Thanksgiving Weekend 2021

On this gray Saturday morning,  my brother by marriage, Philip Cuomo,  died after a long illness that ended up being cancer in the central nervous system. Philip had just recently turned 58.   He was an extraordinary man---a great husband, partner and family member,  a clown, a writer, a champion of the good, an organizational leader and actor.  And so much more than I know.  I received word just after waking on this gray Saturday.  The news was expected; my sister Maureen had worked tirelessly to bring Philip home from more than 150 days in hospital.  Family and friends had surrounded them with love and help of every kind to make their time together as good as possible.

This morning, I made the connection that Philip and Maureen had married in late July 2007, and that Dad had been there to share their joy.  Just months later he fell ill and left us on Thanksgiving weekend.  Dad was very happy for the two of them.   Here, fourteen years later,  I find myself pondering the interweaving of these lives and deaths. So brief the burning of life's candle.  So many images of crossings and conversations and celebrations and sadnesses that are lit by these memories.  

Our years are like rooms through which we pass,  marveling at what each one contains and offers us,  only remembered as shadowy images once we have walked through them.  Not to be revisited. I have some photographs to recall that joyful day.  Even as I experience the dull gray severance of these passages.  Thanksgiving-- I am grateful for both of these special men in our lives.  

Ten Years After

I am astonished to realize in recent weeks that Dad has been gone for ten years.  Despite the time, his presence surrounds us in our lives.  He was 82 and would have lived more years, I believe, were it not for the systemic infection that took over his body.  As we live our lives today, Dad's life is a reference point--an anchor.  We were so lucky that he was ours, short though the time seemed. 

July 25th 2015- Goldendale Washington

This past week Mary and I had the unusual experience of having 48 hours offline and having to figure out where to go.  What to do?    The work week was pretty intense for me, so I was not paying much attention; I figured we could go anywhere for 48 hours and have a great time.  Toward the end of the week, though, Mar mentioned to me that she'd been looking at areas around Mt. Adams (a place we haven't been for a decade) and that she thought we should run east and north and base our short excursion out of Goldendale.   

Suddenly, I had a revelatory moment.   Goldendale was one of the places that Dad loved dearly and wanted to share with  people because the Astronomical Observatory  there was a treasure.  It is one of only ten 'dark sky' scopes on the planet, a resource beyond measure.  Dad would take busloads of students on field trips to view the stars and planets.

I had another epiphany as I realized we were rolling out on our short getaway just days from the anniversary of Dad's birth, July 28th.   He would have been 90 years old.   I could not imagine a better destination than Goldendale,  following in my father's footsteps on a path he loved deeply but which I'd never shared. 

So it was that Mar and I joined the large group of interested fans of astronomy at the Goldendale Observatory on Saturday evening before Dad's birthday.  The setting sun provided spectacular views of Mt. Adams and the slow unveiling of the night sky.  We looked through the reflecting telescope at the moon and were charmed by the 'whoa' from the kids looking through the lens.  We looked at the tiny image of Saturn and its rings through the big telescope.  Surrounded by scores of families and individuals who clearly cared about astronomy and wanted to experience and understand it,  I felt that I was standing next to Dad and taking joy from the eagerness around me.  Fitting, I think, for the commemoration.

November 25, 2014

The seventh anniversary of Dad's death.  I spent much of the day with him in mind,  even more than usual.  Coming north from an errand in the afternoon,   I looked at the temperature outside and thought (with Dad in mind) what a warm day it was…then took a picture of some distant undulatus to the north with my phone.  As I have more opportunity to care for people from Dad's generation,  I feel their presence around me.   Thank you,  Dad. 

Tomorrow is the sixth anniversary of Dad's death

I have posted the video I created as a tribute to Dad's life on Vimeo at  David Dodican Porter.
The video does not do justice to the extraordinary truth of Dad's influence on people around him nor the complexity of who he was.  His legacy lives on in scores of people who were affected by knowing him.  

He is missed every day.

A reminder that David Dodican Porter's birthday

is coming up.   July 28th, a week from today.   I urge anyone reading this to go outside and contemplate a cloud.   To offer to buy a meal for someone who is asking for help.   To question one of my own assumptions about what is true and right.    To make a very bad pun on the spur of the moment.  To take a pencil and draw a diagram to help a child understand something they observed around them.   To make pancakes for Sunday breakfast with whatever ingredients were hanging about in your refrigerator.  To take a serious moment to express your gratitude to your Creator for your life and all that comes with it. 

He will grin if you do.

We experience Thanksgiving on so many different levels.

Yesterday was the anniversary of Dad's death.  And Thanksgiving. Our family, in its dozens and dozens,  gathered in different places and shared meals of different kinds and told stories and sang songs.  We were not all able to be together this year---our family is connected to other families-- and for some of us,  we are the anchor for the Thanksgiving gatherings of those folks.   In our case,  Mary and I hosted Mary's Mom and Dad and a small collection of in-laws and descendants.  Don and Everthiki were the anchor hosts for their family for years but can no longer play that role.  Which is fine.  We love bringing people together for sharing meals and holidays and recalling the past.  And I know that feeling is the standard among our fellow Porters and their partners.  


Which brings me back to Dad, and the days surrounding his death four years ago.  As I reflect on it,  I see clearly that his passing was an unexpected gift to all of us.  It brought more of us together in one place and with common purpose than had ben the case probably since his birthday party some years earlier.   Dad was a passionate believer in family and also generously welcomed others who made connections with us,  inviting them to see and understand what our experience of family was about.   Today that memory and thought reawaken a sense of closeness to my father,  a recollection of those last days when I had a real awareness of 'presence' even though Dad wasn't able to converse.  I feel him beside me still.