Posted by Jim Powell on April 20, 2002 at 23:57:02 from 206.42.160.150 :
I parked my rental car at 124 Jewett today, Dad. I was afraid to go back there, I hadn't been there in almost a year... I wasn't sure what I expected to see... maybe I was afraid that it would be different. That perhaps it was somehow turned into a Holiday Inn or something other than what it meant to so many people for so many years. But my fears were groundless, the house looked pretty much the same except for a big wooden fence out by the garage, and a very majestic Siberian Husky back by the pool. So, I set out from there to take my first Ed Powell memorial walk around Delaware Park. You spoke to me some time ago about “cycles” and even recommended a book to me about it. As I started my lap around the park I thought about all the times, day after day, year after year that you ran, jogged, and walked this route. As I looked at the trees, budding furiously in the wake of the warmth that’s rushed through the northeast this past week, I remembered all the times I’d spent in that park. I saw the “rock” in the middle of the golf course that used to attract my friends and I as eight year olds… scaling its heights to swing from the flagpole. I remember the entrance to the Zoo, hiding in the bird coop of sorts, and meeting the Notaros. I remember the picture of you and Stephen from the paper jogging around the park, with such an expression of joy captured on Steve’s face by the photographer. I remember the blizzard of ’77 and the frozen mound of snow and trash heaped in the west end of the park near the expressway and Delaware Ave. I remember walking around it with you in later years, in my 20’s, telling you about my budding career in far flung parts of the country, in my 30’s talking to you about what I really wanted to do with my life and now well into my 40’s talking to you about your life, and about how much had happened for us both. You were always always always there for me Dad. Never did you ever let me down, or disappoint me. I remember when your Dad died. You were around my age I guess. I remember thinking briefly that “jeez, maybe my Dad will die someday” but the thought was quickly banished. And now I remember that conversation we had last January when we went to go see Billy Elliot. I remember thinking at the time, as I watched you hobble upstairs to the restroom before we went into the movie – I remember thinking that I didn’t know how much longer you were going to live. I didn’t feel that with any foreboding, just uncertainty. So we talked about your epitaph and it wasn’t that hard to do. We had that great time together in the kitchen during that visit too. And then you came out to Hawaii and everything seemed fine, when we parted that day and I saw alive the last time, there wasn’t one thought in my mind that maybe this’d be the last time I’d see you. And just a few short weeks later came the call from Karen, and you were gone. So, by now I’m half way around the park, thinking about cycles and how you and I shared the last 45 cycles on this earth together and wondering about what the remainder of my cycles hold for me. All I know is this undying gratitude I feel for all you did in your life. You made my life something so special, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to your being gone, yet you’re so much a part of me I know I’ll never lose that. And so another cycle turns today as Stephen and your grandson Max are driving back together from Washington, when they scattered some of your ashes along the protest march that took place. They visited with B. Wardlaw and stopped by the Library of Congress, and it was good. You were remembered in such a fitting way by so many people. I’ll go back to Hawaii soon, and my cycles will continue, leaving Buffalo behind I think for quite a while. This chapter draws to a close, and I guess all I can say is Goodnite Dad, I love you.