Three and a half years ago–well, if you’re familiar with this site you know what happened. It’s no secret that I think of my dad Patrick often, and miss him, and–you know, all that stuff. Today however is a bigger milestone. Thirty years ago today my dad John passed away. JPI’m the son of Patrick (more)
With so many different memories and images in my head I thought about writing something on Father’s Day, but instead I spent the time with family and watched little Max and his father Aaron together, glad to be part of that family, a designated grandfather through my connection with Jessica. JPI’m the son of Patrick (more)
This is the transcript of a 12-minute conversation with Patrick, recorded on 8 Oct 2014. Man, I love hearing his voice. The recording is way too long to post here, unfortunately, so you’ll just have to imagine the sounds of our laughter over the clinking of frequently refilled scotch glasses, the zoom-zoom noises he used (more)
Today I spent a very long day in a hospital waiting room. Cheri’s sister-in-law is dying so her family is here to comfort one another, to try and arrange for hospice care so that she could go home for her last hours or days. I’m here to support Cheri. Memories are triggered, free association begins. (more)
Several friends came to visit my house in California recently, so last Sunday we hosted an early Thanksgiving dinner. It was a lovely day with good friends and good weather. (Thanksgiving is a U.S. holiday celebrated on the fourth Thursday of each November.) Naturally I was reminded of the many dinner parties that Patrick and (more)
I admire Patrick greatly, just as I admired John, my grandfather who adopted me. Each of my two fathers had special qualities that I value, and each loved me in their own way. Patrick, however, was mostly absent from my life, and from the lives of my sisters, which worried John immensely. In contrast, John (more)
On 22 December 1990, my adopted father John D Dillon passed away. He was Patrick’s first father-in-law, Donna’s dad, the man I called Granddaddy when I was a wee tyke. After my adoption when I was 12, my new parents and I sat down to discuss naming conventions. I’d been calling him Granddaddy but my (more)
My father spoke to me today He, whose ashes we buried JPI’m the son of Patrick of Meadows.
Both my dads were amazing men. Since this site is dedicated to Patrick and Stephanie, my focus is on those two, but this effort has refreshed and revitalized thoughts of John and Willie. Maybe “refreshed” isn’t the right word since they’re always in my mind, even before Patrick’s suicide. At any rate, I’ve posted a (more)
Here in the U.S. today is Father’s Day. I was lucky. I had two dads, Patrick and John. I lost John in 1990. I still grieve for him, look at his self-portrait and the things he gave me, and ask questions that he can no longer answer, but that loss has lost the harsh edges, (more)
Here’s the transcription of a conversation with Patrick about my mom and some other family members, recorded on 18 March 2017 in a very noisy restaurant. If there’s interest, I’ll convert the audio file to YouTube so you can hear it. Patrick: One of the stories I haven’t really worked on, but I’ve got the title: (more)
The beginnings of a story, date 4 Dec 2013, never completed. Deià was enveloped in mist, the church seemingly sitting atop a cloud as seen from Son Bauzà as we entered the village. C’an Pep Mosso was open but only the bar; the colmado was closed on Sunday. Las Palmeras glowed with interior lights, and (more)
Dedicated to John in ‘7, but applies to Patrick now as well. Today would have been John’s 108th birthday. Fathers whisper With the breeze In long encouraging phrases To offset Somber reminders Each bitter milestone brings Dads encourage children, With each questioning gaze Reflected in our mirrors, To thrive Despite their fatherly absence Parents speak (more)
Here’s a letter I wrote to Pat and Stephanie in early 1991, found in Patrick’s files. Pretty boring stuff, but I do mention John’s death and Mary’s suicide. JPI’m the son of Patrick of Meadows.
It’s no wonder that I shared Patrick’s sense of humor since after he left us I was raised by John and Willie. John’s humor was similarly dry, and his observations concise. By the way, this was written a few months before my first trip to Europe, which was the first time I would see Patrick (more)