Posted by Scott Larson on Thursday, April 30, 2009
Many people that I have in my life now never had the opportunity to meet my dad. Well here he is, in all his glory, reveling in the advances of modern technology. THE Scott Larson.
My dad was not a perfect man - but he was my dad.
Something I always appreciated about Dad was that he didn't feel the need to fill the silence with idle chatter. One memory I have of time spent with him was while we waited in line at the car wash in Eagan. Some classic rock station was playing on the radio and I sat contentedly silent in the passenger seat when dad broke the silence. "You know what, Bek?" he said, "I think you're the only one of my kids that can sit and silence and be okay with it." I smiled at him and we continued on in line just listening to The Eagles.
I never really considered myself much of a "Daddy's Girl," but I suppose I could fall into the outer rim of that category. Dad was just always my person in the family that got me. We had similar senses of humor, were both introverts not bothered by silence or solitude, enjoyed a lot of the same extracurricular activities, and had the same propensity to talk about the things you're not supposed to talk about - politics and religion.
But cancer is a bitch of a disease.
Summer after my freshman year of college, just a few months after Dad sent me this video, we found out he had stage four cancer. And it was then that I realized that my dad, my guy, was slipping away from me. I found myself reaching out to him more often, not holding back when it came to saying I love you, posting silly videos on his Facebook wall to make him laugh. I called and I made him promise me that he would be there for my college graduation and to eventually walk me down the aisle. He said he wouldn't miss it for the world.
Five years ago, April 11th, 2010, cancer stole those future milestones from us.
I've been told over and over again to not view it that way. I've been told that cancer is never the victor, God always is, and this was just His plan. Most of the time I can jibe with that. I remind myself that at least I got to say goodbye, because some people aren't allotted that luxury. But anger is part of the grieving process, and I've stifled any resentment in hope that it would simply go away. It's hard to not see cancer as the victor, arm raised in the center of the ring, when you watched that awful disease take over the life of a family member.
I watch this video from Dad every few months. And I hope that he knew that I did love him anyway. Despite his receding hairline and other imperfections, I loved him anyway.
