2/14/2023

My beloved dad, Webb Harwell, passed away on February 1st. I helped to write his official obituary, which you can read here.

Here, a little more: my dad lived with a cancer diagnosis for a long time—over twelve years. For several of those years, he was more or less himself. Then he had another surgery and lost a lot of functionality, but he was still as good-humored, as gentle, and as funny as ever. He had crackerjack comic timing. But still, he was different; he couldn’t call me by himself on the phone, or take his cherished dogs for walks.

One time as Ross and I were travelling home from his house I was feeling sad. So I leaned my head on his shoulder and said, “my dad could beat your dad at arm wrestling.” It wasn’t even necessarily untrue—my dad was always shockingly strong, all the way until the end. Grown men feared his handshake. But it’s not, like, something I cared about. I just remember wanting to feel like a child. I wanted to feel like my dad would be there forever.

“You’re right,” Ross said, putting his arm around me. “He totally could.”

My dad was the strongest, the sweetest, the cleverest, the funniest. One time he made me a flute out of a bamboo reed. A flute! Out of a reed! He was a vegetarian for almost his entire life and took me to Taco Bell because I loved it. He found the loveliest children’s books to read to me and rented environmentally-themed cartoons that have not not scarred me for life. He was magical. He was real. We disagreed sometimes and lost precious time. But I never for a moment lost sight of how lucky I was to call him my dad.

One of my most precious possessions is a corn husk doll. My dad helped me to make it (or rather, “helped” “me” to “make it”) at the San Jose Children’s Museum one day. I was probably around nine or so. I’m 36 now and have kept it carefully preserved through at least a dozen moves , a minor miracle given how fragile it is, how difficult to keep it from getting crushed or cracked. And every time I touch that little doll I think of my dad’s hands shaping her skirt, braiding her hair. He was so strong, do you understand? He could beat your dad at arm wrestling and still he shaped all that strength into gentleness, into love. He was special. He was my dad.

Webb Follin Harwell

December 15, 1945 - February 1, 2023