Top 10: “Thank you, Dad”

January 01, 2026

Top 10: “Thank you, Dad”

This is my favorite pic of you, Dad. It encapsulates so much for me.

Dad, so many thoughts keep going through my mind since you passed on nearly two days ago. I am sure much will settle out and become clear in the coming days and months—or maybe I’ll get swept up in life’s busyness once again, so better not put it off. Grief sometimes brings clarity so let me set down what comes to mind when I think about how blessed I am (still not ready to switch over to past tense) to have you as my dad. Through the years, I would make feeble attempts at this via Father’s Day and birthday cards. You would go out of your way to thank me for my words during our weekly Saturday morning phone calls. This is where some sadness creeps in. During the last decade damned if politics and my changing views sometimes made it hard for us to find that spark of connection. But we continued to love each other, though I know we both felt it.

Yes, I spoke verbal thank you’s, but my words felt so small, tiny really once they tumbled awkwardly out of my mouth. I sensed it felt awkward for you too. So here goes. My top 10 reasons for why I am so dearly grateful to have had you as my dad.

1) Your faithfulness to me and our family

Dad, this will include many angles. First and foremost, I believe you were driven by some better angels (or demons). You knew what life could dole out and you did your utter best to ensure that our family at large would not suffer what your grandfather and mother suffered. I believe the experiences they lived through via the Great Depression became deeply embedded in Grandma’s psyche, which were no doubt passed on to you. She worked hard and taught you the value and importance of daily work. When I think of hard, laborious work, I will always think of you. It really defined you and became evident in what you were able to accomplish and pass on. I did not have to worry about getting a job right out of high school. Nor did I have to worry about working my way through college. Once I graduated college and was married, you continued to love and support me and my children in so many ways.

2) Your love and dedication to my children

Do you remember first holding Luke as a newborn when we lived in that tiny apartment in Champaign? Or newborn Michaela in Starkville, MS? Did you guess what part you’d play in their growth and development? You connected with both kids with your humor and childlike behaviors (ahem, wink). We have a video of you playing hide and seek with Luke through that old Mississippi house. You on your hands and knees crawling around, harrumphing….Luke squealing with giggles. Michaela quickly caught on to your humor, drawing a picture of you “outstanding in your field”. That picture still hangs on the basement stairwell wall—farmer Grampa in overalls standing in a corn field. Teenage Michaela and your phone calls filled with friendly, humorous jibes known best by the two of you. Luke getting up at the crack of dawn all those summer days we’d come out to visit—running downstairs to join you in watching some early morning news report then leaving with you as you headed first to Casey’s for a donut, then to some farm task. You flying out to join Luke on campus, joining some high level math lecture—the one about math equations for how rain drops move up a windshield. I love that you and Luke had that opportunity to get to know each other’s worlds.

3) Your (almost extreme) friendliness

Dad, I honestly think you beat out Grandpa Loudon with your ability to nonchalantly walk up to complete strangers and strike up a conversation. It was easy to see how most people felt that initial disease which would quickly melt into a relaxed posture to their own surprise. You were about as devoted to people as you were your work. I learned some lessons from you. Persist, and you will eventually be friends with someone if you really want it badly enough. I think the real lesson though was that if you’re going to persist with people, you follow through with the caring part. And you did that. You called long “lost” college classmates to check in on them at Christmas. You knew they were lonely, or widowed, or sick. You and Mom entertained guests at your table that most people didn’t give a second thought to. You set a fine example of how to love your neighbor. Not perfect for sure, but further along than many of us.

4) Your love of nature, especially trees

If there is one thing I could omnisciently know, it would be the number of trees you planted and cared for throughout your life. I could start by counting the trees in your 8+ acres of yard where little sunlight gets through to the ground. I’m pretty sure you and Mom planted each one. I know the work that went into their lives. The labor of planting was just the beginning. Constant watering throughout their first years of life was a non-negotiable if they were to survive. Once they got established and heightened, the trimming of branches started and seemingly never ends. (Though I do think you got them to the point where less trimming is required.) When I visit home, I walk and walk under those high limbed trees, looking at and loving them for their stately beauty and strength. I am reminded of strength that you grew and that, no doubt, grew you. And me. And all who will take the time to ponder. There are the gentle (rare) hills in and around the timber—all filled with beautiful trees—so MANY of which you planted and tended your whole life long. It truly boggles my mind, Dad. The trees and the farming are what you gave your life to. Quite literally. Your heart was all in until it beat its last beat. I will do all in my power to ensure those lovely trees are continued to be well kept and tended and not torn down. I promise you.

