Well Done, Thou Good And Faithful Servant

My beloved father slipped away from us early this morning,
February 2nd, to join my mother,
and to rest from his long and faithful service here on earth.

We are still stunned; neither his doctors nor his family expected such a quick decline when he was taken to the hospital on Sunday for what we thought would be another of his fix-and-get-better trips.  But Pop had other plans.

Herbert Lindtveit -- May 12, 1920 -- February 2, 2011

These last 3-1/2 years, with him living just minutes from us, have been a gift to me.  I became closer to Pop than ever before and we shared some wonderful, and some difficult, conversations and experiences.
I got to know him very well, on a deeper level than before.

I am grateful for that.  He was a very important part of our lives.

I will miss him, a lot.

A creative, funny, sweet, patient, talented, kind and loving father, we never heard a mean or crude word from him, never an angry scold -- even when one of us surely deserved it.

He taught us to make mistakes, to sin boldly (as Martin Luther said), because that's how you learn, and that the way to begin any project, no matter how big, was by just doing it -- taking that first step.  If it turned out to be the wrong step -- learn from it, be proud you took the chance, and keep going.

He loved kids, and kids loved him -- perhaps because his own childhood was very much alive and kicking right under the surface of his grownup skin.   And if there was a baby in the room, you could be sure that within minutes, it would be Pop who would be holding that little one in his arms.

If today's young Dads think it's a new thing to share in baby care, and diaper and feed and bathe their kids, they are mistaken; our Dad was doing that more than 60 years ago.
 

Our girls believed their Pop-Pop could make or fix anything.  Because he could. As each of his four kids bought their first houses -- those houses that needed pretty much everything fixed -- Pop was there to lend his tools, his hands, his encyclopedic knowledge.  I know we all are wondering  who we're going to ask now, when the heating system makes that funky noise or the bathroom window won't stop rattling or the roof leaks or we hear a mouse in the wall . . . . "Let's ask Pop," isn't an option now.

As  my brothers said today, "We never considered a world without Pop."

I still can't wrap my mind around that fact.  I know it in my head, but not yet in my heart.

I don't know what eternity is like, but I know what I like to believe -- that last January my Mom found it full of wonderful yarn, and that after outfitting Saint Peter and our Saviour with appropriate fisherman knits, she piled up a goodly stack of warm and practical sweaters for my Dad.  "Yes," said my sister Peggy, "but she's also asking him why he didn't call when he knew he was going to be late."

Thanks, Kirby, for the picture of Pop in the Tina.  Women loved him; fish feared him!

As for Dad, there will be a good boat, endless clear warm days, a high tide, and massive schools of fish just waiting to be caught.  And maybe a really good apple pie, and a couple of donuts to fill in the empty spots.

Strawberry Shortcake would be welcome, too.

My phone conversations with my father these past few years usually ended the same way:
(After a brief silence)
Me:  Well, that's all I've got.
Him:  Me too!
Me:  I love you, Dad.
Him:  I love you too, honey.
And I would hear the catch in his voice.

I do indeed love you, Dad, and I'm going to miss you like crazy.  -- Cass