For those of you who don't know, my dad Rick Reuter has been in the hospital the last few weeks. On Monday, after almost two weeks of sedation, he was totally alert (if barely able to talk or move), helping us get into his computer and pay the taxes. I wasn't with him at the hospital on Tuesday, but I really knew that would be an important day. He told my mom he wanted to "go home." By Wednesday, he went mute again. My mom and I could tell that he was done, but the doctors remained suspiciously optimistic. On Thursday, they put him on a CPAP when his oxygen began dropping again. When we got there, you could tell, perfectly clearly, he was MAD. He didn't want another machine! He was done. We tried to tell them, but the doctors remained optimistic, until he finally got his way early Friday morning and died.
My dad was extremely caring and intelligent. Despite his awkwardness, everyone could always really tell he cared and always wanted to help and support those he cared about.
I had just about the perfect childhood. Our little family was always at the core, but he helped instill values like independence, intelligence, and just being generally active and ambitious. We never just dreamed of doing things in the future. We actually did them.
As a kid, I identified biology as "Mommy science" and physics/engineering as "Daddy science." Daddy science was always cooler. We did experiments with wires and batteries, and made a pine car that used physics to go faster than the other cars. We built a go-cart of sorts, which I remember being one of my first and main woodworking projects. If it weren't for him, I would never have been interested in aviation, ultimately earning my pilots license.
He taught me to ice skate - I don't even remember ever not knowing how to skate. Going ice skating was one of the main ways we'd spend time together after I moved away.
We were very active growing up, doing everything from cross country skiing to whitewater rafting. In college, we rode our bikes from Seattle to Portland together, then just a couple years ago, we walked a marathon together - I needed to jog most of the way to keep up with his long strides.
While I don't recall him ever teaching me any of it, he gave me a genetic love of spreadsheets. We both tracked all kinds of unnecessary things in nice neat grids.
Shortly after college, we went to Universal Studios Florida together, just the two of us. It was really special, being able to share my first experience at the Wizarding World with him.
He was SO excited when we moved to Port Angeles and lived just minutes away.
The last time I saw him before he was in the hospital was at a St. Olaf reunion event. He loved telling, over and over again, how he didn't encourage or expect me to choose St. Olaf, but he absolutely loved that I did. It was a great school for both of us, and he was especially glad how I got to have fantastic music opportunities and continue to play music. One of his greatest regrets was quitting sax. I gave him a few lessons, but only after his health had begun to go downhill, so it was difficult.
He went out on a high note, right after getting back from Japan; after which, we were able to spend time together at the St. Olaf reunion in Seattle. He led a very full life, and I'm glad I was able to make those last few memories with him.