Emmet E. Miller: October 17, 1926 – October 6, 1984 October 6, 1984, exactly 30 years ago to this date, is a day I will never forget, nor do I ever want to forget. It is amazing how one event can change your life forever, and how that one event can make you remember just about everything that happened around it. It was a Saturday, not a Monday, but I the weather was eerily similar. The fall season has always been my favorite, even after 1984, but now with a bitter-sweetness that makes me happy and sad at the same time. That particular Saturday in 1984 was not like any other for me, besides the weather. I did not sleep a wink the night before. I always wanted to blame it on the prior evening’s successful Crestwood High School football game, mixed with the fact that we (the band) were scheduled to compete in a band competition being held at Kent State University’s Dix Stadium that Saturday afternoon. My breakfast consisted of a Snicker’s bar and a cup of coffee, because my nerves over-whelmed me and that is all I could choke down. Then, for a couple of hours, I read a couple of newspapers and magazines that were laying around. After that, Dr. Guegold (Sarge) picked me up on his way to the competition in Kent. The ironic thing about remembering just about everything leading up to the competition was the fact that I actually do not remember marching in the show. That memory is a complete blur. Then, I remember everything after that… Hindsight is 20/20. The reason I do not remember that experience is because I cried uncontrollably the entire time. Sure, our competition show was a good one, and it often gave me goose bumps (which probably added to my emotional state). But, that’s not why I cried. In reality, my emotions came to a head that day because my father was in the hospital dying of colon cancer, a disease he battled for almost four years. I was dealing with the situation as best I could, just like I had always done since the day he told me about his condition. As the band entered the stadium, though, it occurred to me that my father had never seen me play drums in the marching band, and that he would never have the chance. That evening, my father succumbed to the cancer at the young age of 57. Today, as I look back, I fully realize how my father must have felt not being able to be there for his son. To be honest, I was mad at him for a long time. I was only 15 years old when he died, and I missed a big chunk of time with my dad because of it. On the other hand, the older I get, the wiser I get. I know that it was a terrible, gut-wrenching feeling for my father. Now, 30 years later, I have 3 boys of my own. The thought of not being there for them periodically keeps me awake at night. I know what I missed, and I do not want them to experience that same void in their young lives. The fond memories of my father will forever be ingrained in my mind. In fact, the not-so-fond memories are still there, too! (He was pretty strict). And, in many ways, the short time I had with my father molded me into the person I am today. I just wish I could have had more of that time. My mother, my sisters, and anyone who had the opportunity to know my father would all agree that he was a great man with a big heart; a loving husband, father, and friend who was taken from us way too early. Please, if you have children, you need to hug them, kiss them, and do your best to be there for them. Support them, encourage them, teach them, and steer them in the right direction. Set aside time to have fun with them, and punish them when necessary. Never, though, take your children, or your own life, for granted. Every moment counts, the big ones and the little ones. Trust me: Your children need you. Be there for them.
Posted on: Mon, 06 Oct 2014 21:01:31 +0000
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