Oh boy, where do I start?
He taught me the beauty and power of nature. He made me into the lover of nature I am. Maybe more than he had hoped for, as he often called me a crazy environmentalist. He thought I loved nature too much at times. And that my favorite nature author, Henry David Thoreau, was just a touch over the edge.
He taught me to be brave. Which is probably one of the most useful skills he taught me. It has helped me in so many aspects of my life.
He taught me to appreciate a good thunderstorm.
So it was quite ironic that the morning I set out to head toward his wake my morning run conisided with a thunderstorm. A mile out the sky opened up. I was caught in a downpour and completely drenched in thirty seconds. I could hear him questioning my decision to run on that particular morning. Then the thunder started -- I heard him even louder cautioning on being near water in a storm, so I sprinted home.
Most of my life I had a close relationship with my Dad, but not so much the rest of my family. His wake and funeral provided closure for me in more ways than one. And also allowed me to see that life is heading in a new direction. Time to write a new chapter. But where to go from here...
I wasn't given the opportunity to speak at his funeral, but this is what I would have liked to have shared:
As a little girl he taught me to be brave and not to fear the dark and thunderstorms, to appreciate nature, family, friends and life. But most of all how to love and appreciate your children.
Dad was the most amazing man I ever knew. He loved nature, and was kind and friendly to everyone, even those he didn't particularly like. Everyone loved my Dad. I never met anyone who ever said a bad thing about him. Every man I ever dated, the man I married and later divorced, always liked him and remained friendly with him, because he was that kind of man. He loved his family, past, present and future. Everyone I told of his passing said to me "he was such a great man."
He was a lover of art, poetry, music, books, nature and life.
He was an artist and a poet. As a little girl I would sit in his studio in the basement and watch him paint and draw for hours. We never really said anything. I just watched him. Every once in a while he would call me over and show me how to "see" certain things. I attribute this to my ability to see things at a deeper level today. I watched him design the house that he and my mother grew old together in. Building each room carefully and skillfully.
He could recite a poem right out of his head. When I was young he would recite
"The Duel" over and over. I think he recited that poem to every child in our family. One of my favorite poems he would recite was Robert Frost "
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" most often at bedtime. I still remember how he would say the last lines… "and miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep." I brought a book of Emily Dickinson poems one day whenI came to visit and he started reciting her work and telling me about her life. He also wrote the most beautiful poems from the depths of his heart about those he loved most -- his family and my mother. The last birthday card he sent me, was the most beautifully written card. I knew, as I read it, it was to be the last one he would send. I think he did too.
He loved music. I remember listening to Herb Alpert and Rosemary Clooney, Frank Sinatra and various other swing tunes. He always had the stereo playing; wanting to teach me the jitterbug. I was always amused listening to him sing "Yesterday" in the shower at the top of his lungs. My daughter, Jamie, called him a crooner because she loved the way he would sing the hits of the swing era. He was definitely a crooner.
He was a great story teller, he told stories of growing up that were full of detail and humor. He could take you back to when he was a young boy in a second. You could see and feel his experiences through his story telling. The antics of him and his siblings growing up in the 40's. I always loved to hear about his life as a kid. It provided such insight into who he was as a man. It wasn't always a happy story, but it was always well told and entertaining; full of historical facts and adventure.
The last time I came to visit Dad we went to
Jug Bay, and
Merkle Wildlife Area. We walked around the area and he pointed out birds and plants and fish as we walked along the path. He pulled up his binoculars and showed me the house from the other side of the river. He sat and watched the birds as I took photos of them and the area, and of him. It always amazed me how he could point out points of interest from where ever he was. He always knew exactly where he was. Where north, south, east and west were. Although leaving there he did tell me me to turn the wrong way, because the GPS was wrong, and we got lost for a few minutes. He, of course would deny this. "We just took a detour." Because he knew I caught his sense of exploring. He loved being in nature. When I drove across the country I later visited him we went through every place I explored. I told him about each area. He said it was like being there looking at my photos. I wished he could have been with me. I know I would have seen and learned so much more. I thought it was ironic that the painting in the hall of the funeral home looks just like MWA. I paused when I saw it and reflected on that day with him. A day I will always treasure.
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| Watching geese at Merkle |
He had the knowledge of one hundred men! He always knew the answer to everything. Driving down from New England Chris kept asking me questions about the area. I would reply, "I don't know, but my Dad would have." He knew every bird that flew in the sky, every fish that swam in the ocean, river and lake he went to. He taught me to respect the praying mantis. And locusts. And snakes. And that collecting insects and turtles was alright, as long as I returned them. He knew the history of every place he visited. He loved lighthouses, the ocean, and the Maryland coast. He said that Maryland was the best state in the union. That the sun always shined in Calvert County. It was true the day of his funeral, the sun was shining bright. It was a beautiful blue sky, with puffy white clouds, and Chris, who unfortunately never met my Dad, saw a group of turtles sitting on a log near the shore of a pond not far from where he was laid to rest, and said "your dad would like that," I said he sure would.
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| Dad and Bean blowing bubbles. |
As a grown woman he taught me to be brave and not to fear the dark, to enjoy thunderstorms, to appreciate nature, family, friends and life. To accept your children as they are and love your grand children with all your heart. And that I was cared for and taught how to live life by an extraordinary man.
Robert Riggins
June 6, 1930 ~ August 28, 2013
