The Dad lives on in stories, memories

The silence is deafening.

We lost my dad, Tom Dobson, on April 11. He was 80 years old, and filled with the same impish spirit that day, just like he was for his entire time on earth.

He was ready. We were not.

There are moments when the silence is absolutely overwhelming. I miss his snarky comments (and there were loads). I miss the eye rolls (again, loads). I miss the grin (carried on through generations of Dobsons). I miss talking to him. Well, I still talk to him; I miss his answers.

The Dad had groupies, still has groupies. He has been the subject of sermons and stories for decades. Decades. Come on, he gave me so much to work with; it would be impossible to not have stories. I see bits and pieces of my dad in my brothers and sister. I see his grin (and goofy behavior) in my youngest nephew, Gavin.

There have been so many life lessons from him that it is hard to pinpoint “the best” one. I was asked recently to share “the best ever story of The Dad,” and had a moment where grief just overwhelmed me. And that grief gave way to a sense of wonder and joy. I have an entire lifetime of “the best ever story of The Dad.”

At some point, he transformed from being Dad to The Dad, the ordinary guy who was just so much fun to be around, and who loved God, and friends and family. To look at him, he seemed to be a straight-laced military guy, who happened to be a volunteer fireman and about a million other things. To know him, you discovered he was all that and so much more.

I started telling stories about him because they were just so funny and sweet, and he had so much wisdom and goofiness to share I couldn’t help myself.

Now as family and friends gather, we’re telling the old favorites and discovering new stories about The Dad. And we’ve uncovered some wonderful photos we didn’t know existed. Through tears and laughter, family and friends hold on to those memories and stories. Navigating through grief is a twisted process. But in the midst of it, I’ve had my own lightbulb moment, courtesy of The Dad. Grief shared is love multiplied. And isn’t that the best legacy of all, to love and be loved?

We carry with us all of the memories and stories and love we’ve shared over the years with The Dad. And I think that he carried those same memories and stories and love as he made the journey from here to the heavens.

We love you to the moon and back, Dad.

Patti Dobson writes about faith for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact her at: [email protected]