IF DADDY HAD A BUCKET LIST…

My daddy passed away in March 1998 when he was 66 years old.  It seemed awfully young then and now that I am moving in on 60 it seems even younger.  Daddy would have been 79 on August 4^th this year. 

I was thinking about him the other day, wondering what he would have been doing at this time in his life had the cancer not taken him.  Would he be healthy?  Would he be active?

Then I started wondering if he had a “bucket list.”  If so, what would Daddy have wanted to do before he died if he’d had the chance? 

He wasn’t much of a dreamer and never talked much about the things he wanted to do, he just did them.  He was always puttering around doing something, even if it was just cutting wood or digging sassafras root.  He liked going through junk and salvaging interesting pieces.  I guess I get that from him. 

I believe Daddy wanted a simple life and would have liked to be able to live off the land.  He wasn’t a worrier, at least not outwardly.  He loved animals and I believe he would have had all the border collies he could have fed.

His morning coffee was important to him and the last year or so of his life I would stop on my way to work and have a cup with him.  I think that meant a lot to him and I know it did to me. 

I think he would have wanted to still be trading horses and mules and working them on a farm.  I do know one thing he always wanted to do, but never got the chance and that was to go on the annual trail ride to Renfro Valley with his own team of mules and a wagon.

I also know he would have wanted to see his children and grandchildren grow up and have children of their own.  He would have been pleased to know that his only son is the spitting image of him and that my 2 year old grandson looks like his pictures at the same age.

If there was one extravagant thing he could have had, it would have been a new bright red Dodge 4-wheel drive pickup truck.  Daddy had a lot of vehicles in his life but the one he really wanted never came his way. 

I know he wouldn’t have given up on living, because he didn’t, right up until that last day when we took him to the doctor in Danville and on to St. Joseph Hospital.  He kept saying, “I am not giving up Paula, I’m not giving up.” He didn’t come back with us that day, but he wanted to.  He kept saying “take me home, I want to go home.” And that he did.