I know that many here at dKos may say "not another Russert diary" but it's not for those people, so if that's anyone's reaction, move along...nothing to see here.
I started to write this on Friday, that day we all got such sad news, but a day that obviously forever changed your life and your mom's life . I didn't, thinking it was kind of silly to write to someone I'll likely never meet and someone who will likely never see it. But I keep thinking these thoughts and in the days since, as I've watched you handle yourself with such maturity, grace, humor, love and wisdom beyond your years, I felt like I wanted to say these things.
The loss of a father is such a unique experience. It's something we expect to deal with at some point in our lives, but rarely if ever anticipate having to do when we're just starting out on our adult journey.
My dad died suddenly when I wasn't much older than you. Like your beloved father, he was the product of a family and a generation that didn't come from much financially or materially, but had love that measured a price above rubies.
My grandparents immigrated from the Caribbean with almost literally just the clothes on their backs, but managed (working however many jobs were necessary) to put five children through private Catholic schools. My dad was the product of the nuns and the Jesuits, a tradition he continued with me, just like your dad did with you.
He loved life with abundance, and while realistic about life, could always find the good in people and draw it out. I thought he'd be around forever but that wasn't to be. Just as I was starting out in my career, really beginning the stage of my life when all the celebrations you want your dad to be a part of take place...marriage, the birth of your first child etc. he was gone. I talked to him one day and he was gone the next. We spoke every day...he called every weekday morning to make sure I'd made it to work on time and safely. The last things we said to each other were "I love you" and "Talk to you tomorrow".
Why am I telling you and all these other strangers this? I'm not sure. Maybe it's because I remember people asking me " How could you get through euologizing your dad", and marveling at what they perceived as my poise and my calm, and some even waited for me to crack up. I explained then, as I believe you know now, that the answer was "How could I not"? The answer is because it's what our fathers would have expected. They would have expected us to be there for others and that was the way to honor them.
Maybe it's because given the kind of relationship I had with my dad and the kind it seems you had with yours, while yes it was painful and devastating to know that I would never get another of those "commute calls" I got from my dad, and you won't have whatever special communication you had with yours, they're always with us.
He may not have walked me down the aisle when I married. I chose not to have anyone replace him and walked alone, but he was with me.
When I received my first major award at work, I didn't have to pick up the phone to tell him about it because he was with me.
When I found out I was pregant, he was with me.
When my son was born, he was with me.
When I look at my son, who carries my dad's name as part of his own, I see my dad in an expression, a preference for certain foods and a dislike of other foods. Mannerisms and other things my son does...my son who never knew his grandfather, confirm daily that he is with us.
So your dad may be physically gone, but he is with you. And he lives on in you so much as you showed today in caring for others. In rising to the hardest challenge you've ever had to face. In effortlessly carrying on his legacy. God bless you Luke. You did your dad so very proud today.