Andy Williams...Jerry Schneeweiss

Today, I learned that Andy Williams died. I am sure that for many folks who heard the news, "Moon River" emerged in their minds. At least that is what happened for me. And, the significance of that made me pause. Because, I associate that song with my dad. And the memory that was conjured up was a positive one. And, believe me, I do not often conjure up positive memories of my dad.

The memory: 1962 or 63. I was 7 or 8. Roller skating at St. Stephen's (West side of Chicago). Our family would go roller skating every Friday night. My mom and dad would often skate during the pairs segments of the evening. However, when I got better, my dad would occasionally skate with me. We would waltz (requiring each of us to smoothly turn backwards from time-to-time). And, of course, we were going fast (at least to my mind). And, "Moon River" was the song that I remember.

I think I was able to bring up this memory because of something that happened last spring--I decided to look up my dad. I had not seen nor talked to him in 29 years. And, here is what I learned: He died about six years ago.

When I learned this, I went to my favorite place to walk: Lake Mendota. The problem is that it was early spring, the trail was icy and muddy. One spot was so icy and wet that I literally was stuck--could not move without falling down. And I remembered how he would make an ice skating rink in our back yard. And, it was often so slippery that you could not help but fall down. And, how he was more interested in playing hockey with the boys in the neighborhood, than skating with my sisters and me. I was very sad. Sad that we had not connected in so many years. Sad that as a kid, the neighborhood boys seemed more important than my sisters and me.

And, I thought about what I would do, now that I knew this. We all know that achieving closure is much harder once someone has died. I thought I would like to have a memorial service and trying to plan that seemed so difficult. The people in my life are spread all over, and there did not seem to be a way to bring them all together. I had written a letter to my dad and have shared it with a few folks over the phone. And I felt like I still wanted to do something else.

So, here is my something else: I have created this blog post--in my mind, a virtual memorial service. Most importantly to me, I would like to share my letter.

Dear Dad,

It has been a long time. So long and so much distance between us that I did not even know that you had died nearly six years ago. I am sorry we never had a chance to connect before you died. I was too scared of your reaction if I had contacted you and allowed that fear to stop me.

Things were usually not good between us, and I always laid that squarely on you. I now realize that I owned part of our struggles as well. I took everything you’d say as intended to hurt me, put me down, discount me. In reality, all you did is what you did. I made it mean all of that.

My hope is that during the last 25 years of your life, you were happy. I know that you ended up marrying Sylvia. I saw that you were involved in creating a commercial kitchen oven and that you and the team you worked with patented the idea. My hope is that you enjoyed that work.

As I was writing this letter I knew I wanted to include a meaningful quote from someone insightful. I have chosen to paraphrase Kate. You never met Adam and Kate. They are both amazing people. So here goes,

Ten Things I Know to be True

1. I love my mom, my sisters, Rob, and my kids and they love me.

2. Bearded irises are beautiful.

3. Wrigley Field is the best.

4. Minnesota is my favorite.

5. Bruce Springsteen is The Boss.

6. I will always cry when I watch "It's a Wonderful Life" and laugh when I watch “Bull Durham.”

7. Garlic always makes things taste better.

8. I will see every major league baseball stadium before I die.

9. Walking along Lake Mendota brings me peace.

10. I am a strong, smart, beautiful, independent woman.

Now, to further riff on this idea,

Ten Things I Wish You Had Said to Me

1. I loved you, your mom and your sisters.

2. I am sorry I did not attend your wedding.

3. I am proud of you.

4. You are not fat!

5. You and your sisters were incredibly important to me.

6. I think you should take drum lessons.

7. I loved going to Wrigley with you.

8. Most nuns are crazy.

9. Go to college and we will figure out how to pay for it.

10. You are a strong, smart, beautiful, independent woman.

While the gulf between my dad and me was "wider than a mile," today, I realize that I have indeed achieved closure. Andy Williams and "Moon River" made me realize that.

Jerry and Andy: May you both rest in peace.