The Sound of Silence

My father would have turned 61-years-old today. Sixty-one. So young.

Some days it seems like it's been ages since he died, other days it seems like yesterday.

Today was one of those days that seemed like it was a lifetime ago. To realize that he'd just be 61 was a bit of a shock to me. It's such a young age, particularly for a man whose mother is still living at 92, and yet it's been 11 years since he died.

Just a few short years ago, I would have figured out his age by how long it had been since, and how old he was when, he died. This morning I recognized the date and honestly had to think about his birth year to figure out how old he would be today.

It's a strange feeling to realize how time can pass and how hearts can heal. I still yearn for the opportunity to talk to him, but my heart doesn't hurt for it like it once did.

I can't say it enough, so I'll say it again. My father was a truly wonderful man.

He loved his family. He showed us nothing but care, concern and love. He could look at you with the most shame-inducing "I'm Disappointed in You" look one night and the next day smile in that way that only a loving Dad can.

He worked long, hard farm hours to provide his children with all our wildest dreams, but never left us feeling like he didn't have time to play in the pecan orchard.

He once used Roundup to kill the backyard stickers, so that we didn't have to constantly pull them out of our feet. Not recognizing, or maybe not caring, that what he was really doing was killing the grass.

He burned wheat fields by standing in the back of a truck throwing matches over the side while one of the kids drove across the field.

He made swings out of old tractor discs and placed the tallest ladder at the rope's longest length, so we could climb to the ladder's top, jump on the swing and fly so high in the air that we lost our stomachs.

He drank Coors Light. He smoked the occasional cigar. He smiled as big and as loving as you can imagine.

He was depressed.

He suffered, like so many other people in this world, in silence. Afraid to admit his disease. Afraid to even admit that depression is a disease.

That terrible shadow-lurking disease lead to his death. And while the world is less interesting without him, it is better for him being a part of it.

If you are considering, or have ever considered suicide, please visit the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline or call 1-800-273-TALK.

Please. You don't have to suffer in silence.

L.