February 11, 1992

That's the date that my father left this planet. . . for a heavenly home and I don't begrudge him that at all.
I had to go to my father's grave today. Now that may not seem unusual, given that it's Father's Day, however, I seldom go. Today I was drawn there. I had a need to see his name engraved indelibly on a bronze plaque. While his name is and always shall be engraved in my heart, I wanted to know that other people, in years to come, might pause and consider that name.
What they cannot know is the man behind the name and what he stood for and who he loved. He was the nicest person I've ever known. Oh, he had his moments, but I've never heard anyone say an unkind word about him. He never yelled at me - ever. He always understood me. He is quite possibly the only person who has ever really understood me in my entirety. We could work side by side for hours in the yard and have a wonderful time. I would choose to spend time with him in whatever endeavor he was doing. I idolized and loved my Dad more than anyone could ever know.
So, I had to see that name written down today. And I cried. I don't usually cry over my loss. When I think about Daddy it's usually happy thoughts, jovial laughs, beautiful singing - today, I mourn my loss. It's been 16 years. Isn't it funny? You would think that time would heal the hole that he filled or that someone else could fill it. Never. There is a Daddy sized hole right in the middle of my being. I've needed him so much in the last few years. He was so able to explain things so clearly. He would be on my side no matter what - even if I was wrong. I miss him very much.
So, if you are ever in Davidsonville and want to gaze upon the name of a truly good man go to Lakemont, find the Bible with the 23rd Psalm on it, look to your right, find a cedar tree, and walk down the hill a ways. . . Philip H. Beloved husband and father June 12, 1935 February 11, 1992
Love you Daddy