To all my family, friends and colleagues,
As many of you know, I lost my Dad to prostate cancer in 2006 and my Mom is a breast cancer survivor. Cancer has deeply affected my life, and chances are it has affected yours as well. I humbly ask you to donate to my ride and join in my fight against cancer.
Sincerely, Ted Schlueter
Memories of my father:
My first memory of my Father was being carried on his shoulders. I was too little to compete against my older brothers in a race up the beach towards my Mom. We were on one of the barrier islands in South Carolina and my Dad was pretending to fall behind in the race only to speed up and take the lead. All of us crossed the finish line together, all parties declaring themselves the winners.
I remember a camping trip with my Dad and our best friends from Mount Pleasant, South Carolina the Canteys. I remember it raining the whole time.
I remember going salmon fishing with my Dad and my Godfather, Uncle Ray, his oldest and best friend. We’d have to get up at 4AM and my Dad, always clean-shaven, would have gray scruff on his face and drink black coffee. To my Dad’s chagrin, Uncle Ray and I caught all the fish.
As I got older, I remember my Dad working. He left every morning at 6:15AM and got home at 6:15PM. When he got home, he would always hug and kiss my Mom, say “hello” to me and my brothers and then head upstairs and clean up for dinner. After dinner, my Dad would promptly head down stairs to his workshop to build something. My Mom’s call would echo behind him, “John, don’t be down there too long…”
I remember coming home from college one day to find my Mom distressed…“You’re father has been in Chicago trying to sell the company and he’s on his way home” she said, not knowing the outcome. 15 minutes later, my Dad walked in the door. He looked like he had just returned from battle. Disheveled and worn, he said in an exhausted voice, “We did it. We sold the company.” My Mother rushed over to him and they hugged tightly, both of them were crying. My Dad looked at me. Smiled and said, “I’ve always hated the shoe business.” I’ve never had more respect for him. He had sacrificed everything for our family.
After college, I remember talking business with him. Learning from him. He was my inspiration.
I remember Christmas. With all of our Aunts, Uncles and cousins. My Dad would always be cracking jokes with his unique sense of humor. You couldn’t help but laugh.
I remember sharing every birthday with him, we were born on the same day.
I remember other little things; His overly exaggerated grin, his weak spelling abilities, his never-ending “to-do lists”, his love of food… his love of food, the way he confidently handled difficult situations, his unwavering support.
* * *
My last memory of my Dad is the most poignant.
We were in my parent’s upstairs bedroom, and my Dad’s hospital bed was overlooking Marblehead harbor. Just moments before, a rain squall had blown through and the sun had just broken through the clouds, the view was breathtaking. The room was bathed in twilight.
My Mom, my two brothers and I were so close to him we were all touching, I was holding one of his hands and my Mom was fiercely hugging him. We knew he was just about to go.
At that very moment, he breathed in his last breath, and with a body completely void of moisture a single tear beaded in the corner of his eye and fell down his cheek. He knew we were there. He knew his suffering was over.
That single tear embodied everything that was my Dad, and was the single most powerful moment I’ve ever witnessed in my life.
Like my Father, I’ll never forget it.
