Nothing Lasts Forever
On the things that Dad knew best -- or maybe not.
Nothing lasts forever.
It’s what our dad used to say when we bellyached the inevitable return to reality: Back on the highway after two weeks down the shore. Back to school after two months off. Back to bed for an early start in the morning.
I still wonder if someone had taught him that expression as he taught it to us, or if it was some kind of deeper understanding shaped by losing his own father at thirteen and his mother to a second marriage. He had lots of pithy sayings up his sleeve, but this one turned out to be prophetic. This was the one, as the years marched on, that made me wonder: Maybe he knew that he was going to die young.
And if he knew, he practiced what he preached. He was a happy to be alive kind of guy. I was too young to know if he had complaints or regrets, but if he did have them, he did not let on.
It coulda been an epitaph, it coulda be a song.
Nothing lasts forever.
Instead, it ended up being one of the great lessons of my life, to this day.
If only I could have learned it some other way. If only we could fire up the grill this afternoon and crack open a coupla beers. If only I could look at him in the eye and say I’m so glad you’re still here. I’m so grateful I get to call you Dad.
xokod
Love the pic!
🩷