My Dad Called...

This morning my Dad called. This is nothing unusual, he calls several times a day, every day. But today was different, I had a glimpse of the Dad I use to have. He was happy, asked how the kids and Grant were doing, remembered our conversation from the night before and told me he loved me. I am grateful for these moments with him.

Watching my Dad's struggle with aging, depression and boxed wine has been heartbreaking for my sister and I. So its the little tender mercies, like this morning that I try to hang on to. I found these articles of my Dad's tucked away in an old photo album last week. My Dad loves music, especially Jazz. I am grateful he has shared this love with my sister and I and his Grandchildren...even though it took me until adulthood to agree with him on the Jazz part.

My dad was honoured when he was invited to adjudicate at the Lionel Hampton Jazz Festival, in Moscow, Idaho. Its a Jazz Drummer's heaven there. He has returned year after year for the last 19 years...He will not be returning this year. He is heartbroken that he no longer able to continue.

Dad on the front page of the local Moscow paper Feb 1997

I think my dad is always happiest behind his drum kit or in the front of a lecture hall teaching his "famous" percussion workshop. Its hard for me to except that even these things have become too difficult for him now.

Grant & I were able to travel down in 1997 to see my Dad in action at the festival. It was wonderful for us to share these moments with him.

Article from 1997.... I love my Dad. His love and talent for music has and will always bless our lives. It is a blessing that on his good days, like this morning I can talk to him, but on bad days when my heart breaks for him, I can still listen to his music and the music he taught me to love.