A couple days ago, as I was coming out of the doctor's office, I finally caught on the air the scent that I knew was coming.  For me, Spring is heralded by a smell.  I can't really describe it... it's damp, a little pungent... it smells like the world thawing out and coming back to life.  For me it is typically the otherwise unnoticed boundary that marks the transition from Winter to Spring.  And, as with every joyful moment these days, I was immediately filled with a tremendous sadness that my Dad couldn't be there to enjoy it, that I couldn't phone him up or send him an e-mail about it.

This year I got the feel of Spring approaching even before detecting the scent of it.  We had some unseasonably warm days, lots of snowmelt, and the appearance of robins and other birds I associate with Spring.  A couple days prior to catching the scent I told my wife that I was depressed that Dad didn't get to see the coming of Spring this year.  She smiled and said "don't you remember the robins?"

She was right.  I had forgotten about that.  When I was laid up in bed with pneumonia, my Dad sent me the last e-mail I would ever receive from him, about something he knew I would enjoy.  I'm going to share it with you:

Date: Sat, 17 Feb 2007 11:59:16 EST
Subject: Hey

Hey Chuck,

How are you feeling? Hope your sickness is dissipating. Wanted to tell you about a strange (strange to me) event that took place here last Thursday. You know how robins show up in pairs usually, well we had a flock show up. I don't ever recall seeing such a thing. Grackles, yes, but not robins. Must have been 50 or more birds in the back yard. In fact our neighbor called to inform us. What they came for were the berries on the holly bushes. They just about cleaned them off. They are still, even today, coming by for more, but there's very little left and only a few birds at a time. The unfortunate aspect is the mess they left behind, it's every where. Have to watch where I step outside.

Pictures aren't great. Was hard to get them all without scaring them away, especially through the windows against the afternoon sun. I think I've seen just about every type bird I'm familiar with around these parts already.

Love you, Dad

In a way, these are my father's last words to me.  And upon reflection hearing him say he had seen all the spring birds already, gives me some small solace that Dad got to see this spring.  I can't tell you how much I miss him, and how much it hurts to be without him.  But at least he saw the birds he loved so much one more time before he passed away.  I've started my Spring 2007 photo album, and the first 3 pictures are Dad's robins... some of the photos he sent me when I was sick to help cheer me up.  Have a look, I thought they were pretty good pictures actually.

There are three words I never wanted to say, even though I knew that someday I would have to say them.  Those words are "my Dad was".

My Dad was a wonderful, sweet, kind, and loving man.  Doug Seggelin was devoted to his family.  He always put others first.  He was my hero, and I loved him dearly.  He was inventive, and quite brilliant.  His room at home is packed with sheets upon sheets of complex equations and diagrams, carefully inscribed in engineering pencil, and I cannot make heads or tails of any of it.

He had a rare wit, and was always making folks laugh.  At any family get together, if people started laughing en-masse, you could almost guarantee that my Dad had a hand in it.  He loved his grandchildren, and was always making faces to make them smile or playing with them.

He was utterly committed to his wife of 48 years and his children.  If I ever asked my Dad for help, he would help me, no matter what.  He took great care of his sister who is bedridden with multiple sclerosis, and his mother who turned 91 this year.  He was well liked and respected by the people he worked with.  He loved animals, particularly birds, and because of this my mother always called him her "Saint Francis of Assisi".  He was definitely the closest thing to a saint I've ever known.

My Dad was an all-around great guy, and as far as I'm concerned, the embodiment of what most of us only aspire to be. 

My Dad suffered a massive aneurism on March 6'th in the early morning hours, and passed away on March 7'th.  His wake was held on Sunday March 11'th at the Blanchard Funeral Chapel (which is owned by his neighbor, and where he had worked for the last couple years as an usher and driver.)  He was buried on March 12'th.  He was 67 years old.

Now there's just my Mom, my Sister, and myself in the family I grew up in.  Add to that our spouses and the grandkids.  In the end I think this will make us a closer family.  My Sister and I need to look out for Mom now, because she needs a lot of help, and all of us are looking out for each other, because heck, we all need help now.  Saying goodbye to Dad was the hardest thing any of us have ever done, and the only thing harder will be getting on without him.

Here's an obituary for my Dad.

At the close of my Dad's funeral service, I read a poem that I had written for him back in the early 1990's, before I myself became a Dad.  We printed up 200 copies of the poem superimposed over a picture of my Dad, and left them at the back of the church for people who attended the service to take home.  The family always goes out first (and me a little early since my brother-in-law and I were pallbearers.)  As I sat in the limo I watched dozens and dozens of people walk by with copies of the poem.  It was touching, like sharing a little bit of my wonderful Father with everyone who loved him.  In the end it looks like about 120 or so were taken.  I'm glad I wrote that poem because it gave me a chance to tell my Dad how much I loved him before he was gone.

So now there's nothing left to do but pick up and try to carry on, and always keep my cherished memories of my Dad.  I've got to support my family and always try to do right by his example.

I want to thank my family and friends for their kind words and support over the last week.  You guys were awesome.  Thanks.