I learned that my father Wally Jones passed on Cinco de Mayo, as I left a restaurant in Dupont Circle, where I had enjoyed a lovely and leisurely dinner with a dear friend. Ironically, Darcy learned just after celebrating happy hour in their old town of Ashland. I think Wally/the Universe knew that we both needed to be in a joyful place to accept this sudden and deep loss.
Wally passed on 4/20, after spending a final night at Sam Bond’s; I was on a night train to Mombasa, Kenya.
The universe conspired to connect Darcy and I as Wally passed. During the week before we learned of Wally’s passing, we had talked about Darcy’s trip to Ashland and opined about really wanting to see each other, even though it would only be a few months until we would be seeing each other at the Oregon Country Fair. We lamented that there was no excuse for us to get together.
Next thing you know, I’m sobbing my way across the country and wondering how it can hurt this bad.
I then manages to miss the last flight to Eugene (standing in the line for Portland on autopilot), and ended up deciding to reroute to Medford so that I could connect with Darcy there. I managed to get a free hotel at the local Marriott from my copious rewards. Darcy luckily checked her messages within a mile of having passed by me. We connected and drove north.
I learned a lot through Wally’s death. It made me step back and respect my roots in a way that I hadn’t ever done in quite the same way.
As I feel the tears on my cheeks I am reminded of what my life was like five years ago, when my father Wally Jones passed. The sudden loss of my father hit me in a way that I couldn’t have anticipated. In some ways it was better not to have known it would be that painful. Fast forward to my life today, and Wally would be very proud of where I am. He would only wish that he could be here to enjoy the adventure vicariously.