This is March 2017. In March 2010, my Daddy was still alive, and although in an assisted living care home, was still ok. By ok, I mean that he was still communicating pretty well even though he had Lewy Body’s dementia…or rather, he was dying from it…had been dying from it for several years.

I was talking to him about possibly getting out once the weather warmed up. It had been cold that winter. “I’d like to go fishing, at Billy Locklear’s lake”. He said.

“Maybe we can manage that, about May,” I said. “It’ll be warmer then”.

Of course, work got harder. The second shift an hours drive away from home, kept me hopping. Leave at 2pm to get there by three, and get home after midnight. Recover on the weekends. Of course, that’s just an excuse. There was one weekend in April that was splendid. I visited Mom and Dad, but we didn’t think about going fishing. We talked about other things. Time got away.

Daddy died from complications of that Lewy body dementia on May 22nd. So, we never got to go fishing that one last time. It bothers me still every time I think about it. It was a pretty simple request, but one that I should have made a better effort to do.

So, about four years later, after I had gotten over my heart attack and surgery, I bought a fishing license and a rod and reel, and went down to the Chattooga river and caught a couple of big bream. I didn’t keep them, but just caught them and let them go. As I released the last one, I said: “this one is for you Dad”.

I cut the fishing hook off the line, and drove to the cemetery and laid it on the top of Dad’s tombstone. I hope that sufficed. That’s the last time I went fishing.

There’s a photo of that fish somewhere back on my timeline. You might have seen it. I was holding it up still on the hook. If I find it…I’ll add it to this post. It was a fine little fish….

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