5) Your artistry

I don’t think many people thought of you as an artist, Dad, but you really were. I was in high school when you developed a passion for stained glass. I recall the hours you put into your careful, detailed work. The gorgeous lamp shades you made would have caught Tiffany’s eye, I am sure of. You recognized beauty, lasting beauty, and that says something in modernity’s disposable culture.

6) Your humor

I believe your humor, unique as it was (and often vulgar, base…I can hear you laughing now) and yes, sometimes taken too far (I learned this early on) was yet a gift. It helped you connect with people. It helped you manage the stress of life. I like to think it helped others (though not always me so much) with bearing life’s challenges. I think I enjoyed it best when we enjoyed another’s humor together. I treasure the time we shared watching Cheers and Newheart in the 80s. Those two shows provided comedic relief for me (puberty) and you (working your tail off and “resting your mighty fine body”).

7) Your wide range of interests

From enjoying “Ma tha Stewart” and her abundant creativity of the late 80s, to planing your own logs into lumber, to building quality furniture with your planed lumber, to reading widely, to connecting with people from different walks of life, to planting different types of hydrangea, to building an arbor in the Timber, to….I must be forgetting something.

8) Teaching me to be responsible

I am grateful for the example you set of being responsible. You never shirked work. This gets back to #1. You (and Mom) taught me the importance and value of hard work. You never shrank back from anything that would require sheer muscle, sweat, and discomfort. I learned to delay gratification. I learned not to need brand new, latest, anything. I learned to value things that money could not buy. I learned that when I rest/coast, others will likely have to pick up the slack. Now, I’ll admit that this can be taken too far and am learning to reserve judgment towards others in that regard. However, these basic truths work together. Did you come to realize that we are all in this together? When one suffers, we all do? Anyway…I’m getting off track. For what it’s worth, I do think that a strong work ethic is important as long as there is compassion for those who truly cannot work. Then it is a blessing, indeed our obligation, to lend a hand.

9) Teaching me to value and uphold commitments in relationships

This gets personal. But, I do think you did a good job of this. You surely didn’t always agree with your best friend from college (politically, I’m guessing) dthroughout your life. Yet you stayed close. We all know that you did not agree with Mom all the time in all ways and matters. But you stuck to your commitments to both and many others, no doubt. We could all use more of this at this time in history. I know it grieved you deeply to see split relationships wherever you found them. I know you wanted them healed. I believe you will one day get your wish. I have faith in One who sees further than we do. Speaking of which. Dad, thank you for sitting next to me in church Sunday after Sunday. While Mom was doing her thing up in the choir loft (beautifully, I might add), we sat together, you and I. You drifted off more than once (wink), but somehow, I think the most important lessons settled somewhere in your mind and heart. Those not worth hearing were filtered. Thank you for keeping Certs in your suit coat pocket. You knew what you were doing there. Some of my favorite memories are sitting in those pews with you.

10) For being you

Dad, you were just yourself. You did not put on airs. You did not seek to impress anyone. (This may have caused some tension with mom and your clothes…wink.) You were one of a kind. Imperfect in many ways, but one of the best!

One last thing. You were diagnosed with a failing heart and kidneys 15 months ago. These last 15 months have surely been a challenge for you to not be able to get out to see the farm and the people you connected with regularly. However, I know without a doubt that Mom’s incredible care for you, her excellent and healthy cooking, her tenderness at this tender time meant so very much to you. I wish I could have been closer at hand to assist. I wish I could have been there to hold your hand Monday night as you slowly slipped away. I want you to know one last thing that I am grateful for and that is how you died. You were amazingly gracious, humble, unimposing. Not a word of complaint. Not an unkind word spoken. I hope whatever was going through your mind was good and positive and not regretful. None of us is perfect. We all make errors along the way. But my goodness, did you ever finish well.

Love,

Silvana

A few photos:

Dad (red shirt) with some cousins, I believe

Dad and younger brother Darrel

Grandpa and Grandma Loudon (left), Uncle Darrel, Great Grandma Benckendorf

One of our first jobs, besides walking beans, was painting the fencing in the new barn.

The beloved old house I first lived in was my Great Granparents’ Loudon

I forgot that one of Dad’s hobby’s was raising sheep. I believe he paid his way through college partly via the sheep he raised and sold.

Beloved neighbor George Meyer with his team of horses. How I would love to go back and enjoy this moment more fully.

Marie Meyer, George’s wife, babysat me. She was one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You can see the light shining from her here. Her face always shone bright.