Case,
It's been a while, Magoo. I was focusing on finishing that albatross of a World Lit class the last couple months, so I haven't been hanging around this corner of cyberspace. Actually, the class turned out to be pretty cool. Hopefully you'll discover the joy of classic authors like Voltaire, Tolstoy, Conrad, Joyce, Kafka, Faulkner, etc. long before your procrastinating Dad. I'd also like to request that you do not take 22 years to finish college (don't tell your Mom I just admitted that, OK?).
Anyway, I had a long drive to work this afternoon, and the '80s mix I made for my Ipod didn't quite hold my attention on the open road for three hours. So, typically, I started to think. I thought mostly about you and your Grandpa Pallister. We're going to see him next weekend. He's in a nursing home, trying to regain use of his legs. The doctors told us that is unlikely, but your Grandpa Pallister has never been one to shy away from a challenge. It doesn't matter that he's 81 years old, his life nearing its end. Thinking about what a struggle it must be for him daily, I'm reminded of the three words he used to repeat to me as a boy when things weren't going smoothly: Never give in. He's following that advice to the very end. You have to respect a man for that.
I am prone to thinking ahead. Often too far ahead. But in this situation, I can't ignore what the future may hold. I've been incredibly lucky to have lived 40 years without anyone close to me dying. But after rushing to Chicago a few weeks ago to spend time with your Grandpa in the hospital, I can't stop thinking about what life will be like without him, and I keep returning to this image of myself, standing in front of a crowded church, trying to explain what your Grandpa has meant to me. I have no idea if I will be asked to deliver any sort of eulogy on such an occasion, but I've largely written it all in my head countless times. And there's one part that I cannot get past without getting emotional. I want to tell the crowd that as sad as it is to no longer have my father around, what truly breaks my heart is that neither you nor he will know the joy of each other. I imagine looking at you in that moment and breaking down, thinking of a future in which the greatest man I've ever known is not part of your life.
If that comes to pass, I will almost certainly try and stop it, but, ultimately, I hope to embrace it. There are countless moments of happiness in our lives (many we never realize before they're lost to the past), but life, no matter how great we make it, presents us with times of sorrow. In those times, it's all right to let go. You can spend your whole life trying to ignore your emotions. But it's not healthy, and it's not fair to those for whom your heart wants to cry. I will do my best to teach you how to be tough, how to be strong, because you will need to be. I will do my best to teach you to be the kind of man William Mark Pallister has been for more than eight decades. And if I tear up occasionally while telling you about Grandpa and the lessons he taught me, don't hold it against your father. Sometimes, it's OK to cry. And if anyone ever tells you otherwise, you point them out and I'll kick their ass. :)
Love,
Dad
