Too many goodbyes

The end of June was a hard time.

Many of you have read the account of KC's tragic accident and untimely death. Our staff were close to him, and the loss was, and continues to be hard to bear.

As KC's life hung in a balance, and we all tried to reach out and offer solace to his loved ones, I suffered a loss that hit even closer to home. I lost my dad.

This is my dad's bike. It is an old Cannondale frame he picked up at a garage sale. Our mechanics converted it for him to make it suitable for an older guy riding on country lanes is Michigan. He was not really a cyclist, but he enjoyed physical activity. He struck a bit of a funny figure on this bike: helmetless, slightly hunched, with a bulbous torso, and improbably long legs.

When I was a kid growing up in Poland, my dad bought me a bike when I was three. I never learned to ride it. I learned on a neighbor's bike when I was eight. He wanted to teach me how to swim. I learned to swim from a book when I was 22. My dad loved the water, and dedicated his early years to the sport of kayak racing. I was never able to mater the art of balancing the sleek teak boats. I only tried a few tentative strokes on the cheap fiberglass counterparts.

When my parents uprooted their lives and moved to the US, they were in their mid-30's, spoke no English, and had no possessions. I'm not sure how much my dad enjoyed Chicago, but he was absolutely awed by Lake Michigan. From the beginning, he dreamed of someday spending his days by the water: swimming, relaxing, building a cabin, paddling, singing into the night by a bonfire on the beach.

We didn't really take sightseeing vacations. We scorned amusement parks and museums. Our most memorable vacations were to the Boundary Waters, and cross-country trips in our VW microbus that took us to the vast waters of the Pacific. My parents celebrated their 20th wedding anniversary surrounded by friends at a roaring fire on the shores of Lake Michigan in the town of Douglas. Then, about fifteen years ago, they discovered true peace and solitude by the water. On a chance trip, they traveled to a little known island on Lake Huron, and they found their paradise.

Initially, they traveled there with a tent and Coleman stove, as their little lot was completely unimproved. Eventually, they built the smallest imaginable cabin, with a footprint of only 240 sf, and spent several weeks each summer at their minuscule and supremely efficient retreat.

My dad had plans for the island house. He started to build its twin, so that they could have more friends and family visit, and so he and my mom could spend more time there as they entered retirement. It was not to be. My dad passed away on Sunday, June 29th, at the age of 67, having lived his life with zest, passion and drive, and left my mom and me with a pang of memories, and plans yet to be completed.

Comments

[Tom]

Wow- I am so sorry to hear about your Dad. A loss like that is hard to express. Thanks for writing so well about him. He sounds like a great guy, and I love his handiwork from the photos above. He must of been quite talented. The cabin looks great!

Blessings on your family and esp. mom. My prayers are with you.

[Charles]

I have no idea who any of you in the bike shop are, or who updates this blog, but I have been reading the blog on and off since I moved to Chicago last august. Right now I am home visiting my family in Texas, and this post really made me want to be sure to be intentional about time spent with my family.

Very sorry for your loss.

[Fritz]

So sorry about your loss and pain all around. First an employee, then your dad.

[Justyna]

Thank you all for your kind words, support and sympathy. It has been very hard to get back to writing ordinary things on this blog. Please bear with me as I muddle through.
I miss him desperately every single day.