Pictures in slides
Dad was 82 years old, strong and younger-looking than his years. He was as sharp as he ever was, planning with great detail a trip to Sequoia in August with Mom and their grandson Trevor, when he simply died while working in the back yard. Trevor hopped the fence and found him laying there, and tried CPR with no response. I got the call from my sister Heidi and driving home to pickup my daughter I was in disbelief. It can’t be!! I had planned to see him this weekend, but missed seeing him last week. This isn’t right. He can’t be dead, he has things to do! I wanted to show him my big printer I just bought. FUCK!
My ex-wife Carol drove us quickly to my parents home in Long Beach, and the mortuary was already there to pick him up. I ran into the house and to the back yard, there was a grouping of umbrellas around Dad’s body on the ground, keeping him from the heat of the sun. He looked so normal except the bunch of people lying against him weeping. All these people standing around. I just wanted to be alone with him. Ask him what the hell happened, there has to be a technical explanation for this and he’d know what it was. But eventually we had to help the mortuary guys get him on the gurney, where they took him in a white van to the mortuary.
A few hours later we went to the mortuary for a viewing. Dad and Mom discussed his “upon death” instructions, and did not want a casket, embalming, all that hooey. A simple, immediate cremation in the most efficient way possible, with his ashes kept to take to their pre-arranged spot in the Sequoias was what he wanted, and Mom too. We filled out some more paperwork, and went back to the house.
It was a long night, Mom grieving while making us comfortable in our own grief. Each of us was running the movies back in our heads about our own special relationships with Dad and his family. We each talked about times where Dad was there for us, offered wisdom, kindness and love while we grew old. Dad had many dimensions; he was a true craftsman with anything he set his mind to, his engineering skills giving him logic to help solve problems. But there was this wisdom that came from doing things the right way and the wrong way. He had a strong belief in God and Christ, but was never a religious “church” person. He believed that being as close to the kind of person God wants us to be was the right way to go. Forgiveness is not limited to sin against God, but to each other. It’s never too late to start doing things right, being a better person. He was such a generous man in so many ways; raising a family in tough times, doing special things to make his children well-rounded and learn what this life on planet earth was all about. Our family trips to the mountains, deserts and travel destinations gave us the chance to see what he thought was important about these places he knew so much about. He was a seasoned traveler, saw so many things through WWII and his flight test career. He was a street fighting boy who joined the Marines and saw war at its worst in China. He studied life and cultures in his own way, and was able to navigate the world. He said of prejudice “One guy saying he’s better than another is just silly. In the end, we are all just bags of water.”
My own relationship with Dad went through stages. When I was a child I just did what Dad did because he wanted me to. When I was a teenager, I rebelled naturally and went off to go do things “my way”. When I grew up and became a father, I learned WHY Dad did the things the way he did them, and what it must have been like for him since I was a dad myself. Now that my daughter is a teenager, I learned just how patient he was since I had to become patient too. What I love about Dad was that he loved to learn new things, and computers were always a venue for us to learn together. I enjoyed helping him setup his computers, fix software and help him get his music sorted out. He liked to mix his own CD’s from old recordings, and was proficient in his ’80’s using studio mixing software to finely tune his recordings.
One of the things I owe my Dad is my love of photography, which is something we both shared. He loved shooting and making his own prints, from way back when he shot film and developed Cibachrome prints in his garage darkroom to digital and Photoshop creations. It was his insistence when I was a kid that I learn how these things worked, and even though at the time I was “bored” it stuck with me. He setup lights and did home portraits of our family, in our living room and the backyard. It turned out I got the bug too, and experimented on my own the way he did. I am really grateful that he played along whenever I photographed him, because I have some wonderful shots of him looking rugged and handsome. He was never a grandstander, flashy or showey that way but if there was a camera around he was patient while I setup my shot because he knew what I was doing and would do the same things himself. When his eyes began to fail him, he was determined not to let that rob him of his photography. He just adjusted things in a logical, engineering way; big monitor, different shooting method, take his time.
Dad was educated with various college courses over time and eventually got his degree, but really he was so intelligent and accomplished with his experience that he had “science and streetsmarts” that few people attain. He taught me how to roof a house, paint, drywall, electrical, silversmithing, plumbing, landscaping, car maintenance, carpentry, the first PC, printing and retouching, math (even though I was never much good past adding up my bills…). Above all, he taught me how to be a good man simply because he was one himself. It was important to me that my Dad was proud of my work, because he was responsible for so much of that by giving me the opportunity and encouragement. My Dad’s last communication with me was an email the day before he passed away, saying “Wow, great pix. love, dad.”
I know each of us family members have our own special bond with Dad, and have stories to tell. I thought I’d do mine now that I’ve stopped crying, and before I start crying again.
My young nephew Jakob Weathermon, 20, was killed September 30, 2008 at 5:02pm when he was truck by a big rig in Carson. He and his girlfriend were riding their bicycles through thier green light when the truck struck Jakob as the driver was turning the corner. It is not known whether the driver simply was not looking or if he was unable to see them with a blind spot. The CHP is investigating, but we have no news yet. 
