Philip Daniel Hays

Dad,

Happy 83rd birthday this month! I'm sorry you couldn't celebrate with us, and your presence was, of course, deeply missed. We got together as a family and had a good meal.

My brothers and their families are doing well, Mom's doing well, and I'm doing well.

I sort of said this in my previous message, but when dealing with the loss of one's parents, I know what you would say. You would normalize it and say that most everyone has to go through the loss of their parents. You did. I now have to deal with losing my dad. Again, it's unfortunate that life works in a way that when you lose someone you're very close to who you also look to for advice, you can't go to that very person for advice about that very loss. That sounds almost like a comedy skit, doesn't it? But it's true. Thankfully, you were constantly "hitting me" with wisdom, and I think a sufficient amount stuck. Enough to allow me to have a modicum of good judgment.

And, Dad, you were a great friend to me after I grew up. Parents probably shouldn't be "friends" with their young children, but after they grow up it sort of changes the dynamic. You weren't a very social person, and I'm similar in that regard. But we always had a great relationship. As I've said recently to family members, I don't have any regrets about my relationship with you. At all. But, you know, that's probably a testament (again) to what a great father you were.

Not that I'm saying anything profound, other than that I love you and miss you, but I do hope that, through eternity, you're able to read these messages. Maybe in eternity they won't seem significant. Having a good father, though, is pretty significant, even though one's earthly existence is only a small slice of eternity. I believe you had that with Grandpa, your father. I know I had that, for sure, with you. I just have this idea that anyone named Philip Hays was a really good man and a great father. Just a hunch!

Life choices are still hanging in the balance, perhaps delayed a bit? Pondering it.

I am, and will be for the rest of my days, always very proud and honored to be your son. We will talk soon, Dad. Love you and miss you, always.

From a grateful and devoted son,

Stephen
May 2026

Dad,

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year in Heaven! I know time probably doesn't even exist outside of this realm, but I know you are well. You've "slipped the surly bonds of Earth" and I hope you're enjoying meeting up with those you cared about through your life who went before you.

I do wish I could tell you (though devastating and sad) how great your funeral was. Maybe "great" isn't the best way to put it. It was touching. The flag on your coffin, the military gun salute, the eulogy, and the obvious overwhelming love, care, and support your entire extended family had for you. I mean, I know you already knew that, but it clearly showed. All our tears were sort of the inverse of the good things you had done and who you were to us.

Ubi sunt. That's something I remember talking to you about, and I think about it a lot now. It's Latin for "where are they?" and one interpretation of it refers to the earthly finality of death. People who have passed are...just gone. Where are you, Dad? I know you're in Heaven, but from our earthly perspective, you're no longer here. I've never grieved over anyone's death until yours. As I stated in my permanent tribute message to you, I'll be okay, partially because of what a great father you were. But it's a rough experience to lose a parent, especially when you were close. You had to lose your parents. I guess most people do.

I visited your grave this week. I don't know how often I'll go, but I needed to at least once. It's a beautiful and serene cemetery, Dad! Really nice. Did you ever visit Grandma and Grandpa's graves? I don't know if you did after their funerals, and I guess in some ways there's no need? It's painful and weird all at the same time. I wish I knew how to respond.

I've thought about some significant changes to my life, and I pretty much know your opinion on them. Sometimes when I would disagree with you, you chided me, "I wish you would listen to me like you used to when you were a kid." Then I responded, "Dad, I almost always listen to what you say and pretty much agree with almost everything you say." And I did, because you were usually correct. Anyway, I think when someone you care about passes, like a parent, it causes you to take a census on your life. Not even necessarily in a bad way, really, but just deep reflection. We'll see how things unfold. I wish you could be here to argue with me about it, and I mean that in the best way. "Forceful debate" is maybe the better way to put it.

I plan to write you on your site at least once a year, perhaps more. This site will exist as long as I have the ability to keep it going as a memorial and tribute to you. I don't want to put you up on a pedestal (and you certainly wouldn't want that), but you were an absolutely great father for decades. My blessings and successes in life are in many ways directly related to that. I'll never forget that.

Mom is okay, and my brothers are okay. We'll be okay, but it's rough. Your grandkids are doing great, by the way!

We will talk soon, Dad. Love you and miss you, always.

From a grateful and devoted son,

Stephen
December 2025