Hubie’s Diaries

A bookshelf and a half. That's how many diaries he filled. Diaries of my father's life, a paper legacy he has left behind. There are roughly 27  books perched on a shelf. Each book marks a year in my dad's life starting in 1991. Adding to his diaries was a daily ritual for him. He would collect the different scraps that he accumulated that day and that week, and create a scrapbook. It would have images, Polaroids, little notes, photographs, reminders, doodles, cutouts of napkins, or little papers he liked. It was a way for him to keep his brain organized. My dad was extremely creative. He had a vision of the design and placement of things. 

Nevertheless, that creativity stemmed from patience and a love of doing something peaceful for himself every day. My dad had a way of calming his mind and his surroundings. He could find inner peace within himself. I am still trying to learn that to this day. My dad is a beautiful person who found the little things in life beautiful. 

I remember when we were on vacation, sailing on a boat to an almost deserted island near Bora Bora. We had this moment sitting on an egg-white sand beach at this tiny little palm hut filled with the smell of fish on the grill. A local family was cooking for us and Hubie looked out to the edge of the water. He said, “life is good, life is great, and life is beautiful.” My dad's mantra became more prominent when he became significantly sicker. Every day we didn't know what the next would hold for him. When would he lose the ability to walk? The ability to speak, or even eat? At one point breathing became a struggle for him. When my dad could manage to swim in our pool or watch the sun setting next to us, he made those moments count. Those little moments were translated into his diaries. His life continues on in these books. Even though he is dead and no longer physically here anymore, I can go and look through these books to find my way back to him. They are pieces of who he was, and still is -- they remain.