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| At the harness races--one of my favorite photos of us |
Seven and a half months ago, my father died. This year, on
Father’s Day, for the first time, I won’t have a father.
This feels strange. Something I have always had, and taken
for granted, is missing. The months since his death have been filled with
little goodbyes. Realizations that I won’t be able to share certain things with
him, and vice versa. For example, when it was time to plant tomatoes this year,
I decided not to—not only did I not feel up to battling the bugs and the
squirrels for the fruit, gardening was something my dad and I liked to talk
about—his tiny backyard plot produced tomatoes and cucumbers galore. We liked
to compare harvests (he always had more) and compare what we had planted.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad. Coming to terms with
losing a parent isn’t easy, even when you’re all grown up and have a child of
your own. I decided to jot down some memories and thoughts about him in his
honor this Father’s Day.
Even though my dad had his flaws (as we all do), he was a
loving and kind man. My dad loved animals, especially cats. In addition to
gardening, he was an excellent golfer, and loved fishing, and going to the
horse races. He was in the Navy and served during the Korean War. He was a Baptist, and loved his church.
At his best, he was charming and charismatic, full of zest,
humor, and mischief. He worked hard all his life—at 84, until his last illness,
he still worked part time doing marketing for a Servpro franchise.
He was born and grew up in Virginia, moving to California as
a young man looking for work.
He was extremely lucky, winning often at the horse races or
casino, even finding money lying on the ground!
He loved his
grandson, my son Nick, deeply. Dad smoked for many years, and after trying
unsuccessfully to quit several times, stopped cold turkey when he saw his toddler
grandson imitating him smoking.
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| Dad and Nick |
I always asked him to make his special salad when I came to
visit. I technically know how to make it myself, but it’s not the same. But
perhaps I will try making it in his honor now and then, trying to perfect what
he did so well.
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| The chef at work |
My parents divorced when I was three, and I didn’t have much
contact with my dad in my earliest years. The circumstances of my parents’
divorce were unusual, and without going into detail, let’s just say it was no
one’s fault. I know it was devastating to him when my mom and I left, and I
don’t think he ever quite got over it. It shadowed our relationship for years.
Once I was old enough to stay with him, I spent part of summer vacation at his
house, and either Christmas or Thanksgiving break. My stepmother had always
wanted a daughter, and she embraced me as her own immediately. At the time of
his death, they had been married 42 years.
At times, my dad and I hurt each other deeply in ways that
only family can, each of us making mistakes, saying the wrong thing, convinced
the other person was wrong or just did not understand. Now that I’m a parent, I
better understand some of our exchanges. I regret that we didn’t have the
lifelong closeness I’ve observed in other fathers and daughters. Over the
years, I’ve grieved for what was denied us, but now grieve for what we did have
that is now lost. Sometimes it hits me anew that he’s gone, taking me by
painful surprise.
Now I can choose to remember the fun we had , letting go the
old hurts. He did the best he knew how, and so did I, and sometimes we came up
short. There was never any doubt that we loved each other, fiercely.
He always called me his favorite daughter (I’m his ONLY
daughter), so last Father’s Day, I sent him a sweatshirt with the words, “My
favorite daughter gave me this shirt” printed on the chest. He loved it, and
since he was always cold (even when the thermostat said 85), he wore it
proudly.
I have a voice mail on my phone—my dad’s last message to me
from April 2018 when I was getting ready to come to California. He sounds
excited about the upcoming visit. I can’t quite get my head around the fact
that there will be no more visits, and that when I said good-bye to him last year,
it was the final time I’d see him in person.
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| Last visit |
We spoke on the phone many times after that, and I sent him
a message on his 84th birthday, which he celebrated while I was in
France last October. Only a few days after I returned home he was gone. I knew
his health had been failing, but I thought we would have more time. I guess we
all think that—or hope that—about the people we love.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I miss you.
