As we prepare for Bill’s celebration of life, Graham’s family has been going through lots of keepsakes and photos. It’s a treasure trove, you guys. Diplomas, Christmas cards, newspaper clippings – it’s been incredible to look through all of it. Bill lived a big, beautiful life. And collected and kept everything, including old slides. Graham found a hard drive full of them, going all the way back to the 1940s.
Lucy looks so much like her dad, so I’m not surprised that she also looks like his dad.
Here’s baby Bill:
And here’s Lucy:
Both at Easter, 1944 and 2026.
And she didn’t just inherit his features. Look at this:
I mean, I know I never taught her how to do that, and yet…
The past and the present aren’t the same, but they sure are similar, aren’t they? Smiles all around.
I’m so grateful we have so many memories of Bill to share with Lucy when she’s older. I won’t ever let her forget her Papa Bill, and how wonderful he was, and how much he loved her.
Graham’s family has been going through their scrapbooks, and y’all, some of this stuff. They’ve found so many beautiful memories – newspaper clippings and old photos and letters and just so much – and also some really funny ones. Like this:
Graham did very well in school, but apparently never, ever, ever, ever did his homework. Ever.
I can’t recall that I ever had to write a letter like this, and that his mom had to sign it! Oh my goodness! And for Graham, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference. But it sure is hilarious to revisit now!
I’m forty today. It’s my birthday, and I’m sure I’ll write about it at some point. It doesn’t feel right, in this moment. Right now, I really just want to continue to focus my father-in-law, Bill. His life, how he loved us, and the amazing legacy he leaves behind for all of us.
We’re feeling his absence pretty acutely right now. We miss him. And Graham wrote a beautiful remembrance that he shared with friends and family. I’m posting it here, too, because it’s good, and it’s heartfelt, and it’s how Bill ought to be remembered.
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So many people and organizations have written wonderful tributes to my dad, Bill Campbell, who passed away a little over a week ago on August 1. The Virginia Beach Art Center (Artists’ Gallery), the Virginia Museum of Contemporary Art, numerous friends, Katie, and the obituary T and my mom put together below.
I’m so thankful. I’ve been blown away by the posts, the comments, and the direct reach outs to me, to my mom, and to T. And I think it’s time to add some brief remembrances of my own.
I’m glad so much of what has been written about my dad talks about the art he created, and his work to support art and the artist community in Virginia Beach. This was a true love of his, and I’m so happy to see him remembered that way.
The broad outlines of his life, mentioned in the obituary, are also impressive – an improbable journey from a childhood in Yazoo City to Philips Exeter (applied on a whim!) to UNC, where he met my mom, on to Chicago where he received his graduate degree and started his career in advertising, and to Virginia Beach, where he would eventually co-found an agency and grow it into one of the most prestigious in the region. And, of course, his retirement in his 50s, which gave him time for a veritable second career as an artist. His family, friends, and community remember him as kind, curious, optimistic, cheerful, and a friend to all – as do I.
Against that, I suppose what I can add is a bit of extra color to a life well-lived and well-remembered. Some of my earliest memories of my dad are as the family videographer, capturing trips, reunions, performances, and our 1991 home renovation (which he playfully branded “Reach for the Sky”). It’s a role he kept with, and we now have hours upon hours of family memories captured, all with him as the behind-the-camera narrator. T and I used to laugh about this, and as kids we each went through phases of loving and hating the attention. Now I’m simply glad to have it all.
His intellectual curiosity was broad, but I think I can directly credit his love of gadgets with the career I’m in now. I remember him teaching me BASIC on the family Commodore 64 – my first experience in programming. We were a Mac family before it was cool. And, at the end of the day, he always wanted to keep up with the next new thing. He wasn’t satisfied to sit still and fall behind.
He had a love of older technology, too, which I fear I inherited. I still think back fondly on setting up his childhood train set every Christmas, even after it had begun to spark and derail and generally smell like an electrical fire. His record player still sits in the living room, and has inspired me to acquire a couple of my own.
I’m not certain which one of my parents first decided to encourage me in music, but I know it was my dad who first set up the Miracle keyboard which sparked my interest in the piano, and it was my dad who drove me to school early once every week for lessons when my interests shifted to violin (and later viola). I remember those trips fondly, listening to tapes of lives and music of the great composers. We would go to concerts of the Virginia Symphony together. He loved classical music, and wanted to share this with me. He also loved the blues, and while my enjoyment of the genre never crossed into full-blown passion, I will always remember fondly the concerts we went to together, the albums we listened to together.
And he loved adventure. Not only did Dad love to travel, he loved to explore while traveling, and made a point of seeking out the local flavor of wherever we were. He introduced me to skiing, went kayaking with me, biked with me down the boardwalk and back in First Landing State Park, and even co-led my trip to Philmont Scout Ranch – a serious backcountry trek including a climb up 12,441 foot Mt. Baldy.
After my dad’s retirement, he and my mom started traveling extensively with friends – to Napa Valley, to Europe, and beyond. It made me so happy that my parents were staying active, and staying adventurous, well after many people of their age would have settled down.
