We were sitting on adjacent rocks watching the sun set, almost an hour early. I’ve known this man for nearly 50 years. He and his two siblings are my closest friends. I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else in the universe just then.
We’d waited out the sunset many times before—both together and alone. There is something about appreciating the beginning and ending of a day that runs in my family. They are all special. All different. As the minutes ticked by and I snapped a few preliminary photos, it finally dawned on me how different and special this sunset would be.
His name is Chad, and he is one of my children. The two of us, along with his daughter, were deep into maybe the most magical week of my life. We’d been sightseeing in the southwestern part of this country since the previous Sunday and were at the place that was responsible for this trip even happening.
The large rocks serving as chairs were part of the Grand Canyon. We started in Albuquerque on April 30, visited Bryce Canyon and Zion National Parks, Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument, and several other lesser known places during the week, then made our way to this place the previous day. We were as close to numb toward indescribable beauty and majesty as three people could be.
And yet, here we were sitting on the canyon rim staring at the western sky. It took almost an hour before the significance hit me. This was big. We were watching the sun disappear from the most astonishing place I’d ever visited and we didn’t have to do anything but enjoy the feeling and appreciate the company.
I tried to speak before realizing it was futile. I couldn’t form words and, besides, there was nothing worth saying. That was when I first thought of my own father and how much I wished he was with us.
After 19 years without him, I still miss my dad on a daily basis, not in a sad or regretful way, not dealing with things not said while he was still breathing— just miss his company, enjoying things by his side, mostly everyday common events. But he would have thoroughly enjoyed what we were doing at that moment.
My favorite pastime with my dad involved sage fields in West Alabama. When I was eight or so, my brother and I would be included in quail hunting trips to the land my father was raised on. Everything I learned about guns, safety, and personal responsibility happened in that brief time. Much later, he and I would walk those same fields carrying our shotguns, talking some and enjoying each other’s company. I don’t remember either of us ever firing a shot.
Grand Canyon that night was similar in many ways. We were involved in an activity, sort of. But the real focus was just being together—sharing space, occasional thoughts, and time—precious time. Something I no longer can have with my own father. I hope Chad appreciated it as much as I did. Days like that aren’t that plentiful.
The best of things aren’t really things.
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