Goodbye, Dad
We used to joke that my dad was like a cat - a death defying creature with 9 lives. Like when he was struck by lightning (twice). Or when his appendix burst and for 19 days he lived with it, assuming he had the flu. Or when his heart literally stopped, but was revived in the hospital. Or when his blood sugar spiked to a record high of 1400. Or when, shortly after, it dropped to a record low of 17. Or when he was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. He somehow survived it all.
Eventually we started to increase the number of lives he had to 18 and joked about his robotic superhuman powers. We just assumed he would always defy the odds and survive.
Because of this, in some capacity we’ve been preparing for this day for years - too many close calls and brushes with death. But nothing prepares you for the actual day of losing a parent. And in the early morning hours yesterday, my tough and stubborn dad, Harvey Miles, finally succumbed.
My dad was a man who knew how to appreciate the simple joys - an evening drive through the country, a (very) competitive game of Skip Bo, an afternoon at the pond - with a fishing pole and a tub of worms (it didn’t matter if we caught anything). He was a kid at heart and forever the prankster - his favorite prank involved yelling out his car window to unsuspecting passerbys, “Hey, you dropped your pocket!” and driving away, laughing as they aimlessly searched for whatever it was they dropped. He was the ultimate people person, charming strangers with wildly outlandish stories from the good ol days.
I had the honor - and sometimes challenge - of living with my dad during the final few chapters of his life. He had terrible taste in tv shows, preferring daytime television and horrible reality shows, but eventually compromised and witnessed the final season of Game of Thrones alongside me.
We explored the Leelanau Peninsula and the shores of Lake Michigan together, while we listened to Motown or the Beatles. We were regular patrons at Dick’s Pourhouse, where he drank a coke and I drank an IPA and we played rambunctious rounds of Yahtzee while watching Sunday afternoon football.
My dad didn’t have an easy life, but he always made the best of it. His positivity through it all is one of the qualities I most admire in him (and hope to personally carry on). My dad was stubborn til the end, hanging on far beyond what any normal person would, but what else would we expect from a super human robot?
Rest well, dad. I love you and I’ll meet you in Kenamaryesterday at forty-elevandy.
