Daddy, Papa and Me

Even though our communication had fallen off some over the years, I love and adored him. We hadn't talked regularly enough not because of any falling out or uncomfort, just the day-to-day life things that get in the way of communicating with your loved ones as much as you should.

I have a lot of wonderful memories of him, watching him and my uncle Tim play in their band, the time he and my Aunt Sandy woke me up in the early morning to see the ice crystal sparkling in the sunrise in the West Virginia mountains, our long talks about religion and philosophy, the time I told he and Aunt Sandy I was gay and their reaction of love.

One of the most poignant memories was a camping trip from which this photo was taken.

Uncle Al and I went backpacking together in the mid-80's. It was a trip that will forever remain in my memories, the wonderful life-affirming memories. He wanted to go in November. I thought perhaps a warmer month would be better, but he always loved the cold weather. I remember many times him telling me he would love to live in the that cold Northern Maine. So, we went in November. We both drove down to Thomas Jefferson National Forest. The weather was as cold as I expected and as he had hoped. We spent the days hiking through the hills and our nights sitting around our campfire. Those nights were filled with talk about the things we both loved to talk about: religion, philosophy, the meaning of it all and family.

The second night out we pitched our tarps on a hillside ledge near a waterfall because we wanted to hear the water falling. It was raining and just barely above freezing. One degree cooler and we'd be doing it in the snow. The ledge wasn't easy to put a tarp and campsite on, it was slippery, muddy and cold. He slipped down a few dozen feet at one point while trying to tie a rope. We both laughed for a long time. As we completed our campsite, we were both muddy and cold. We started a campfire and cooked our evening meal. We also talked about music and religion, vegetarianism and bird calls. Our talk drifted to talk about God and where God could be found, in love and relationships, in the enjoyment of listening to water fall.

As we talked I realized that I had not cared about the cold and wet the entire time I had been there on that backpacking trip with him. There I sat, muddy and cold, with a flicker of a fire going and eating barely-warm beans, and I didn't care. I hadn't noticed. I didn't notice because Uncle Al not only didn't notice, but was reveling in it. The cold, the wet, the mud, it was all beautiful and fun to him. And to me, because of him. It was the most wonderful camping trip I ever had. I learned more on that trip that life is enjoyable, and beautiful, even when cold, wet and exhausting.

That trip and this photo exemplify the man.

He died too early. I'll miss him terribly. My younger self was filled with sadness, feeling like an alien in the world, feeling so utterly alone at times. He was one of the few people in this world who understood me then. He was of kindred spirit. I am a better and happier person because of him.