Paradise Lost

Dear Dad,

It’s been some time since I’ve written you and I was hoping to change that by taking a few moments to say hullo. While I’m well aware that you do not actually read these letters – and I would be upset if you took time away from Heaven to do so – it brings some semblance of comfort to write, though mainly to give an internal recollection of what has gone on since the day you left us. Dad, it is difficult to be here without you. So many things have happened that I wish you could see and enjoy with your family. You would be proud of the legacy you left behind.

It’s with a somewhat heavy heart that I write to tell you that the four oldest of your children seem to have come to a mutual conclusion and revelation of just how smart of a man you really were. Each of us in our own respects, of course; we all have seen a different aspect of you that we have realized the true value of. Along with this revelation has come the deep sadness that comes with realizing you have lost something truly great. Dad, there will never be another human being on the face of this earth that could ever replace the great man that you were, nor fill the shoes that you were never able to fill. You were truly the smartest man that I have ever had the pleasure of knowing – even more so as I had the honor to be considered your son. You were CEO material, Dad. You should have been there with the best of them.

However, with this “however” being one deeply riddled with remorse and pain, your life did not land in that direction or destination. Anger and bewilderment flood my mind when I think of the incredible projects and products to materialize from your brain. You were a genius in every sense of the word. It’s this “however’ that prevented many of these things from happening.

In a conscious effort to halt myself from writing about what could have been, I bring myself to realize just how much of a gaping hole you have left upon this earth. You were a strong father, friend, mentor, and innovator. I will never forget that many years before Apple ever came up with the “i” line – iPod, iMac, iPhone – it was you that had “iDesign” as your business name. Many years before semi-trucks were equipped with LED taillights, you spoke of changing their design to include this feature. Your mind came up with ideas that had yet to be materialized by those capable of producing them in mass quantity. Your mind belonged at the head of a conference table, speaking these new innovations to a team of product development experts and industrial designers. However. However. However.

While in church, I was thinking about the many Sunday services that were spent sitting next to you. Hearing your voice singing, while encouraging me to sing louder; “I can’t hear you!” you’d nudge. What I cannot forget is the strength and might of your hugs, enveloping the recipient with love. 6’4 and 230lb, you were quite the human being!

Then, there were the days where your strength was not so great. The hugs were no longer full-bodied. And your voice cracked with weakness. I can never forget the moment, at Riverside Hospital, where you gave me a weak handshake. It was the first time in my life that you had ever given a handshake anything less than grip-crushing. I held my composure until I walked into the hallway, Dad.

Perhaps it is not proper or business professional to write you like this. However, I do not care. These letters to you are a very shallow reflection of what goes on inside of my head on a daily basis, as I constantly think of the man that you were to me, your family, and those around you.

It’s very difficult to say that I would like to have you back, as I know your race has been finished and mine only just begun. But, if it would be possible to have you back for just a moment, we would have quite a bit to catch up on. However, there will be a day where we can have the chance to catch up for all of eternity as we swap stories, sharing in the victory that we have both conquered with the life we’ve been given, and enjoy for all of eternity the worship of a Good and Holy G-d. Together.

See you soon, Superman.

Your Son,

Aaron