Footprints

It has been more than a week since my brother-in-law, David, suddenly passed away.

I can’t stop thinking about him.

I see him in the coffin—talk about a bad make-up job. Where do these people learn that skill? Or better, where CAN they learn that it is a skill? When my stepfather died, he was so overly made-up that he looked transgender. I make no judgements, but I knew him—this was a man who admired John Wayne and would not have minded going out looking like him instead of the lead character from Hairspray.

I joke, because so did David. He was one of the happiest people I have ever met. His body in repose was in contrast to the smiling picture that stood beside him. He was so alive in that photo. So lifeless in that box.

Judging from the overflowing church, the words that were said about him, and the loud sobs that were heard—he was deeply beloved.

On top of his coffin was a beautiful spray of flowers that said, “Daddy.” They were from his only child, his daughter, Tiffany. Theirs was, in my mind, the perfect father-daughter relationship. She was very much daddy’s girl. Having never been one myself, and always desiring that role, I would listen with longing to their playful, easy banter. The love between them was evident.

There is a deep bond between mother and daughter as well, but David adored his daughter, and she, him.

Tiffany is also a dutiful daughter. Her parents asked that she get her undergraduate and graduate degrees in electrical engineering from Stanford in four years, so it would cost less. She did so this past summer at only twenty-one—and with honors. She would do anything for them, and they for her. That is why Tiffany took so much control in the planning of his funeral, from the perfect music to the heartbreaking PowerPoint photo presentation on the fifty-inch plasma TV. This was, after all, the Silicon Valley. The funeral had to be high-tech. It was a daughter’s final act for her father and she was going to do it right.

At the funeral, his brother, Sam, gave the most eloquent speech one sibling could give to another. David’s boss, a high-ranking company titan, spoke extemporaneously, took a deep breath, said he was going to cry, and did.

As did everyone else.