My Dad died about nine years ago. There’s not a day that goes by that I can’t honestly say I don’t think of him. I never knew I would miss him this much. A few years ago I wrote this post on Facebook and re-posted it again this year. I think this sums up anything new I could write so I’m going to post it here also. To those whose Fathers are still alive, call them and wish them a happy Father’s Day. I know I wish I could.
I first posted this a few years ago and it came up on my memories recently, but with Father’s Day tomorrow I wanted to re post it one more time. I don’t know if I can find anything different to write about my Dad that I don’t include here.
It’s not like I think of him more on this day than any other. I don’t think a day goes by that I don’t have at least one thought of my Dad, who passed away from cancer six years ago. Something will happen during each day will make me think of him. I can be shopping at the book store and I’ll see a book and my mind thinks how that would be a perfect Father’s Day or Christmas present for him, but of course I don’t have to buy it. Or when I bought my Ipad when it first came out I imagined him saying something about my need to buy the newest gadgets as soon as it came out.
You hear people say that their Mom or Dad is their best friend. My Dad was never my best friend. He was my Dad. I didn’t want him to be my best friend. I needed him to be my Dad. Even after I had supposedly grown up I wanted him as a Dad, not a best friend. I wanted to be able to call him up with a problem and get his advice. I knew if things got bad I always had a place to go back to. I have plenty of friends, but I only had one Dad.
My Dad was, shall we say, vertically challenged. He was probably 5’ 4”, shorter than my Mom. Of course that was always open to comment. He liked to say that dynamite came in small packages, I would tell him so does silly putty. But when I think of him I always imagine myself looking up at him, no matter how tall I grew over him.
He continued to surprise me throughout his life. A lifelong Republican, and worse a Nixionian, while I grew up he came to admire Bill Clinton. A veteran of over twenty years, he would get so mad about the war in Iraq and the men and women sent over there he would literally work himself into tears.
I got my love of reading from my Dad. He always had a book and was reading some part of the day. After my parents retired, he would go shopping with my Mom and while she was in the stores shopping he would find a bench to sit and read. I remember more than a few times walking through the mall to find him sitting on a bench with a book while my Mom was inside the store shopping. I can say that I am a feminist because of my Dad. Chores or duties in our home weren’t assigned because one was the Mom or one the Dad. My Dad handled the cooking the last twenty years of his life so much that after he died my Mom said she had to learn how to cook all over again.
One of the things my Dad regretted the most in his life I think was that he didn’t graduate high school. He left an abusive family situation and joined the Navy before he received his diploma. He may not have finished school, but my Dad was one of the smartest people I have ever known. He taught himself so much over the years, that there were few subjects he didn’t have some knowledge of. As much as I’ve tried to emulate him, there are some subjects that just baffle me and when something in car goes wrong I miss the chance to call him and explain the problem and have him tell me what the solution is.
And what I remember most about my Dad was how much he loved my Mom. Oh, I’m not saying there weren’t bad moments. They could fight. Oh boy, could they fight. But in the end it didn’t matter. They loved each other so much. When my Dad was in the hospital dying I overheard my Mom talking to the priest and she said “He’s my right arm, no, he’s both my arms, he’s my whole body.”
My Dad was one of those people that never realized what an impact he had on others. If he had seen the people that stopped by his hospital room when he was dying, from family that came everyday and worked shifts so he wouldn’t be alone at night, to nurses who had dealt with him only weeks or months before wanting to stop by and say their goodbyes he would have been astonished.
I’ll never forget one incident while we sat in the hospital room. There must have been about twenty people in the room, from my Mom, my brother and sister, my niece and nephew, uncles and aunts, cousins. It was a full room. Everyone was sitting around talking in different groups while he laid on his hospital bed. My niece got up and walked over the his bed and sat down next to him. Conversations were lowering, people were turning, as she took his hand in hers and sat there, talking to him and holding his hand. The room had went completely quiet as everyone watched.
My Dad adored my niece and nephew. I’m not saying he didn’t love his own children, but he held a special place for the two of them in his heart and thought the sun rose and set on them.
I could spend pages and pages talking about my Dad and what he meant and still means to me. Even though I don’t send him a card anymore I wanted to write something about him for Father’s Day. They say that loss gets better over time and while it might be true that the hurt isn’t quite as fierce there isn’t a day that goes by I wish he wasn’t still here.