Dear Gus,
I had my “Economic Development” session of Leadership Greater Little Rock today. Long day that started at the airport where we heard from a panel that included folks from the LR Chamber and the Arkansas Economic Development Commission. Then a panel on entrepreneurship, where we heard from the director of the Venture Center and two others. Then we heard from the manager of the airport about how airports work and why we have the flights we do. Then we took a tour of Dassault Falcon Jet where I had to put on a hair net and booties so I could walk around inside a $58 million jet. Then to the port authority where we took a tour.
Last time I had been in that building was at its grand opening–Garver was the engineer on that project. I was there to take pictures. The room was packed. Lots of movers and shakers, lots of politicking around. When I went to the bathroom, I saw a man standing by himself in the corner, away from everyone. For a half-second, I didn’t recognize the man as my father. He was slouched and facing away from the crowd. He was never a man to hide on a day like that. I’d spent my life watching him shake hands with people, but this was after his stroke in 2013. He was back at work, but he wasn’t himself.
“Dad?”
For a half-second, I don’t think he recognized me either. I spent the rest of the event taking pictures, but also keeping an eye on him. I think I knew then that my dad–the version I knew of him–would forever be gone. I got a Little Rock Port Authority pin that day that I put in my pocket. Then I kept it at my desk at work and it became a reminder of the image of my father in that hallway near the bathroom. When I moved desks, I must’ve misplaced it, which I thought was all for the best because why should anyone be reminded of such sadnesses. But then a day later, Sasha brought it to me and I was glad to have it again. I don’t know why. Now I keep it in the pocket of my brown corduroy jacket. Every now and then when I reach from something in that pocket, I accidentally feel that pin and I remember the decline of my father.
If I am granted one hope for my life, it’s that I live fully until the day I die, so that you and Mom can remember me for who I actually am, and not as a distorted version of myself. So that you might never have to think of the time you saw me slouched alone in the corner of a crowded room.
Little Rock, Arkansas. 1.16.2020 - 9.33am.