Over The Hill

Today would have been my dad’s 50th birthday. As many of my readers know, my dad died 2 years ago, on November 11th, 2008. If you didn’t know, and maybe even if you did, it is at this point that you have cocked your head to the side, much like my Yorkie does when she is confused by her humans, and have “awwww”ed at me and are feeling sorry. It’s quite alright folks, such a reaction is at this point unnecessary. No need to apologize, you didn’t do it.

As many of you also know, my dad wasn’t an ordinary guy, and so remembering him and his life shouldn’t be done in ordinary ways. We didn’t have a funeral, but more of a memorial service. My dad wasn’t a religious man – he preferred to either pray in the house that Tom Landry built or to the altar of Dale Earnhardt on Sundays, rather than go to a church. The only cross he cared about was putting the crosshairs on the neck of a whitetail.  He had a simple belief that can’t always be taught by a priest – just be a good person. That was good enough for him, and it is good enough for me. So instead of a formal funeral, we just called all that knew him together to tell stories and sing a few songs, and remember the man he really was. Everybody wore camo clothes. Everybody, that is, except for dad’s cousin DW, who famously showed up in his best suit. Somehow, DW managed to miss the memo about wearing camo that the 600+ other attendees got. He was certainly the best dressed there, and will never live it down.

Anyway, dad was cremated, and his ashes scattered at my family’s ranch in front of his favorite hunting spot. The ranch was one of his favorite places.  The box that had contained his ashes was buried at our camp site, along with a few photos and mementos. A cinder block, holding up a pole upon which an empty beer can had been hung upside down marked the spot. My mom and I recently had a slightly more permanent (but only marginally classier) marker made. It’s a round stepping stone, upon which a tile mosaic was done. It’s gray with blue tile. In the center is the Dallas Cowboys star, which on either side is flanked by the dates of his birth and death. Above the star is our ranch’s logo, and below are his initials. Around the edge, on the top and around the sides . . . is a line of beer can pull tabs. In other words, it's perfect.  No ordinary man, no ordinary marker. Instead of following the typical, traditional routes, his memorial and burial were all done in a way I think he particularly would have appreciated.

The only beauty in these situations is that we are all already given the traits we need to deal with it in our own special fashions. For my family, it’s been done mostly through humor. Like, you know that old joke, “I’d rather be over the hill than buried under it”? You see where this is going, I won’t shock the conscience. The point is, we can laugh, talk, and make jokes about it, and that’s what helps us through. We may say things you think are shocking. You may be horrified by the things we think are funny.  But that’s the point – it’s our loss, it’s our grief, and we deal with it in the best way we know how.