Love, legacy, and a harvest of memories that fathers leave behind

On a walk in the field near my home, I passed by fruit trees that my dad had planted for me in 2014, two years before his death. He dug holes with his backhoe, planted two cherry and three apple trees, and then fenced them in so deer wouldn’t ruin them.

The cherry trees began producing fruit a few years ago, though, for some reason, this year’s cherries were not abundant. The apple trees had not done as well. One blew over in a windstorm. The other two only produced a few small apples over the last couple of years.

This year, however, my McIntosh apple tree produced a bountiful crop, and my Honeycrisp produced 22 sweet, tangy, medium-sized apples.

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Apples hang on a tree near Kristin Neva’s home. (Photo by Kristin Neva)

As I picked apples, I thought of my dad and the care he took in helping us build our accessible home after my husband, Todd, was diagnosed with ALS. He cleared the old, blown-down barn on the property across the field from his and my mother’s home, and installed our septic system. He fabricated sturdy clothesline poles and installed them as a birthday gift for me. And he planted my trees.

So many years have gone by that I’d almost given up hope that my apple trees would produce good fruit, but finally, we have apples.

My dad’s love of gardening is something I’ve embraced. I have the cherries and apples, and this year I also grew green beans, herbs, and flowers.

I thought about what things Todd has passed on to our children. They were only 9 months and 4 years old when their father was diagnosed, and Todd was sad that they might not even remember him. In the months after his diagnosis, he wrote in a journal for each of them, sharing stories from his life, stories from their young lives, and his wisdom and love for them.

He didn’t fill the journals because his hand began to cramp while writing, but the things he wrote are treasures.

Thankfully, Todd outlived his prognosis, and our children got to know him personally and not just through his writings. Todd’s been an active parent, even from a wheelchair.

He has coached our son on projects around our home and has purchased the proper tools for him to do the work. He didn’t want our son to deal with the frustration of using his old tools. He says he was too cheap to buy good ones when he was able-bodied. Now, our son has quite the collection of power tools, and Todd jokes that he has tool envy.

Todd’s passed on his love of music to our daughter. He often shares old songs with her, texting: “A song you should know.” She has fond memories of her father singing a good-morning song that he made up for her and of him reading books to her. She loved when he read Winnie-the-Pooh books with voices for each character.

ALS has taken so much from our family, but it hasn’t kept Todd from being a father to our children.

As I ate an apple from the Honeycrisp tree that my dad planted, I thought of him and the man he was, and how he showed his love. And I thought about Todd, our son’s competence with tools, and our daughter’s love for music and books. Maybe someday, those things will remind them of their dad the way the apples from my trees remind me of my father.

Note: ALS News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of ALS News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to ALS.