Boys Will Be Boys...

...especially when it's allowed, and expected, that they get dirty!  Their first camping trip together was full of rocks, sticks, dirt, climbing, hiking and so on and so forth.  And what a successful trip it was, so much so that I'm all jonesed to take them again this year!

Our home away from home:

The family on the Canyon Overlook Trail:

Football riding easy on the family "pack-mule" (which I really don't mind as he "talks" to me the whole way!):

Zippy and Dude on the trail around the campsite:

A hiking we will go:

The boys try to conquer one of the rocks in the campsite:

And Football makes his triumphant ascent:

Zippy and Dude (again) on the Canyon Overlook trail:

Dude gets his "war paint" going:

As he conquers his own rock field:

Dude checks out the Virgin River near the mouth of The Narrows:

He also decides to get his feet wet after a long hike (this is actually near the Emerald Pools):

The boys and I near The Narrows:

Football decides that all these rocks and splashes are way too fun:

How can you argue with a happy face like that:

Still sportin' the "paint":

In the end, Zippy's all too happy to carry her tired boys:

Good night and see you next time Zion:

As always, there's more over at The Cameramonkey on Facebook!

Gone Fishin'...

 ...for the final time, one year ago today.  My Dad loved to fish and in his last few months of life, even in his... diminished condition, for lack of a better term, his love for his God, his family and his desire to be a "fisher of men" was anything but diminished.  But in this physical world, last year, it was time to reel it in.

  And I remember that dark day like it was yesterday.

  A phone call from Mom, a few days before, told me that Dad was being taken to the hospital, again, and would then be put into a drug induced coma because the pneumonia that had taken a hold of him was so severe. There was the possibility of him... dying.  That he practically was dying.  He could pull through this, but, the harsh reality is this could be the last time I see him.

  We packed up the kids and rushed out to Dad's bedside.  But that wasn't my Dad.  To see him lying there, helpless, relying on a machine to breathe was just so... unreal.  Speechless.  I was dumbfounded.  How could this be my Dad?!   I didn't even want to approach the bed, afraid that my fears would become truth.  But it was him, even I could see that from across the room.  


  Dad?  


  The doctors would come in and tell us that he's on the fence.  What the hell does that mean?!  He could get this and they were trying to stay optimistic that he would.  Hell, he beat cancer, twice.  Damn straight.  But if he goes, he'll go fast.  Shit.  It's just a waiting game now, he's gotta start getting oxygen to his bloodstream on his own.  If he does, things will, and should, improve.  He's stable... for now.  *whew*  Shit.


  On Sunday, we left to head back home in Utah.  WHY?!  We got in at midnight, but I was still back in Colorado, mentally.  How could I not be?  I've got my own family I have to worry about now.  I had such a hard time at work trying to concentrate.  At 1 o'clock, I got that call from Mom.  Ohhhhh God.  


  "Mike?  He's going, they can't do anything more for him.  If they keep up the oxygen, the say it'll do more damage.  They don't know if they can hold onto him in time for you to get back, but you need to get back as soon as possible."


  SHIT.  Dad?!


  I could barely see the highway as I sped back to the station to drop off my reporter.  My boss was sympathetic; "Just go, don't worry about work."  Zippy was throwing the bags back into the car, seeing as we hadn't really unpacked just yet.  She had also found cheap tickets for us to fly back, but even the skies couldn't get us back in time.  We could only make it to the airport in SLC.


  "Mike, the doctors say they should take him off the oxygen.  Any more and they run the risk of having his lungs... pop."
  "Then do it.  Don't make him suffer, let him go."
  "Are you sure?"
  What the hell?!  No I'm not sure!  I don't want my Dad to... die!  What do you think?!
  "Yeah..."  


  As the realization of what was happening hit me like a ton of bricks, I could barely get any words out to say good bye.  Goodbye?!  We get to the curb and I now found myself  weighed down physically with all our bags and the kids' car seats as Zippy runs ahead with both kids to get to the ticket counter.  I had just walked into the doors and Drew, my brother, is on the phone with me.


  "Drew, where's he at?  How's he doing?"
  "Hold on."  I can hear him asking, and then asking again, about Dad.  It's now 5:00pm.
  "He's gone Mike.  Dad... died."


  ...what?

  I dropped to my knees in Terminal 1 at Salt Lake City International Airport in front of total strangers, TSA agents, Airport PD and... cried.


  Why the HELL did I leave?!


  The next week was just a tear-fogged blur.  Planning out Dad's memorial service was unbelievably surreal.  Memorial?!  God, this SUCKS.  I honestly don't remember too much about that week.  Drew worked on a slide show, I was in charge of the bulletin and memory table.  This SUCKS.  But... it didn't.  Wait... what?!  Going through the pictures and things that just screamed "DAD!" put a smile on our faces, made us laugh at stupid memories and, eventually, led us to more tears.


  While it was warming and uplifting as it was to see the throngs of people who showed up to remember Dad, the void was just too obvious.  I can never thank my wife enough for all she did, and has done, since that day.  I'm still grateful to my parents-in-law for coming out.  And to my two friends who drove out and stayed less than 24 hours.  To all those other people, who I didn't know, who came to hug Mom.  Drew's friends and co-workers.  So many people who Dad had touched in one way or another.  Still... it was, and is, too hard to wrap my head around the fact that he was gone.


  As much as I was going to miss him, what breaks my heart the most is the fact the my own two sons, his only grandkids, won't remember him.  Dude was barely old enough for the two of them to really interact and have fun.  Football was only a month old when the two met.  Dammit, now's who's gonna teach 'em the intricate fishing knot?  Or how to hold a Bullhead without cutting your fingers off?  Or spoil 'em with ice cream before dinner?  Or annoy 'em with a cowboy-a-thon starring John Wayne?!  Well, that last one wouldn't be so bad 'cause then I could come in and rescue 'em from crazy ol' Dadu...


  A year later and I've found the answer to all those questions: me.  He taught me and, now, I teach them, pass on what I've learned from my Dad and he'll live on.


  "Stay warm and dry."  The number one camping rule that I've already imprinted on Dude.  So it begins... Live on Pops.  I'm gonna take the boys fishin'... with strawberry dough-ball.


  I'll drop a second line in for you Dad.