On April 6th, Natalie and I returned to Detroit Michigan to encourage my father in his fight against cancer. After 3 difficult weeks, dad lost his battle with cancer and died on April 21st. This is a difficult and heartbreaking time for my entire family. Natalie and I were very encouraged by the outpouring of support from the blogosphere and fellow travelers. Thank you.

As Natalie and I are needed close to home at the moment, I am not sure when we will pick up our backpacks and hit the trail again for an extended journey. As a result, we are currently brainstorming (and taking suggestions) about the future of this site. I know that we will be traveling, on a limited basis, around the United States and articles from these up coming journeys will appear here. I also know that we will be filling in the gaps on this site with stories and advice from our 6 months abroad. However, in the next couple of days we will post a new poll regarding the future of the site. Your feedback is important so be sure to vote. For the moment however, in honor of my father and the many things that he taught me, I will leave you with something I wrote for his funeral.

He Was My Dad

Only at this point in my life, has it occurred to me that Tom Boyd was many different men to many different people.

For some, Tom was a co-worker, an employee, a salesman; the old man in the office. For others, he was a student, a teacher, a mentor, a role model. Many, found Tom to be a friend, a confidant, a calming influence in times of uncertainty. He was a loyal parishioner, a Sunday School teacher, a church board member, a Royal Ranger commander. Tom was at times a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a Papa.

But to me; to me, he was my Dad.

My father was a patient man. I grew up in a world filled with early morning soda pop and donut laden fishing trips. I spent many Saturday mornings wandering in the tall wet grass of a local par 3 golf course, vainly searching for my wayward ball. It never occurred to me that my father was actually interested in catching fish (I thought it was all about the donuts) or that a par three golf course was not exactly challenging for his golf game. I never thought about this because my father was a patient man. On the surface he was teaching me how to fish or how to golf but really, he was slowly, one golf swing at time, teaching me about life. Teaching me how to be a man.

He was my Dad.

My father was a dreamer. He grew up fast and poor in the east side of Detroit and like many members of the Detroit boomer generation, college seemed like more of a luxury than a necessity. I know Dad was a hard worker who dedicated himself to early morning paper routes and winter bridge construction projects. I know Dad eventually decided to go to college and he spent 10 years working full time and going to night school. I don’t know if he was always a dreamer or if he learned it along the way but I never knew him not be working on a dream. Dad was not a selfish man, and his dreams…they were not selfish dreams. He dreamed of buying a home in a good school district so Jason and I could obtain a solid education. He dreamed that his sons would go to college and that we would have opportunities that were never available to him. He dreamed about traveling to Europe with my mom; about building a retirement home where him and my mother could spend their retirement. He dreamed so many dreams. I loved listening to Dad’s dreams because they were contagious. His dreams were magnetic, often pulling other people along in their wake and inspiring them to dream their own dreams. Dad taught me how to dream.

He was my Dad.

My father was dependable. He could be relied on to keep his word, to honor his commitments, to be where he said he would be. Dad taught by example, demonstrating that character, like reputation, was the sum of one’s choices. When Dad said he would be there to watch my soccer game, I never doubted that he would be there. When Dad said he would find a way for me to pay off my student loans, I trusted him. In his relationships, Dad had no use for guessing games and half truths. He was dependable and he expected dependability out of the people he associated with. Like many of the people who knew him, my relationship with Dad was built on his dependability. On the value of his word. On the strength of his character.

He was my Dad

Dad was generous and trustworthy, a peacemaker, a moderator, a good listener. He was humble and, at times quiet, reflective and introspective. He was a model host, the easy guy to talk to at a party, a welcoming face in an unfriendly crowd. He was assertive without being pushy, knowledgeable without arrogance, proud without being prideful.

He was my Dad

He avoided attention and accolades. He would have been very uncomfortable with the attention paid to him at his funeral. He would have told us not bother. That people were busy and that he did not need to be honored.

He was my Dad.

He was not perfect though. He was disorganized to the point of chaos. He could be reactionary and, at times, cranky. He was hopeless with technology. Dad hated shopping and was legendary for making impulse purchases. He forgot his wedding anniversary. More than once.

He was my Dad.

Saying goodbye to Dad is hard, but not difficult. It would be difficult to say goodbye if Dad had burdened me with  insecurities. He did not. It would be difficult to say goodbye if Dad was sparse with praise and difficult to please. He was not. It would difficult to say goodbye if I questioned whether or not he loved me. If I questioned whether or not he was proud of me. If I questioned whether he agreed with the man I was and the man I am becoming. I do not.

In the coming years I will miss my father. I will miss out on the relationship a son has with his dad, as the two grow older. I will miss out on seeing him become a Papa to my children. I will miss out on asking his advice and seeking his counsel as we drink wine in the dark, looking up at the stars

My father is gone and, in the coming years, I will find my own way to say goodbye. I wish….I just wish that my life was not so much dimmer in his absence.

I will miss my dad.

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