You can handle it, bud.

I'm sitting in an airport hotel room in Denver. This morning Norm and I had one last breakfast at Carvers in Winter Park before cleaning up the condo and starting the drive towards Denver. I wasn't feeling very well this morning emotionally anyway when I returned my sister's phone call from the day before. She answered and was at my parents' house. She said my dad has gotten much, much worse. Immediately I felt awful that I was so far away. He can't help himself in or out of bed and my brother-in-law is due to be there this evening to take down his bed and set up a hospital bed in his room. Words can't express the emotions, feelings, memories and thoughts that race through my mind at lightning speed regarding all of this. As my sister and I were talking I kept losing the cell signal as our car was winding through Berthoud pass in a snow storm. I really wanted to talk to my dad. I kept calling back even though we were constantly being disconnected. My sister said that dad couldn't really talk, that he was out of it and not making any sense. We got disconnected one last time and I lost the signal for good. I set down the phone and tears began flowing down my face. I cannot express how much I'm going to miss him. I already miss him and he's not even "gone" yet. He's become my very best friend. I can't elucidate how grateful I am for the past five years I've had with him. I've gotten to spend that time with him as a sober adult. We've had adventures and lots of regular old everyday times like sitting out in the garage watching the rain fall together. I know I'll never be the same. I know my life will change irrevocably when he passes. I've been so blessed to have him as my father. Although I'm sure I'm pretty biased I can honestly say that he is the best person I have ever known in my entire life. And I doubt anyone knew him as well as me. Over these past several years I've gotten to know my father as a man, as a person, rather than just as a parent. If I can become even half the man my father has been I will be okay.

During this time here in CO I allowed my mind to wander and not dwell on my father's decline. I meditated on my youth and long gone dreams of a rebirth out West. This is beautiful country. I love it here. But it's not my country. I don't belong here. I like being a visitor here. I know where I belong and that is in the American Southeast, in Appalachia, in West Virginia, on my family's farm. Other than being at my mother and father's side right now there is no place I'd rather be than at the Farm in West Virginia. I've made up my mind and that is where I'm going to go. I'm not sure when exactly I'll be able to make the move. I have my family to consider and my mother is going to need a LOT of love and care. But I'm through playing games with my life. I'm through pissing away the days thinking I'll make my dreams come true tomorrow. I'm finished existing. I'm fully ready to start living and I know where I want and am meant to live. I've always known but it's taken all these years of trial, error, and experience to hammer home these truths.

As I sat in Carvers restaurant in Winter Park this morning I took in the tiny cafe. I counted the seats: 38. Two servers. The food was exceptional yet simple. The staff was friendly and more than competent. It's a tiny little roadside mountain cafe. It is EXACTLY the type of restaurant I want to open in West Virginia near Winterplace Ski Resort. And that is exactly what I'm going to do. Come hell or high water or both it will be done. And I know my father will look down with pride at the life I will finally have created for myself. I know he will be right there with me, his strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, a big, proud smile on his face saying to me "You can handle it can't ya, bud!" Yes I can, dad. Yes I can. Because I had the best teacher in the entire world. The best dad that ever was.