Father’s Day has always been a time to celebrate the incredible men who have shaped our lives. This year, it holds a more profound meaning for me as I remember my dad, who passed away just a few months ago. His absence is a void that words struggle to fill, but his presence in my heart remains as strong as ever.

My dad was more than just a father; he was a strong guide, a mentor, and a constant source of strength. He taught me the value of hard work, the importance of kindness, and the power of a unconditional love. To make him laugh brightened my day, and his wisdom was a beacon that guided me through life’s challenges.

As I navigate this Father’s Day without him, I am reminded of the countless moments we shared—the simple joys, the heartfelt conversations, and the silent support during difficult times. These memories are the threads that weave through the fabric of my life, creating a rich memory with his love and legacy.

To those who still have their fathers with them, I urge you to cherish every moment. Hold them a little closer, listen a little deeper, and let them know how much they mean to you. Time is a precious gift, and the bonds we share with our fathers are treasures that should never be taken for granted.

For those who, like me, are facing this day with a heavy heart, know that you are not alone. Our fathers may no longer be with us in person, but their spirit lives on in the lessons they taught us and the love they gave us. Let us honor them by living our lives with the same integrity, compassion, and courage they exemplified.

Dad, you may not be here, but you are never forgotten. Your legacy lives on in every beat of my heart, the steps I take, and the steps that my kids take. This Father’s Day, I celebrate you and your incredible impact on my life. Thank you for being my father, my mentor, and my friend. I love you always.

Here’s dad’s eulogy.

Family, friends, and loved ones, Mom, Pam, and I and our families thank you all for
being here.
Well, folks, if my dad were here today, he’d probably say, ‘Don’t cry because I’m
gone; smile because I finally made a trip and didn’t have to pay anything.

My dad always had a unique way of bringing laughter and joy wherever he went,
and I know he’d want us to remember the good times and share a few laughs as
we celebrate his life today.

At the age of 75, my dad found immense joy in his favorite pastime-exploring the
great outdoors. Despite the challenges of age, he remained determined,
transitioning from multiple rounds on his bicycle to multiple laps with his walker.
His unwavering spirit and commitment to staying active serve as a testament to
his resilience.

He taught us to love the outdoors.
He taught us to plant things and to watch the beauty of their growth.

Later, when confined to a wheelchair, his view was of the morning sunrise, when
he could see the rays of sunshine and the birds sounding at the start of each day.

In his late 60s, the doctors told him to avoid picking things up over his head due to
previous surgeries. And I’m sure most people would want to listen to that.
However, Dad had other plans. On most days back then, you could find him in his
shop making or fixing something, whether it was a mower, something that had
broken in the house, or just something he was tinkering with.
I don’t think I’ll get him in trouble today by telling you all this little secret. I was
out at the shop, and he was lifting heavy things above his head.
Now you might be thinking, does Dad throw caution to the wind? Not necessarily.
Dad wasn’t necessarily careful with himself, as he would show us by mowing grass
in thunder and lightning, but he was fiercely cautious in telling others to be
mindful of dangers.

His cousins would tell stories of how he was so conscientious and always tried his
best to look after them even though he was just a few older. In their most vivid
memories, when they were youngsters walking in the sawmill, being careful took
on a new meaning! It was so dangerous! But they always felt safe with Tommy.
While visiting from Georgia in the summer, they would go with Dad to sell
refreshments to the workers in the mill riding the miniature tractor that his dad
had built.

Dad was a genuinely optimistic man. Each morning, he saw the day filled with
hope and promise. With this optimism, he guided his kids and his grandchildren,
which made us believe that anything was possible.

After high school, he knew he would be drafted, so he joined the Navy and
became a sailor working as a medic on the historic USS Hornet as the Vietnam War continued.

Like many in his generation, he never talked about his service. I didn’t know until I discovered his Navy photo albums as a teenager. Even when I asked him, he would say very little about it.

But Dad would not shy away from helping his family. When his father called him to
come to the small town of Cross City after his Navy service to help establish a
sawmill, he never hesitated. Then, after a few years, Dad had this audacious idea
that was just getting popular: bagging up cypress mulch. This led him to start the
Dixie Green Mulch Company, which became a huge passion in his life.

Dad could relate to people from all walks of life.
He valued character over pedigree and wasn’t a cynic. He looked for the good in
each person and was usually able to find it.
Dad taught us about public service and how it was noble and necessary. He
strongly believed in being useful to others and your community.
Dad recognized that giving and serving would enrich the giver’s soul. He accepted
that failure was a part of living a full life but taught us never to be defined by
failure. He showed us that setbacks can strengthen it, and we should never be
afraid to attempt.

Dad loved to laugh, especially at himself. He would poke fun and kid around, but
not with malice. He placed great value on a sense of humor and a good joke. His
wit was drier than most, but it still made you chuckle with its meaning.
Tommy Dickert knew how to be a true friend. You never knew when you would
get a handwritten note about something that happened, and he wanted to give
you something to remember. Some of these handwritten notes are still being
brought up today as a memento of his expressions of remembrance of the
occasion.
He taught us that a day is not here to be wasted. He had two speeds: get it done
and sleep, and when the sun came up, there were things to do.
He told us what it meant to be a father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. He
was firm in his principles and supportive of our seeking our own ways. He
encouraged and comforted us but never steered us, even if we asked.
We tested his patience often. I know I did, but he didn’t hold it against me.
Speaking of his patience, that is one thing I certainly believe that he showed us
and taught us. In marriage, 50 years, he showed us patience would be needed to
have a lasting marriage and possibly a deaf ear.
Maybe it seemed he was perfect, but we knew better.
His musical tone and his singing were way off. His rhythm was non-existent, and
he was not Fred Astaire on the dance floor. I believe we’ve all inherited that
defect, too.
I don’t know exactly what Dad is doing today, but I can tell you this- I’m sure he’s
seeing and saying things more than we can imagine.