Happy Birthday Papa

Sometimes dreams stay with you.

Not the silly ones that disappear by breakfast, but the kind that leave a mark somewhere deep in your chest. The kind that wake you up in the dark with tears already on your face. I don’t have them often. Maybe once a decade. But when I do, they stay with me for years.

More than twenty years ago I had one about my mom. She was picking me up from school in her old, but new at the time, white Suburban with the gold trim. I can still see it so clearly. As I walked toward the car she lifted a gun and shot herself in the stomach. I tried to scream. In the dream I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I woke up crying, panicked, heart pounding.

And recently, I had another.

This time someone told me my dad had died. I don’t remember where I was in the dream. I just remember the feeling. I gasped for air and tried to speak but again nothing came out. My hands were searching around me as if I was trying to find him, trying to confirm that it wasn’t true.

Finally the only words that came out were,
“I’m not ready.”

I woke up crying again, those same words echoing in my mind.

I’m not ready.

Because I’m not. I’m not ready to lose my dad. Or my mom for that matter. And I know that’s where life eventually goes for all of us. Time moves forward whether we like it or not, everyone growing older with every passing year. But when my mind wanders there, even for a moment, something inside of me panics. My chest tightens and my heart feels heavy because I simply cannot imagine my life without them in it.

I love my parents. I love this life we share together. And when I think about my dad, especially today on his birthday, what overwhelms me most isn’t fear, it’s gratitude. Because my dad is truly one of a kind.

He grew up in a big family in a tiny town in Colorado. Back then it was nothing more than a quiet mountain town, the kind of place where people grew up with very little but learned early how to work hard, solve problems, and rely on one another. Today that town is thriving, well known and bustling, and in many ways the work of men like my dad helped shape what it has become.

My dad grew up with very little. Nothing was handed to him. Everything he has built in his life has come from grit, long days, early mornings, and the kind of relentless work ethic that simply cannot be taught, it’s something you carry in your bones.

He is the hardest working person I know.

And the smartest too, though not in the way people usually mean when they say that. My dad has a kind of intelligence that you can’t learn from books. He understands numbers, yes, but more than that he understands people, problems, and how to navigate situations that would leave most people completely overwhelmed. He sees the bigger picture. He’s always five steps ahead. He can walk into chaos and quietly, calmly figure out exactly what needs to happen next. He builds things. Fixes things. Runs businesses. Solves problems. And somehow, at nearly seventy years old, he is still doing all of it.

He is still showing horses.
Still running the ranch.
Still operating the construction business he built decades ago.
And now he’s teaching my brothers how to carry that work forward.

He is strong and regal in a way that’s hard to describe.

Quietly confident.
Steady.
Dependable.

Firm when he needs to be, but deeply kind and understanding. He is the kind of man people naturally look to when things need to get done. The kind of man who sets a standard so high that everyone around him rises to meet it. And I have always admired him for that. More than that, I respect him deeply.

My dad was never the kind of parent who simply handed over whatever I wanted. If anything, he was the opposite. He made sure I always had what I needed, but he also made sure I understood how fortunate I was to have those things. He didn’t spoil me. And I am so grateful for that now.

Because it taught me something incredibly valuable…gratitude, resilience, and the understanding that the most meaningful things in life are earned. But if there is one role that I have seen soften my dad in the most beautiful way, it’s being a grandfather. A papa to my boys. I had never quite seen that side of him before.

When Clover was born and I first handed him to my dad, he pulled that tiny little baby close to his chest and held him there like he had been waiting his whole life for that moment. Then he reached for me and pulled me in too, holding us both together with the biggest smile on his face. It’s a moment I will never forget. I had never seen him so affectionate. So completely in love.

And now watching him with my boys, seeing the way they light up when they are around him, the way he would do absolutely anything for them without hesitation, it’s one of the greatest gifts of my life.

My dad is rare.

Truly rare.

The kind of man who builds a life from nothing through sheer determination and integrity. The kind of man who provides for his family, protects them, teaches them, and sets an example so strong that it shapes generations. He is the kind of role model that sets your standards for life. And I am so thankful that he set mine.

So today, on his birthday, I’m not focusing on the fear that one day life will look different. Instead I’m focusing on the incredible gift it has been to have him as my dad for these past 38 years.

And how lucky my boys are to have him as their papa.

If I’m fortunate enough to get another thirty years with him, I will soak up every single one.

Happy Birthday Papa.

You are loved, admired, and appreciated more than words will ever fully capture.