The last few years have brought the arrival of my daughter, Lucy. I have been blown away by the degree to which he immersed himself in her world – getting down on her level, finding a way into the games and projects her imagination created. He loved her, and filled her world with fun every time they were together. He was one of her favorite people. I only wish they had a few years more.
There’s of course so much more – his humor, his refusal to complain – or slow down – even in the face of health challenges, the many works of his art I have hanging in my house, the many, many more he produced. So many great conversations, so many wonderful stories. I realize that so much of what I like best about myself comes from him. I will always miss him, and will always be grateful.
I’ve had enough of grief, so today I’ll focus on love. I won’t give time to that moment when you lose someone, when you feel your chest collapse, you go concave and hollow and you know that you’re alone. Because I know love never turns to loved. Gone isn’t lost. That place in your heart isn’t empty. It couldn’t be. It’s just gone fallow, and only for now. Soon, again, it will grow. It will grow new and alive and long, like bright yellow flowers turned royal blue. We become legacies forever and forever and forever and that love will always go on.
Graham’s sweet dad, Bill, my wonderful father-in-law and Lucy’s most beloved Papa, passed away on Saturday at 6:04 p.m., surrounded by his wife of 58 years and his two sons. It happened quickly, though he’d been dealing with some health challenged for a long time. Meg, Graham, and T sat with him until the end, and I’m glad of it. He loved them, he loved all of us, and he would have done the same. He carried kindness, joy, curiosity, creativity, warmth, and a friendly smile everywhere he went. He painted, and puzzled, and loved wine and travel, and swam in the ocean, and never stopped doing the things that mattered to him
He lived. And in his memory, we will, too. Every day. I’ll miss him. I’m grateful that I got to know him, and I’m grateful that Lucy will carry his beautiful legacy.
It’s the waiting that’s the worst – Sleepless nights watching the phone, willing it to ring, or better not to. Those nights aren’t quiet. They’re sitting alone in the silent dark and wondering wondering wondering what comes next. And then the most wrenching thought: When? When? When? No good time. No right moment. Just this: The waiting waiting waiting for the one thing you never wanted.
I saw your wings once in a church surrounding us in prayer – dust in the air and soft golden light, delicate and quiet, shining through leaded glass and glinted panes that we created. But you did it first.
It’s been a while since I’ve written a post about Merlin, so I thought I’d show him some love today. Did you know he has a full name? It is Merlinus Ambrosius Toothifer Goodcat Campbell. A grand name for a grand cat.
He’s adjusted quite well, really, to living in Virginia Beach.
He loves to look out at all the birds and squirrels in our yard. And lately, he’s been trying to bust out of jail and go be a wild thing. It’s been…fun…to manage.
He’s always been Lucy’s friend and protector.
Though lately, she’s asking a lot of him.
Don’t worry. We keep him safe and we’re teaching her every day how to be gentle and give him the kind of attention he likes.
I haven’t shared this before, but Merlin is also a sick kitty. He seemed well when we first brought him home, but quickly developed symptoms of what we thought was a cold due to the stress of being in a new environment. He sneezed and coughed, and one of his eyes got sort of weepy and crusty.
We brought him to the vet as soon as possible, and he was diagnosed with Feline Calicivirus. It’s common, and if cats get it, they carry it for life. In many cats, it just manifests as a cold, and they don’t have symptoms again unless or until they’re old or sick. In other cats, it’s acute, and deadly. In Merlin’s case, it’s chronic. He’s okay, just sneezy and occasionally snotty. And unfortunately, the virus also attacked his teeth and gums, and we’ve had to have several of his teeth pulled so that he can eat comfortably. Whatever we have to do for the rest of his life to take care of him, we will. He’s our family.
And he’s a happy cat. And very, very good.
We’re so grateful for him. There just aren’t many like him. How lucky we are, that we found him, and that he’s decided to love us back.
Welcome to Part 4 of a special collaboration with Annie over at Tales of a Family! We’ve had so much fun sharing our journeys and working on this together, and we’ve found that we have a lot in common. It’s been the most wonderful way to get to know each other, a celebration of friendship, and an exploration of writing and stories and how creating grows and changes with us. I hope you enjoy the reading as much as we’ve enjoyed the writing. It’s hard to believe this will be the final post in the series, but I think we’ll work together again in the future. I’m looking forward to it!
Annie’s Part 4: What Matters Most
After ten years of writing, remembering, and sharing stories, I discovered that the greatest treasures are not always the stories themselves, but the people they bring into our lives. When I first started Tales of a Family, I thought I was simply preserving memories. I wrote about my family, the past, and the people who shaped me. I gathered our stories and history before time carried them too far away. At the time, I did not understand how much this journey would grow beyond my family history.
Over the years, my blog has become more than a collection of memories; it has become a place of connection. Certainly, I treasure the readers who have taken the time to visit, read, comment, and share their own memories. Every kind word, thoughtful response, and personal reflection has meant more than I could ever possibly say. Sometimes a comment has reminded me that stories have a way of reaching hearts we may never meet in person.
