about my dad, by my mom


I am hijacking Courtney’s blog today to pay a small tribute to the love of my life, David Summers, who was taken from us a week ago today. Courtney’s tribute to her father captured him quite perfectly with no room for improvement. But during a time of endings I would like to share a beginning…

My father-in-law gets the credit for bringing David & I together shortly after the family’s move to a farm just outside of town.

“There’s a cute girl working at the local Becker’s store, why don’t you ask her out?” he suggested to his son.

And in what was likely one of the few times David embraced parental authority he did just that, appearing during my shift, wearing a plaid shirt, dirty jeans and an uncharacteristically short haircut.

It wasn’t love at first sight. But he was persistent, a trait I would become familiar with over the years.

He showed up every day to offer me a ride home from my shift. Every day I declined.

He drove into town on his tractor. He even rode the five miles in on his horse.

Still I did not relent.

Then one day he showed up at my door. I never told him where I lived but he searched the phone book for everyone with my surname and through the process of elimination he hit the jackpot.

He came armed with his guitar and proceeded to serenade me in our gazebo …much to my parents’ alarm.

We sat by the shore of the lake and talked into the wee hours of the morning …much to my parents’ alarm.

I never once looked back.

We viewed life in pretty much the same way, just from completely different angles. We made each other laugh, got under each other’s skin and everything in between. The bond between us was stretched at times, but never broken.

The phrase ‘soul mates’ makes me cringe, but we were definitely that. My heart always skipped a beat whenever I saw him. We would have celebrated our 34th anniversary this month, and 35 years of knowing each other. I am fortunate to have had that time, but I can’t help but feel cheated.

“Ideas are clean. They soar in the serene supernal. I can take them out and look at them, they fit in books, they lead me down that narrow way. And in the morning they are there. Ideas are straight–
But the world is round, and a messy mortal is my friend.
Come walk with me in the mud…” *

* Hugh Prather, Notes to Myself