I'm in a reflective mood today. Anniversaries do that to me.
On July 11, 1996, my father, Tony Thompson, died. He was at home, in his den, surrounded by people who loved him. The cancer was just too advanced. It was his time to go. My brother, not one to ever discuss spirituality, said later he could feel the angels in the room.
Every July 11th since then, I have thought of Dad, but I don't get really weepy any more.
One week later, on July 19, 1996, on the other side of the world, my son was born.
When I was poring over photos of special needs kids in the fall of 2005, I asked God to show me my son. I had no idea which child was mine. The next thing I saw was a photo of Michael, and the birthdate was listed as July 1996. I looked at his little face and that date and thought, ah ha, there he is. He looked just like Bruce at that age, too, so that sealed the deal. I feel like Dad was guiding me to him. I feel Dad is with me very often.
This is a little photo essay about Dad.
Here's Dad in about 1952, a few years before he met Mom. He told me once that the first time he saw Elva Hasty he knew he was going to marry her - I'm sure the fact that she looked like Ingrid Bergman had nothing to do with the decision. She said she knew he was the one, too. (Thank goodness she didn't marry the other guy she was dating at the time, or I would be really short...)
Eventually, along came Bruce and me. Dad said once that after he finished paying off all the school loans for him and Mother, he only had a few years before he started paying for college for me and Bruce. We were fortunate, though - unlike Mom and Dad we didn't have to pay for all our college expenses by ourselves. Dad was there for us.
Although there were many ups and downs in their almost 40 years together, Mother and Dad were best friends. They genuinely liked and respected each other, and that's the basis for a good marriage.
Eventually, Bruce and I grew up. Dad and Mom got a lot of gray in their hair during those years. Coincidence? I think not.
Although I look sort of like the female version of Dad in the above photo, here's something interesting.
Bruce reminds me a lot of Dad. He has the same voice, for one thing.
Bruce also likes to do projects around the house, like Dad. The big difference is that Bruce does things much slower and more methodically, and with a lot less cursing...
I feel very fortunate that my kids have Uncle Bruce in their lives. They have an uncle who adores them, even though they don't have a grandpa.
I will miss Dad every day for the rest of my life. I am blessed to have Bruce as my brother though.
