By Cindy Christy Fertsch
When someone passes, the first thing one tends to do is the math. “He was way too young.” “Well, he had a good life. It was time.”
Ultimately, the dates are meaningless. It’s the dash that counts. The dash represents each moment and memory of the person’s life – the relationships, the love, the hopes, the dreams — each piece that contributed to the essence of who they were. My dad had a mighty and meaningful dash.
My dad was the heart of our family, reveling in all our traditions and get-togethers. He was our rock, the one everyone could count on, whether to lend an ear, give advice or pick you up in an emergency.
My dad cared for his family first and foremost throughout his entire life. It was evident in a million different ways. He coached, cheered-on and played with his kids every day. Each Friday, he came home with a bouquet of daisies for my mom – her favorite flower.
I am flooded with memories of my father’s love and the quality time we spent together over the years. He’d write silly stories for my siblings and me and then show us how to turn them into “real” books using an antique typewriter. Together, we invented a game called “abominable snowman,” which was our creative twist on hide-and-go-seek. He squeezed oranges and cooked pancakes for 20 girls after my sleepover parties.
He never missed a football, baseball, or softball game, play, or choir performance. He threw footballs around and hit ground balls and pop-ups. He made sure I knew how to throw “like a boy.” (With two older brothers, how could I not?)
We lived in an old stone house that had a basement with a cement floor. One day when I was about 7 years old I was learning how to roller skate, going around in circles in the basement when I fell. My dad caught me, but unfortunately, my helmet hit him in the mouth and took a big chunk out of his front tooth. He wasn’t happy but rolled with it, recognizing accidents happen. I never had to be afraid of him, quite the contrary. He made us all feel safe and secure.
My childhood was filled with family vacations – not the lavish kind, but rather a week of camping, hiking, fishing, and roasting marshmallows around a campfire. Then a week down the shore, building sand castles and walking on the Ocean City Boardwalk at night.
Back then I thought everyone’s dad was like mine. Now I know how lucky I was. My kids are also lucky. They grew up with an incredible Pop-pop that did many special things with them.
My father loved each of his 10 grandchildren and four great-grandchildren beyond measure. He loved the times he would see everyone, whether a birthday, holiday or simply a visit. In the summers, he would take the grandchildren on tractor rides in a wagon, pulled by his riding lawn mower. He organized epic Easter egg hunts and often took them out for ice-cream cones. There were many magical moments like when he took his grandchildren on the Santa Express train or his great-grandchildren to Storybook Land, but he was also there for all the mundane moments. He took my daughters to countless orthodontist appointments, babysat and drove them here and there throughout their teen years.
In retirement, my father loved to go to the Ocean City Music Pier and Kennedy Park to look at the water with my mom. He enjoyed cooking and going out to his favorite restaurants, especially the Crab Trap. He was a movie buff and kept up with the technology, often recording shows and even creating smart tv lists of movies he planned to see.
My dad’s best trait was his a smile, always there, regardless of back pain and aching knees. He will be missed greatly and leaves a hole in our family and hearts. As our hearts knit back together, Dad’s legacy of love and caring for his family will never be forgotten.
