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Tom and I just got back from a trip out east to visit family, and we got a surprise from his dad.

Which is odd, considering his dad passed away 19 years ago.

Every year, around Father’s Day, Tom and I pick a day to celebrate Tom, Sr.

He passed away on Father’s Day, and my dad is still very much alive, so the actual holiday is usually a bittersweet mix of celebrating my dad and remembering Tom’s.

So we choose a different day near Father’s Day and make it all about Tom, Sr.

We usually play mini golf, which he loved.

We do not keep score, which would have infuriated him.

But that’s okay.

We’re allowed to change some of the rules.

We also get soft serve ice cream in his honor.

This year, while we were in upstate New York, we visited Rich and Patty, close friends of Tom, Sr.

Tom asked Rich if he would take us to the cemetery.

Tom, Sr. was a Vietnam veteran, so he is buried at Saratoga National Cemetery.

Tom and I are not really cemetery people.

That is not where we feel closest to the people we love.

And since his marker was not ready at the funeral, we had never seen it.

When we got there, Tom saw three words engraved on his dad’s tombstone:

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He just stared at it.

“I had no idea he said that.”

Two weeks before he passed, we helped Tom, Sr. pick out his casket.

We learned that no, unfortunately, he could not have an Irish wake where he was stood up in the corner with a whiskey in his hand.

But somehow, the words on the tombstone never came up.

And they were not words Tom expected from his dad.

Tom remembered him as cautious.

Protective.

Set in his routines.

The kind of dad who would not let his son mow the lawn because, obviously, Tom would mow his foot off.

The kind of man who did his laundry on the same day every week, in the same washer and dryer, at the same laundromat.

Tom went back to that laundromat on this trip and discovered huge industrial washers and dryers.

His dad would have been horrified.

So no, this was not exactly the guy you expect to leave bold life advice for strangers walking through a national cemetery.

But I saw another side of him too.

Five years before he died, Tom, Sr. had been diagnosed with several kinds of cancer.

He went through massive surgeries, chemo, and radiation.

And after all of that, he came to Colorado for our wedding.

Then he took a big trip out west with us to Carlsbad Caverns, Tombstone, and the Grand Canyon.

He had dreamed of seeing the West since he was a boy.

He also went to Puerto Rico to visit his brother, who he had not seen in years.

So maybe Tom, Sr. was living life now more than Tom realized.

Whether he fully lived it for years or only understood it at the end, he cared enough to leave the message behind.

We looked around at the other markers near his.

Beloved husband.

Loving father.

Never forgotten.

Beautiful messages, all of them.

But Tom, Sr.’s was the only one we saw giving advice to the living.

We loved that.

After the cemetery, we got to share our Tom, Sr. tradition with Rich and Patty at Lake George.

We played mini golf at one of his favorite places.

Still no score.

Sorry, Tom, Sr.

We got soft serve ice cream.

And we toured the House of Frankenstein Wax Museum, which explains a lot about my Tom’s love for Halloween and horror movies.

It was almost exactly the way Tom remembered it from more than 45 years ago.

Tom also told me his dad never really wanted to go back after the first time.

Which I understand.

But every summer, when they went to Lake George, Tom, Sr. took his son anyway.

Because his son loved it.

And he loved his son.

That may be my favorite part of the whole story.

The day did not feel sad.

It felt beautiful.

We were remembering Tom, Sr. by doing things he loved, and things he did because he loved his son, with people who loved him too.

I think that may be one of the best ways to honor someone.

Not merely standing at their grave feeling sad.

But doing what they loved and letting yourself enjoy it.

So maybe this week, think of someone you miss.

Then instead of only missing them, do something they loved.

Eat the ice cream.

Play the game.

Take the drive.

Tell the story.

Live life now.

With love,

Ariel