Remembering Mancel

I was in Florida visiting my dad after my mom had passed away. I don’t remember the specifics of the visit: time of year, purpose or length of stay.


Our days were filled with a series of made-up errands like buying a new battery for his watch; stopping by the post office for stamps; perhaps lunch and, of course, a stop at the grocery store. We’d get the few things on the list and then, as we were leaving the store he’d say, ‘We forgot to get bread’ (milk, orange juice, fill-in-the-blank), thus giving us a reason to get out of the house the next day. It was a life and it was interesting to see how he had worked things out after losing his ‘best ole beauty’.


Late in the afternoon, once the errands were complete, I’d go for a run on the beautiful beach near their condo. My mom loved the beach but my father never really cared for it. Buying the place in Florida was strictly him doing what he thought would make her happy. And, indeed it had.

One afternoon as I was about to head out the door he asked in a meek voice, probably fearing rejection, if he could join me. Sure, I shrugged. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might want to come. And we headed out together, me in Lycra and him in a lightweight windbreaker with a couple of cans of beer under his arm.


At the beach I set off, welcoming the chance to process all the emotions that go along with losing a parent and building a new relationship with the remaining one and he settled on to a bench along the beach to watch the waves.

It was a beautiful sunset and there is a certain time of day when I can’t be near the water and not think of my dad that afternoon. He never cared for the beach but we shared a love of the ocean.