With God on Our Side

The first trip I made out of the house after my dad died was to buy a new bike rack for a car I'd purchased nearly a year before. After his three year fight with multiple forms of cancer, the morning after was a welcome, but guilty, relief that members of my family sheepishly admitted was finally a moment of quiet after years of obstacles, long nights and hospitals.

I flipped my music to shuffle and headed down the block in a light rain. It was that odd feeling of being in the town where you live on a weekday - simultaneously being amazed by both how many people exist on the streets when you're usually at work and at just how empty normally congested areas are.

I was thinking of my Dad, but not in any meaningful way - it was the hangover of months of checking in, running errands and never having him far from my thoughts. Does he need any groceries? What was the last inventory I did over there? Is he running low on anything? Is he strong enough this week for me to be "busy at work" so he can enjoy an afternoon out to run errands without having to worry about him taking a spill at the market? What am I forgetting? What is left on the rolling chore list?

Driving the road that splits the forest preserve near my house, "With God on Our Side" covered by K'Naan rolled over to the current track. Dylan songs will always remind me of my dad. It was one of the few artists he and I found common ground on before both of our musical spheres grew and overlapped considerably. I was doing the most exaggerated Dylan impression you had ever heard from a pre-teen in the back of a station wagon returning from the Wisconsin State Fair when my dad erupted with laughter. It's the first time I can remember him laughing like that because of some silly bit I was doing.

When I lived in Minnesota, not a trip passed without my dad mentioning it being the home state for Dylan. There were always loose ties to what Dylan meant to my dad as a teenager in the 60s without any really specific stories being told. For my dad music was a necessity of daily life and he passed that genetic marker on to me.

My dad also loved cover versions of songs he treasured. Without even looking, I will bet there are more cover CDs that he'd burned for me sitting in their cases right now than copies by the original artists. He had a particular fascination with reggae (no idea where that came from, either) and of course the reggae tribute to Dylan was a major coup when he found it.

When I was first loading Spotify with music a few years ago, the only Dylan music I could find came from compilations and covers. I dumped a few full albums of all types into my "Favorites" playlist and went to work weeding out the ones I didn't like. In the end, there were a few that still remain and "With God on Our Side" is one of those.

I ended up driving a lot as my dad was sick, quick errands to help out at first and more regularly scheduled visits as he got closer to the end. Eventually we gave up the polite lies and embraced the fact that he needed more help than company. My sister, mother and I worked out a schedule to have a family member at his apartment at least once a day.

Seeing the incremental decline from day to day was difficult, but the dips that I saw when I'd be gone a few days were the hardest. In a particularly bittersweet twist, the major gaps in my schedule were a result of my custody schedule with my sons. I'd switch gears between developmental hops forward shown by my 3 1/2 and 6 year olds and the quickly mounting setbacks experienced by my dad.

These two cornerstones of my life were intertwined. I'd feel sadness for my dad who wouldn't live to see any of his grandsons grow up, but mostly I'd be driven to tears by the knowledge that neither my two sons or my nephew would ever get a chance to know such a great man.

There would be stories, pictures, videos and hazy memories, but none would ever do nearly enough to offset the loss of my dad at the age of 64. Cancer took a man on Father's Day of 2015 that never smoked, rarely drank and was universally regarded as a kind, helpful and gentle man. Accepting that life isn't always fair doesn't dull the pain of losing one of your heroes.

I could write hundreds of thousands of words about my dad (and probably will) but the line "I had an undying wish to keep from dying / I had an untimely hitch keep me from climbing" sums up my dad's fight from the original diagnosis to the final days when he closed his eyes and never opened them again.

I remember a quiet evening when Dad was back in the hospital with complications from the cancer in his liver and kidneys that would eventually overtake him. He'd beaten back the first round, went into remission and was then diagnosed days before Christmas 2013. We'd gone through chemo once already and knew exactly what lay ahead as he was admitted to the hospital to address anemia and infection brought on by the treatment.

"I know you're going to keep fighting for the grandsons," I told him. "You just need to let us know what we need to do to keep you in this fight for as long as you want to keep going."

Dad just smiled and went back to napping.

Dad never made a big show of coming or going from the hospital. He never posted expressions of emotion on Facebook as he went through the process. To be honest, the comment I heard most after he died was, "I saw some pictures, but I never knew he was that sick."

What I can say is that he privately lowered his shoulder and pushed back against the disease. I like the feeling of the song's bassline - simple and understated, but driving and consistent- because it makes me think of that aspect of him. Every few bars, the bass drum slips in a few extra beats and that's him, too - when he had the energy, he'd shock the hell out of you by outlasting everyone on a weekend outing.

There are too many pieces in this song to adequately give a full dissection of how they fit and the connections they make for me. I think that's a big reason I love this song so much now - it can take a few minutes and walk me through a few hard years without causing any real damage. There are many reasons I treasure music - and many I can't even explain - but knowing that part of that love came from my dad is always a comforting thought when I have it. Of all the genetics my dad could have passed along, the music gene is my favorite.