A post from the past

Posted on September 6, 2026 by jtravisthompson

3 Jan 2020

I’m sitting in the red chair tucked in the corner of the only “living room” we have at the moment. Our house has been partitioned off for the past six months as construction on our kitchen and normal living area takes place. Surprisingly we’ve adapted to the strange layout of our house. As winter continues to progress and the finish line for construction moves further into the future, we grow eager to have a functioning home again, whatever and whenever that may be.

Our cat is busy rifling thru one of the kids lunch bags. Probably because my oldest forgot to empty it upon getting home. They spent the day in art camp, something to get them out of the house while providing a brief moment of relief for their parents.

The weather today was mild with temps in the mid 50’s but it rained off and on all day. I often forget each spring and summer how many “gray” days this part of the world endures. Though I dream of distant lands like the Northlands above Auckland, my reality is here. We have lived here long enough to know and expect when spring has sprung. Still, it seems to catch me by surprise every year.

This past Christmas, despite having the means, motivation, and time to travel somewhere nice, we decided to stay home. What hung in the air but wasn’t said, this might be the last Christmas we will have with my father.

On Christmas eve, we made a short trip to visit my parents. Dad’s illness has progressed in a logarithmic pattern over the past five years. While he still recognizes who I am and proudly says my name, we haven’t had a normal conversation in over a year. During this visit, I wanted to give my mother somewhat of a break from his care, so I took the night shift during our stay. In the few months since my last visit, something has clearly changed. He walks with much difficulty. Getting him up and down the stairs is a twenty minute endeavor requiring at least two strong and able bodied care takers. It makes me worry for my mother who seems to have lost even more weight since I last saw her.

I have more or less made peace with his disease and I often harbor guilty thoughts of him passing peacefully in the night. My pragmatic and stoic side tells me that his current progression is not headed to a favorable outcome, though my heart and child emotions tell me to preserve every moment while I can. I think it will just be and one day I’ll get a call telling me what I’ve known for quite some time. This is as it probably should be, though I miss him terribly.

This past year was a very memorable one for me and my immediate family. I distinctly recall a night a few days into our summer camping trip when it all seemed to click. I recall the moment very clearly as my lovely wife and I were snuggled up under the stars in a lovely campsite called deer creek, looking up at the stars that blanketed the southern Utah skies. Our kids were asleep in the tent next to ours and all seemed at peace in the world. Most of my days are spent in my head reflecting on past actions or planning ahead for future ones. Rarely do I get the pleasure nor awareness to spend time “in the moment.” For once in my life, I think I was where I was supposed to be, surrounded by the people I needed and who needed me, doing exactly what I was supposed to do. I captured the experience in my mind as best I could. Knowing something is great while it is happening is more rare than I ever imagined. The acknowledgement of that thought rippled through my mind and has left an indelible mark on my conscience long after we departed camp.

Since then, I’ve let some stuff go. I don’t plan ahead as much. I made strides to stop dwelling on the past. I’ve tried to incorporate deliberate actions and behaviors into my life. I take notice of the daily pleasures and to treat my life as a privilege that it is. Maybe this is what happens when you reach a certain age and level of security. Maybe life is a like a rocket mid flight. At some point you’re gonna go where you’re gonna go. Best to sit back and enjoy the ride.

By any measure, I have a great life with wonderful people surrounded by a bounty of comfort and resources. I once thought you’ve made it in life when you have enough money to have Starbucks whenever you want. Lately I’ve amended that statement to say, you’ve made it in life when you can enjoy Starbucks whenever you want with a close friend.

I have a lot of things in life that I want to dedicate more time too. I want to be a better father to my sons though how one becomes a better father isn’t as straight forward as I thought. I think it means to be more present in their lives. In reality, I just hope to be a part of their world for as long as I can. I hope that they come to me for advice or to show off their accomplishments.

That’s about all I can ramble on for now. I’ve put off these types of journal entries for a very long time because I often fear the words that will transpire, or that it will become one additional habit (like running and meditation that are selfish pursuits that take time away from my family). One can be too “self helpy” and miss out on just being with your loved ones.

Post Script (September 2026) – My father lived for another year before passing in the summer of 2021.

Father’s Day 2026

Posted on June 20, 2026 by jtravisthompson

It has been a long time since my last conversation with my father. I think about him often and memories of him surface at random moments in my life. Just the other day, I was walking along the harbor in San Diego looking at the various naval vessels cruising in and out of the bay. In a flash I was overwhelmed the memory of his voice. Had he been next to me in that moment, he wouldn’t have been able to control his urge to tell me all about each ship. The name, class, year it was likely commissioned, and how many men it took to sail, etc. This coming from a man who never served in the Navy due to a faulty spine damaged by childhood polio. Nonetheless, he grew up Navy as the son of two WWII Navy veterans.

Today, I’m a father with sons of my own. Oddly, I do not identify nor think of myself much as a father. Yet my time, commitments, and life revolve around my family and especially my boys. At the moment, we are together as a family, camped out of a hotel, on a three day trip for their sport. Many fathers I assume can relate, hours spent in some random Fairfield Inn room filled with laundry and leftover takeout containers. All of this for the baseball, soccer, basketball, or whatever tournament where other parents get to experience the ups and downs of their children’s athletic endeavors.

My dad never got to know my sons. I often wondered what he would think of their character and my efforts to parent them. I bet he would laugh at some of my tactics that were clearly passed on from his own unique style of parenting. Growing up, if my sisters or I ever did something that he did not approve of, he rarely became angry. Instead he often would launch into some story about our “older” siblings who “committed that act” and were never seen or heard from again. Though I’ve been tempted to guilt and create the same fear in my own kids, I lacked his stern poker face when telling outright lies.

My closeness with my dad had ups and downs like any paternal relationship. We were two males confined to a household dominated by intelligent, cunning, yet often unstable women. On many occasions, we would find each other wandering outside the house or hiding in the garage wondering when it might be safe to go back in. We also spent a lot of time together in the car traveling to and from various commutes that defined life in our rural area. I tolerated his music which tended to be the happy go lucky Motown and rock-a-billy stuff that grew tiresome after two songs. As a child in the 80’s, one can only take so many Beach Boys songs. As I grew older I found the courage to get him to move the dial away from the oldies to sports talk radio or on special occasion, classic rock.

Before long, I became a young adult and left for college. Our relationship matured and he would make the six hour drive every few months to visit. He’d buy me a nice dinner and we would spend the weekend at a baseball game or catch a movie at the local AMC. I worked for him in the summers and we managed to make time for one another when other sons might have chosen to avoid their fathers. Though we had each other’s phone numbers, i don’t recall many conversations in that medium, our talks were reserved for in person. These long form conversations often accompanied various “projects” like yard work or some home improvement job. I do not know what other sons talked to their fathers about, but dad and me chatted about life, relationships, work, philosophy, and the simple pleasures in life.

I distinctly remember the last time I we spent a “moment” like this together. I had picked him up from something in town and had planned to drive him back to his house. At the time my mother was very ill, and my sisters and I were together load managing the crisis. I was responsible for dad that day. I helped him into my car and I put on some music that reminded me of him. “California Dreaming” came on and he started to softly sing along, something he did often while driving. By now, my father was years into his dementia and we hadn’t had a real conversation in a very long time. I held his hand and we took the long way home with the windows down. I didn’t change the station.

I love my sons. I wonder if they think of me as much as I think of my dad. I hope someday we develop a similar bond and go on walks or do “projects” together while talking about life. I hope that I get to meet their spouses, sons and daughters. I hope that one day, a song comes on and they think of me.

Happy Father’s day dad, I miss you.