“I can feel it in my bones.” It’s an old saying that the old folks use when they “feel” something about to happen, has happened, or won’t happen. Or we use it when we simply feel our bones going brittle and hurting. Yeah, I said “we”. I feel it in my bones, too. My late fifties have opened my one good eye to the slow realization that I am slowly, painfully, becoming the “elder” generation. I was recently in the “older” generation, but that seems to have passed. I am the “Old Man” now.
My daddy passed on the 24th of January, 2004. Twenty years ago. I still can’t believe he’s gone. I see him in my mind, and hear him every day. His deep voice telling me “keep getting up, brush it off” and “rub some dirt on it, you’re okay” echos every time I feel like quitting. I look down at my big hands, rough and calloused from years in factory work, and I see his hands. Mine are smaller than his, but I see the resemblance. He was a big man, both in my mind and in real life. He made a mark on all of us kids, his grandchildren, and everyone who knew him. He left a big hole in our lives when he left. Our memories can only cross that gap, it can’t fill it. He was loved. He is missed.
I’m not half the man he was, but I try to emulate him in a lot of ways. I know I can’t be him, because I’m me. The person I am is flavored by what he gave me, though. I hope to be, in my children, and grandchildren’s eyes, at least a fraction of the man I perceive my dad to have been.
Wayne Stone 1939-2004 Pop, we love you.
God bless y’all.
Rolling Stones 