You Leave Me Smiling Still

Are you still watching me? I don't feel you as much as I used to; since Moomoo died I wonder if you've gone off with her, or possibly chosen to be reborn. She lived for ten years after you died; the abruptness of your death was such a shock to us, that for the first time I was glad I didn't stay in England. But after the shock, and being sad neither of us was with you when you passed over, I realized how lucky you were to die as you lived, doing what you loved. A massive heart-attack while riding Cocoa, your newest horse -- no pain, no suffering, no prolonged convalescence. You would have been a terrible invalid.

Children always believe their fathers are bigger than life, that they can do anything. Growing up teaches us that parents are just people, infallible like us, subject to mistakes and wrong paths. But you never became a disappointment as a father -- throughout my teen years I watched my friends gather around you, love you and want to be a part of your family. It became so extended, that this only child was really a part of a vast network of friends who loved to be in our house.

As an adult, I wondered what drew you and MooMoo together; you were so different in many ways. It was when you told me the story of how you met, in London, that I understood -- she married you because you had a light spirit, you made her laugh -- during the last days of World War II, that was a major quality. And you kept that quality all your life. Perhaps beyond...we knew you took her Milky Way and hid it, just the way you used to -- six months after you died.

People tell me about their childhoods, and I realize how blessed we were. It wasn't a 1950's sitcom existence; you and Moomoo were both too unconventional for that life. That was why people were attracted to both of you; you were living proof that conventionality isn't always a virtue. You were a rebel in so many ways, and I follow in your footsteps. I'm glad you never wanted a son as much as you wanted a daughter.

There is a lot of argument these days about whether parents should spank their children. You and Moomoo never hit me; I remember when I was 3 or 4 years-old, and you planted six new trees in the orchard at the back of the garden. I dug them all up, and when you were angry and asked me why, I told you I was afraid they wouldn't like the cold dirt. I think you had been tempted to spank me when you discovered the uprooted plants, but after the explanation, all you did was laugh.

You smiled and laughed through life...you leave me smiling still.