Those comments have encouraged me to keep writing, even when I doubted myself. They reminded me that ordinary moments can stir something familiar in someone else. A story about a porch, a mountain road, a childhood memory, a dear pet, or a person long gone can help another person remember something precious from their own life. That has always been one of the beautiful things about storytelling. Our memories may have begun as our own, but once we shared them, they often became a bridge to someone else’s heart.
Through the years, I have treasured the friendships that have grown through this journey. Some friendships began through shared stories, kind messages, blog comments, or a mutual love for writing or family history. Others deepened because storytelling gave us a new way to connect.
This blog has helped me look at life differently. I started to view my life with more gratitude. I have begun to notice the small moments, the quiet blessings, and the people who make this life so meaningful. It has helped me understand that a treasured life cannot be built only on grand events, but on everyday love.
To every reader, friend, family member, and fellow storyteller who has been a part of this journey, thank you. Your encouragement has always been one of the greatest treasures of all.
The stories may have started with my family, but over time they have become part of something much larger: a shared place of memory, connection, friendship, and heart.
And that will be something I will always treasure.
Katie’s Part 4: What Matters Most (and What Comes Next)
Thank you.
I feel like I need to start there, before anything else.
(But I should probably also add some context.)
Here we are. This is Part Four of our collaboration, and honestly, it’s the one I’ve been least eager to write. Thinking about what I treasure most – the connections and the friendships, the growth, the creative community around me – that should be joyful and fun. And it is! It absolutely is. It is also overwhelming.
Ten years, y’all. I’ve been here plugging away at A Virginia Writer’s Diary for ten years. That’s a long time, and I feel like there’s just so much I could say. I could fill pages and pages, and I’m struggling trying to condense everything down.
(Seriously. This is currently my sixth attempt to even get started. If it sticks, I won’t delete this note, and everyone can laugh. Writing is hard sometimes, you guys.)
I thought I’d get very specific writing this. I don’t think I can. I think I need to come at this another way. So here it goes…
I remember when I started this blog. I felt hopeful and excited, but aimless. Then I remember when it came alive during 2020. I decided to be brave, and started posting poetry and short stories. The comments I got were all so nice, so encouraging, and they made me want to do better. So I kept posting, and I kept writing. I posted things I knew weren’t my best work, because to get anything out there at all felt better than to contribute nothing. I don’t strive for perfection anymore. I try to do better than I’ve done before, to take lessons away from lackluster dialogue and lines of poetry that don’t quite fit. I am part of this community, and I want to be there, to be present and to give something whenever I can.
It’s hard to mention specific readers and comments and followers, because while I certainly engage more prolifically with some blog friends than with others, I value everyone who stops by and leaves a like or a comment. And I enjoy reading your work, even on days when I don’t have the free time or the free hands to type a response of my own. I’m grateful to everyone out there who reads and writes and creates and inspires me to do the same.
We are a community. We’ve supported each other through the bad moments – 2020 and tough elections and tragedies and uncertainty – and through good moments, too – getting published, finding new jobs, starting at college, seeking help and therapy. I read your posts and feel like I’m not alone, and I want you to know you’re not alone, either. I see you. I read your work. I appreciate your art.
Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for being here and doing what you do. It’s been a journey, from 2016 until now, and I can’t wait to see where we go from here.
So, what comes next?
Well, first, I can’t truly conclude things without saying that I’ve loved every bit of this collaboration with Annie, and I hope we can do something similar again soon! Please go check out her blog, Tales of a Family. It’s wonderful and heartfelt, and I’m so glad she and I have been able to connect through this project. It just encapsulates everything I enjoy about being here on WordPress.
I love creating. I love cooking and making music. I love decorating my home and making it a space that feels full and happy. I love coloring with Lucy and building towers out of her Picasso Cubes. I love writing. I love connecting with other people. Most of the time, I love people.
It’s going to be an interesting next chapter for all of us creators, I think, as we move deeper into the age of AI. When I think of what comes next, I think of how beautiful and human and imperfect we are here, putting ourselves out there in all of our not-quite-right glory. Sharing stories that go on too long or end too soon, poems that don’t sync to the rhythm we had in our heads, artworks that don’t pop the way we wanted, essays that just can’t truly convey what we’re thinking.
We are perfect in our imperfections. That sense that what we’ve created isn’t done, that it could be better, that’s our spark of the divine. We are not stagnant, and we are never totally complete. We grow and change every day. Our creating does, too.
I don’t know quite what I want to do next here on A Virginia Writer’s Diary. I want to get back to posting more often, and to writing short stories. I miss writing short stories. I’d like to start something longer form – a novel, if you will, in parts that I post once a week or once a month. I think that would be amazing, and a really interesting challenge. I want to follow more of your blogs, and engage more with what you’re creating. I live in Virginia, but I want to make a space on my little corner of the Internet that’s bigger and more than just my world. I invite you to do it with me. We’ll have fun.
I want to grow. I want my writing to grow. I want my community to grow. I want us to create together and go to bed at night knowing that no one and no machine could ever do it quite the same way.
And I want to keep going, keep growing and keep creating, for as long as I can.
A Virginia Writer's Diary 