.

A Series of Memoirs

So I've been thinking about my dad a lot (obviously), and I really feel like I need to write down memories I have of him. I think that as time goes on, as with most memories, the details will fade. Thank goodness we have the technologies today to keep pictures, voices, letters, etc. preserved, but unless we write our memories down they can become lost.

Please forgive me if my blog seems dark and depressing for a while.

As I try to think back to my earliest memories of him, the biggest thing that comes to mind is how big and strong he always seemed to me. Whether he was tossing me in the air, putting me up on his shoulders, or holding me down to give me my "birthday spankings", he always had the physical strength to do whatever he wanted. As a child, I knew in my heart that my dad could save me from anything. He was the biggest, strongest daddy out there and no harm could come to me when he was by my side.

"Birthday Spankings" consisted of him holding you down, and slowly giving you how ever many spanks for the number of years old you were that year. This tradition of birthday spankings happened every year until you got married. And they weren't nice little spanks, they were good whops. But he could definitely spank harder. And he would always end the torture "with a pinch to grow on". And depending on how old you were and how numb your bum cheeks were at that point, the pinch sometimes hurt worse than the spanks because he would get the littlest bit of skin and pinch HARD!!

I remember going to cut firewood with him, his brothers and dad. It was a long drive up a very rocky dirt road somewhere in the Uintahs. When we got there we (the kids, I must of been 6 or 7 at the time) were allowed to go explore the trees and such in the little clearing where we stopped. We played and played without supervision until we heard the chainsaws stop and our mom and dad hollering for us to come back. We were to help load the firewood by rolling the logs down a hill. I remember being scared that the logs would crash into my dad or uncles and they would get hurt, but no matter how hard we pushed them or how fast we got them rolling down the hill, they would stop just at the bottom and the men would just muscle them up into the bed of the truck. It took an entire day to fill 2 truck beds with sideboards. In my little girl eyes my dad could do anything that consisted of physical labor.

When I was about 7 maybe 8 we went to the softball field to watch his games. Afterward I ran up to give him a hug. I had my eye on him, but I had to weave through a couple of other ball players to get to him. I wrapped my arms around him and thought, "wow! your sweaty, and you feel skinny." I looked up and realized I was hugging Craig Hreinson (Mailee's dad). But I knew by the feel of my arms around him, that he was not my dad.

My older sister Jen, Me and Dad.

This big strong man I called dad loved family more than just about anything. As I looked through his things this past week I found some notes he had made in a yellow notebook. He had been reading or listening to "The Secret" I think by the looks of his notes. He had listed the top 10 most important things to him.

#1. My wife Kathie

#2. My children

#3. My parents

#4. My siblings

#5. My home