by Stephanie Clyde

Created on: January 13, 2009

March 25, 2008 was a day such as any other. It was a beautiful day, the weather was wonderful. After Kevin and the children arrived home from school and work we decided to go for a walk on the property of the house we rented. We were allowed to roam anywhere we wanted on the one hundred ninety-six acres as long as we didn't bother the cattle on the property.

I had purchased a digital camera two weeks prior to this day. Early spring blossoms had started budding. I took pictures from the field next to the house and pictures of the children on the bank of a pond on the property just prior to dusk. Due to the weather I had been unable to take many pictures of the sunset until our walk on the 25th. That day, however, I was determined to get some pictures of dusk. It was such a beautiful sunset. Like none other I had seen, so peaceful and calming. I cannot truly explain the feeling I got from observing this beautiful display of nature.

Upon returning to the house, I noticed there was a message on the machine. Hearing my mothers voice sounding upset, confused, anguished, I knew something was wrong. Calling her back and dreading what she would say, the news still came as a larger blow than expected.

Unbelievably I was calmer than I thought I would be about finding out such news, probably due to not wanting the news to be true. Though we had expected it to happen one day, my dad dying was still incomprehensible. Though he had Agent Orange, diabetes and heart disease (mostly from the Agent Orange and diabetes), I thought he would be with us forever. Being an adult, I knew forever would come to an end. Why did it have to be so soon?

Here I am, nine months later, still unable to properly grieve. I have allowed myself to grieve a little but not like I should. Mostly, I have felt that I needed to be there for my mom. After all, they were married forty-one years. She stood by him while he was away in Vietnam and also while he drove a truck for many years to support our family.

I hadn't really gotten to know my dad until a few years before his passing. Within that time, I learned I could talk to him about almost anything and he was more understandable than I thought he would be. My dad was a wonderful man.

Front line medic in Vietnam earning the Silver Star, Bronze Star with v-device (for valor), father of four children and the strongest man I knew. His passing at the age of fifty-nine was (and still is) hard to bear. He was truly loved and will greatly be missed.

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