Dedicated to the talented and memorable John Mahoney, who we lost on February 4, 2018. Rest in peace, Mr. Crane.
Frasier carefully placed the single gladiolus on his father's grave. He thought it to be the perfect choice, as it represented strength of character and honor. As much as he wouldn't admit it before, those were two characteristics he'd really admired in his father.
Of course, Martin would just call it plain foolishness. He'd wave it off, telling Frasier to quit believing in "all that fruity mumbo-jumbo". Maybe that was part of why Frasier had chosen it in the first place. His father's all-too frequent jabs at his son's taste for the finer side of life had left some bittersweet memories behind.
Slowly, Frasier bent down to get on one knee. It was the most he could do- after all, he wasn't about to ruin his suit in this mud. Still, he felt that he had to at least make some effort to get close to his father.
Niles and Daphne had offered to come with him to the cemetery, but he had declined. He always saw his father with someone else, whether it be them, Roz, or Ronee. Tonight, he wanted to be alone.
He racked his mind, trying to find something to say. Over the many years he'd spent doling out advice on his talk show, he'd covered the topic of death many times. He'd helped dozens of people come to terms with the loss of their loved ones.
And yet here he was, stuck trying to find something to say.
After several minutes of that, he finally resorted to just letting his mind take him where it needed to go. After all, his father had always said that Frasier thought too much about things.
"Hey, Dad," he started. "I... don't really know what to say. I miss you. I really do."
He stopped after that. Irritation at himself flashed through him. Really, Frasier? You can do better than that!
Swallowing hard, he continued, "I know we never got along all that well, you and I. We were always biting each others' heads off, over one thing or the other. I never could understand your love of beer and corny jokes, and you never could understand my love of wine-tasting and opera.
"But we still loved each other. I really do think that. We had some great times, you and I. Going to Canada in that damn Winnebago. That time Niles and I thought we were royalty, after we all took that trip to Antiques Roadshow. Being there when Niles and Daphne finally found love. Hell, even the time I became so hellbent on beating you at chess that I set the fire alarm off just to spar with you."
Frasier had to pause then, taking out his handkerchief to dab at his eyes. "I know I was a pain in your ass... a lot. I wanted to apologize for that, but now I don't. I think that you and I wouldn't be, well, you and I without that. If we hadn't constantly been at each others' throats, who knows what would have happened?"
A small breeze kicked up then. Frasier was no believer in the paranormal, but it still brought a smile to his face. In the fading summer heat, it felt nice.
He took a deep breath, letting his eyes sweep across the cemetery. It was nearly time for the place to close for the day, and as a result nobody else was around. He'd chosen this time specifically for that reason.
He spent several long minutes just looking around, enjoying the calm serenity of his surroundings. Eventually, he looked back down at his father's headstone.
"I heard someone say once that the dates on a headstone don't matter," Frasier said softly. "It's the dash in between that counts. That little mark represents everything in between your first and last breaths. Well, Dad, your dash was sure full as hell. You did a lot, and impacted a lot of people. I hope you know that."
Frasier pushed himself off the ground and stood. He took one last, long look at the peaceful grave, adorned with the single flower.
"Goodnight, Dad."
