My dad, Don R. Walker, passed away yesterday, with my sister and brother, Helen and Doug, by his side. He was 86 years old. As my sister mentioned in her message to relatives and friends, my dad was proud to be a veteran who served in the US Army during World War II. He was born in Missouri, and met my mom, Priscilla, when he was stationed near San Diego. They married in December 1942. They celebrated their 59th anniversary a few months before my mom’s death in 2002.
It’s a strange feeling when both your parents have passed, a kind of changing of the guard between generations. And yet, immersed in memories at the moment, in many ways I still feel like a child.
I think my parents were two very lucky people to get to be together so long, and they gave lots of love to others, especially their children, their grandchildren, and great grandchildren, as well as foster children they cared for before their own came along. They lived most of their married life in California, except for several years in Oregon, where my three older siblings were born, and a few weeks that I barely remember in Arizona. Our vacations when I was young were road trips, with my dad at the wheel.
For most of his working life, in fact, my dad was a truck driver, mostly driving cement mixers. Concrete lasts quite some time, so it’s possible there are remnants of his work remaining all over parts of Oregon and Southern California. But the most important legacies he leaves behind are the memories that we, his offspring, family, and friends, hold dear.
In 2006 I wrote my dad a Father’s Day letter that touched him so much he read it to numerous people, including his and my sister’s dentist. That’s the kind of guy he was. He had friends everywhere.
I’m sharing that letter below, along with a photo I took of my dad at a family reunion in 2007. (As usual, click on the thumbnail image for a larger view.)
In remembrance:
Dear Dad,
Some of my earliest memories are of waking up on cold mornings in Oregon in the secure knowledge that you already had a fire going, that you’d ventured into the cold morning before anyone else to warm up the house. Then there were those fish ponds that froze over one winter, and the big aquarium in the living room.
Fish. Fish dinners. Fishing. Pictures of family members and friends with fish they’d caught all lined up on the front lawn. Wading in a river to fish. Standing on a pier to fish. Waiting under a full moon for the grunion to run.
I remember drives, too. Lots of long drives to places I never would’ve seen any other way. Stopping by the side of the road sometimes to sleep with eighteen-wheelers whining past in the dark. Mattresses on the floors of motel rooms, long freight trains keeping us awake. Watching the road out the window in the upper bunk of the camper. The other day I saw a DVD player for kids to use in a car, and I felt sorry for any kids who don’t just look out the window and actually see where they’re going. Watch a movie while Dad drives? But there’s so much of the world to see out a car or camper window.
Fishing. The fire fall at Yosemite. Weekends in the desert at Red Hill or Salton Sea. Camping in the redwoods and listening for bears at night. Almost getting struck by lightning in Cuyamaca, but not, because somehow Dad knew. Finding wild roses growing along a creek. Attempting to camp with a cat. The night at Virginia Creek, after a day spent fishing, when we heard the rumble of a big herd of dusty sheep that came down to drink, then rumbled away leaving another cloud of dust and muddy water. Succulent fresh trout for dinner outdoors. Fishing.
I wrote a book in which a man whose son had died regretted that he hadn’t fished more with his son. That’s certainly not a worry in our family. We did lots of fishing. Funny thing is, in all those years I don’t think I caught a single fish—but I sure had a good time.
Thank you for giving me so many pleasant childhood memories.
I’m very sorry to hear about your dad. I never know what to say because words don’t really seem adequate. Those are wonderful memories your dad gave you though. Wonderful experiences. And, yeah, the kinds of experiences that kids don’t seem to have very often these days. My dad died four years ago, this month. He did take me fishing a few times, although I wasn’t much of a sportsman! I remember him playing baseball with me and teaching me stuff about art, him being a painter. It’s good your dad knew his efforts were appreciated. That’s certainly important. I guess our relationships are all destined to end and we have to try to be content, when the time comes, that the relationship was a good one.
I’m so sorry. “It’s a strange feeling when both your parents have passed, a kind of changing of the guard between generations”. It felt as if I was on the front lines, when both my parents passed.
I was supposed to be an adult; yet I have never felt more like a child at that time.
Please take care of yourself, Barbara.
Barbara, thank you for sharing this post with us, and your letter. Please take care ~ Isthmus
We share some of the same memories. You and I put some miles on that top bunk of that camper looking out at the world. Love, Doug
Oh Barbara, I’m so very sorry for the loss of your dad. I well understand the feeling of change when both parents are gone; it surprised me to have the realization that I felt like an orphan.
You have some great memories and that will help you through the transition of life without him.
Dear Barbara,
Thanks for having this blog here open for comments. I miss him so much and I know you and Doug feel the same way. And so many warm wished from relatives and our friends wishing us well is a great solace.
The obit is in the paper today and I just read it. As I read the paper I look at his favorite sections I used to bring to him to read, and for a second I start to separate out the paper then realize I dont need do that anymore. Little things like that keep hitting me but it is ok as I feel him there with me.
Since 2002 after Mom’s death, Dad and I became so much closer, probably reaching out to fill the gap with her gone. Jasmine has been over here a lot as she is working close by thru this week, it has been lovely to have her here at this time. I gave the brand new harmonica (that I got Dad two days before he passed) and his old harmonica to Zach and Nathan, they were thrilled as it reminds them of camping with Grandma and Grandpa, and they would listen to him play it at night. It is something how those camping memories really stick!
He was very excited about the new harmonica and wanted to practice playing it for Thanksgiving day. Thanksgiving day will now always be a Celebration of Life day to me as Dad struggled to have a lovely time with us. The last thing he ate was pumpkin pie and ice-cream with coffee and that brings a smile to my face.
Love & hugs, Helen
Dear Helen, Barbara and Doug,
You all know how I feel about your loss. I was 14 when Priscilla and Don were married on that rainy winter night. It was my birthday and that was 67 years ago. Don was like an older brother to me. Thanks for the memories. Aunt Dot
Dear Helen, Barbara and Doug,
I had the pleasure of meeting your Dad just one time. I remember what a great and funny story teller he was. After reading about all the travel, camping and fishing fun-times your family shared, I realize he was a very special and loving father. You are so blessed to have had him for all these years. I hope that knowledge sustains you until you meet up again.
– Sierra Jude Marston
Dear Barbara,Helen and Doug.
I loved the letters and made me feel so good as I did not get to be with you all as much as I would have liked.
I seemed to have messed up again. I did not finish and somehow I hit something wrong and lost you. Don and I were the closest as we were the ones who were together when the Walker kids were split up. I have so many memories of that time. I loved Don and loved your Mother, she was a wonderful wife to my brother and Don was a wonderful Dad to the three of you and Nancy and Jerry. The picture of Don was great, looked so like him. I was so sorry that I did not say something at your Mom’s Memorial. Please keep in touch. I am all alone now except for Karen and Lee. All my siblings are gone and so are Jack’s.
Much love. God Bless each of you.
Aunt Dorothy Bills.
Thank you, everyone that has shared thoughts or special memories about Dad. I’m sure I speak for Helen and Doug as well in saying we appreciate your posts more than words can properly express.
Love,
Barbara
Barbara: My heart is heavy with the sorrow of your father’s passing. Like Eric, words are so hard to put together. Your letter to your father was a delight to read. How much pleasure it must have given him!
I have yet to lose either of my parents. They are both 83, healthy and enjoying life. Frankly, I live in a bubble of denial that someday they won’t be here with me – it just doesn’t seem possible. Until that time, like you, I’m very attentive and full of gratitide. My mother moved in with me on December 1st. We’re both thrilled.
Much love to you and your family, Reenie
Thank you, Reenie.