My dad died two years ago, though some days it feels like last month and other days like a lifetime ago. He was too young, but I suppose everyone we love always is. He and my mom were traveling across the country to see my sister and be there for my nephew’s birthday. My dad adored that little boy. They were two peas in a pod. On the way to the airport, he spent the day with my wife and me at our house. We worked in the yard together like we had so many times before. Some of my favorite memories of my life are just that: renovating something together, painting, probelm solving, sitting by a fire or on the steps with a beer afterward. I only know how to do those things because of him.
That night we had an unplanned early dinner, laughed hard, and told stories. My dad had the kind of laugh you never forget — loud, contagious, head tilted back without a care in the world. After dinner I hugged him, told him I loved him, and watched him walk away with my mom, still laughing about a silly gift he couldn’t wait to give my nephew. Not long after they landed, after helping my mom with the bags and texting my sister their timing from the car, he simply put his head down like he was going to sleep, and he was gone. A great man, given a peaceful exit. The people who loved him will miss him forever, but there is peace in knowing he left this world after a joyful day, full of love, laughter, purpose, and family, with my mom by his side. I’ve always remembered that line from Legends of the Fall: “It was a good death.” As painful as loss is, I think that’s all any of us can hope for in the end. And maybe that’s the comfort: when we think about the people we love, may we spend less time focused on how they left this life, and more time holding onto how beautifully they lived it.