May Day Birthday

When I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine?

If I'd been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door,
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

You'll be older too, 
And if you say the word,
I could stay with you.

I could be handy mending a fuse
When your lights have gone.
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride.

Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

Dennis always looked forward to this age,
practicing this song on the guitar
so he could sing it on this birthday
as a real sixty-four year old.

Happy Birthday Dennis.

From Jessica

It is one year later and dad is still with me. He has not faded into ghostly memories or a fuzzy outline of a person that used to live here. I can hear myself using his words and phrases in converstation and I can see myself using his mark making in my own work and I can feel myself using his love. Since the last time I saw dad a mess of events has happened; I made it to senior year, turned 18, got his painting tattooed on me, got into college; We got kittens, we redid the house, somehow we made it work as three girls living together. Even though all of these markers further seperate me from the last time I saw my father and that space will only continue to grow, he's still here.

A note from Tasha

On a day as significant as the anniversary of his death, it is hard not to recall memories of my dad.
In particular, I remember performing the daunting task of washing the dishes-alone, I might add. Generously, dad helped out by drying whilst I washed. We listened to the radio and joked around, which made the chore aspect less noticeable. As we finished up, he said to me,
"You know, when you are older, it is moments like these that you are going to remember. I wish I had more chances to do the dishes with my dad."

Of course, being a kid whose only current thoughts were comparing the task of dish washing to child labor, I brushed it off with something akin to "Uh-huh. Sure."

Today especially, it is hard to ignore that statement, and impossible to deny that there is nothing I want more than to do the dishes with him again. Today on his anniversary, I think it crucial that we all appreciate all the little things we get to do with our loved ones today.

A Day of Honoring

Today is an anniversary of sorts.

I have always thought of anniversaries as joyous occasions, until this anniversary. The first anniversary of Dennis' death.This anniversary has changed my understanding of anniversaries and of joyous occasions and of celebrations. Anniversaries aren't only about joy, they are also about observing, paying attention, and noticing. Things Dennis centered his life upon.

So I will spend this first anniversary observing, paying attention to, and noticing all things Dennis,  paying tribute to the very honorable and joyous life that he embraced and shared with us all.

The Last of the Firsts

As the last of the firsts approaches in February, we all find ourselves pondering a year full of firsts. First birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, parties, traumas, and dramas without Dennis to witness, has been challenging for all.

Our first visit to South Dakota without Dennis to guide us, brought us to the summit of Bear Butte to spread his ashes. Family and friends braved the severe weather conditions to perform this ritual surrounded by a blanket of dense fog. Our climb down brought us to the breaking light on the prairie that Dennis so often painted, drew, and photographed. 

The hard work and determination to get to the summit that each showed on this trek, was testament to the life that Dennis lived. He taught us each well, and we each felt gratitude for all that we learned from him and will continue to embrace.