I remember I had given up on my father, when he went away to prison. I wrote him when I was 13, and I told him I never wanted to see him again. He responded by giving me space, and he reached out again in my mid twenties. I had matured enough by then to let past wrongs go, and embrace what could grow now in the future. I met my father again, and we bonded over good food shared in nice places, over games of pool, visits to parks or to Mount Rainier, and long (sometimes contentious) conversations. I learned about his past, and how his regrets formed him into the man he had become later in life. I will always miss my father, and thank him for what he gave me: The trials and tribulations, and the gifts of his company and his love, both. Life is a rich tapestry of rough times and golden ones, and no man embodied the spirit of chasing after living life to its fullest than my father.
Rest in peace, Dad.
-Brock Petersdorf-Nelson