There were three holidays throughout the year that were difficult. Xmas, Father’s Day, and Rodney’s birthday. The three days where I tried so hard to think of a way to give back to the man who had given so much. Then it dawned on me. If you want to give Rodney the perfect gift then just be the best you you can be.
"I am proud of you" was his calling card when he wanted you to know that he noticed: an accomplishment, effort, or act of kindness. In my case, it was always “I’m proud of you, Deedub.” It occurred to me that he rarely called me David anymore. He had taken a name penned for me by a dear Los Angeles friend, back in 1992, and used it as my namesake for many years now. It felt amazing. Every time he said it, it was just reinforcing our connection. One of the very last things he said to me was,“You raised two amazing boys. You make me proud.” That little re-phrasing brought tears to my eyes. But, what’s important here is more than just the sentence itself. It’s understanding that over the years, he knew I made mistakes. Some really big ones. But, he never gave up on me and through all of it, I guess I managed to do ok. I learned that you can be proud of someone without that someone being perfect. Novel concept.
Rodney’s love of scuba diving, the ocean, and all the tiniest of things that call the ocean their home, was infectious. When Caleb was certified, the joy in Grandad’s steely blues was indescribable. When Toby followed it up a few years later, you would think Grandad won the lottery. I would intentionally swim away from them to get photos of grandad, underwater, watching over his precious cargo. Amazing that you can “see” happiness in someone diving just in the way they glide. Effortless. At ease. Pure, weightless joy. Before COVID hit, we had big plans for a 2 week adventure in which Luke was going to join the ranks of Rodney’s underwater church. COVID came but then so did the cancer. I have no doubt that Luke will go on to get his certification and I don't believe for one second the group of Sheppard / Wolfson / Watkins and Hohle have taken their last joint dive trip. The next time we jump off the dock at Bari Reef, we will look around for those fluorescent yellow fins and realize that they will forever be burned in to our memories and that Rodney will dive that reef forever, just waiting for us to return.
Rodney wasn’t supposed to get cancer. He was supposed to grow old peacefully. He suggested, in the past, that his preferred way to go out would be to swim out to a wall and head down. A euphoric descent serving as a proper farewell for someone who wanted no fuss, no muss, no heralding out. Cancer had other plans. Plans that would succumb Rodney to the very things he despised about growing old. Towards the end, there were just so many people tending to his medical needs. I am sure he felt like a race car surrounded by a pit crew and all he wanted to do was be free and drive. But, I will say - he was always worried we would put him in a home. So, I guess we did right by him on that one.
I know full well he’s not "gone." He has imprinted on all of us - we carry his love of baking, the ocean, good music, good steaks with dulce peppers, and good champagne. We will always have the vivid memories of live music at the missed Backyard, while sitting on homemade quilts and sharing his love for Robert and Lyle and Willie. Chicken fried ribeyes at Z Tejas. Taco plates at Maudies.
And above all else: 25+ years of Thanksgivings on Enchanted Rock - drinking bubbly from crystal stemware, after watching Rodney pop the cork letting the grandkids chase it down; feasting on Celeste’s pralines, which, like the cookies, have become legendary; views of the violet crown as we head down, signaling farewell, for now.
When I first met Lauren, her brother had been gone roughly one year. Over the course of 30 years, I have listened to stories and toasts, celebrating the Sheppard I wish I had known. It’s odd, but through those stories, I miss someone I never met. When Rodney spoke about loss, he would tell people, quite simply, it is a hole that will never be filled. You spend your days, weeks, months, and years trying to make the hole smaller. But, it simply never goes away. And by his own admission, it shouldn’t. It is that hole that endures the memories and love for the one lost. It assures you that you will simply never forget. It is in that spirit that this hole left by the loss of Rodney Sheppard will be my serving reminder of the gifts he has left his family, myself, and my boys. And to anyone and everyone he touched with his unconditional kindness and love. From the top of E Rock, to the trails of Zilker, to the depths of the ocean, I will never feel alone, nor forget, nor stop loving him.
With all the respect and love in the world -
Deedub
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