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My dad taught me how to run, and he taught me how to walk steady.
He showed me what stamina and courage look like and that maybe it’s good to bow out every now and then.
He showed me that it is okay to embrace second chances and that there is a reason there is an eraser at the end of a pencil.
My dad believed in doing the right thing because it was the right thing to do.
He believed in telling the truth, even when it was hard.
He believed in the principles and values this country was founded on, and that they are still good principles and values worth defending and protecting.  
He was oh so proud of having served as a United States Marine Reservist, earning the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.  And serving on the Marine Corps shooting team…well, we have many medals to note his success.  
He let me see what it looks like to love grandkids so well that they pretty much idolize their Papa.
He taught his kids and grandkids to shoot, hunt, and fish, mostly out of appreciation for the privilege of enjoying the outdoors.  
My dad showed that it often did not require words to make a point; he was a quiet leader.  I loved that about him, and I aspire to be like him in this way.  
He let me see that dementia isn’t much fun, but it can be okay if you have people around you who understand.  
He showed me that people with advanced dementia do not lose their intelligence or the essence of who they are.  
I watched the reality that losing the ability to do what was once easy is a bummer, but accepting help is okay.  
My dad let me care for him.  He let me love him.  He let me walk with him through the final years of his life.  
I will never regret one second of brushing his teeth, helping him shower, or cutting up his food and helping him get it on his fork.  I will never regret walking arm in arm with him to help him stay steady while I learned to slow down.  I will never regret shaving his face, helping him get dressed, and lifting his feet into bed.  I will never regret all the places we went and the people we spent time with, living fully and living well, even though dementia was an increasing part of his experience.
I will look at the sky and the clouds more often because that is what my dad did.  I’ll watch for wildlife, but probably won’t spot them like Papa did.  I’ll keep listening to good old cowboy music because that is what my dad loved.  He was a farm and ranch boy who did well in the city, a just-right blend of country and refinement.  
My dad gave me a great deal.  He took me to church and let me encounter Jesus as a little bitty girl.  He encouraged me to attend college, work hard, and realize my gifts and talents.  I knew he respected me, and I knew he was proud of me.  
I will never regret looking into my dad’s eyes and “seeing” him, really seeing him.  His dementia journey is when I really got to know my dad.  And knowing my dad has been an honor and a privilege.  
He helped change my thoughts on quality of life; helped me understand that feeling safe and warm and comfortable, being clean and able to eat food you enjoy, and having those you love and who love you nearby is enough; enough quality of life to make it worth the everyday struggle.  It wasn’t until the struggle overcame those good and simple parts of his life that my brave dad relaxed into the end of his life.  
I will miss the way his head smelled when I kissed him goodnight.  I will miss rubbing his fuzzy head before he went to sleep.  I’ll miss reading the stories from the newspaper and his military magazines with him.  I’ll miss walking with him and pushing him in the wheelchair.  I will miss doing the silly little things I did that made him laugh.  Someday, I’ll do some of these same silly little things with my grandkids.  And I will tell them about their Papa.