I Miss You Dad

Phones all over the country will be ringing today.  Or they should be.  It’s Father’s Day in the USA.  A day to honor the men in our lives who have raised us, helped us to grow and learn, protected us and taught us about life.  Unless your father was abusive or neglectful or narcissistic it is easy to praise and honor the men who raised us.  I wish I had my dad here now.

My dad died in 1989.  I think of him as being long-suffering for living in a house with 4 daughters as well as a narcissistic wife.  He was patient and gentle for the most part, but stern and strict when it came to making and enforcing the rules. As a self-employed man, my father had his own schedule.  Yet, he was always busy.

He had a business dealing with coins and precious metals when I was born, the oldest of his children.  I’m still not at all sure what that entailed, but it was a passion of his.  As we grew older, his business plan seemed to change.  He switched over to buying and selling out of print books.

There were many nights he spent at the kitchen table studying a catalog of book buyers and sellers.  It was his research, to learn which books were in demand, which ones were worthless and where the best books might be obtained or sold. Boxes of books filled our house.  We had bookcases in every room.  We had our own personal libraries separate from the books which were his business inventory.

Books were sacred and golden in our house.  It was unimaginable to me that there could be a house without books.  I was aghast when I went to a friend’s house and found an old tattered book written for children carelessly tossed in a toy box.

A book in a toy box?  It was blasphemy.  It was eye-opening for me.  I discreetly looked around the house for the bookshelf to see what other books they may have in the house. There was no bookshelf. From what I could discern, this tattered and worn book was the only book in the house.  I could almost feel my father’s disapproval.

I don’t remember much of him as a coin dealer.  There are memories of going to coin shows on some weekends when I was much younger.  That part of his working life is a mystery to me.  I remember the book dealer.

My father made time when we needed to talk to him.  Unless it was serious, it would have to wait until the nightly news and weather were over. But, he would always make time to listen if we needed to talk to him.

My father was not a passionate man.  We girls may have gotten worked up over something, but he always listened with a logical head and knew the next action to take.  He was a smart man.  He didn’t let emotion rule his thoughts.

My dad was on the school board during my high school years.  It was on his way home from one of his board meetings that the aneurysm nobody knew he had in his head burst.  He drove the car into a tree.  My dad was in a coma for two days before they finally declared him brain dead.

I had not seen him since I went to work that morning.  It was my choice not to go to the hospital when he was there.  I stayed home with my four youngest siblings to let my mother and my oldest sister go to be by his side.  I was 19 and able to handle the household on my own.

When they did the final tests and determined it was time to pull the plug on his life support I was alone at work.  It was good that I was alone and that I took the call there.  It gave me time to accept the news and grieve in my own way.

I’m a private person when it comes to strong emotions.  Having someone fawn over me and hold my hand and pat my head is more annoying than helpful to me.  I have to come to terms with things on my own.  That day I did.  I cried long enough to get through the funeral arrangements and the final days.

There were so many reminders of him.  I laid in bed for the first few nights after he was gone and waited to hear him drive home, only to realize he was never going to come back home again.  It felt so unreal to me.  People were so kind and thoughtful but I was in a daze.

A week after the funeral I finally dealt with the full force of my grief.  We had a wood furnace in the basement and my father spent a lot of time taking care of the fire.  It was the place we would go to talk if we needed some private time with him.  On this night I felt compelled to check the fire and the loss hit me hard.  This time I was down there alone.  I cried hard.

Time eases all wounds but I don’t think they ever truly heal.  Even tonight, 27 years after his death, I am still shedding tears as I type this.  The loss is still felt after so long.  I still cry at his grave site.   It is a selfish tear that I cry, because I know he is happy and doing well.

He looks after me and has heard me speak to him.  I have felt his presence often when I need him.  I never feel truly alone because I know he is still watching over me and guiding me when I need instruction.

So today, I want to wish a Happy Father’s Day to my dear dad in Heaven.  Thank you for watching over me and helping me through this crazy thing called life. And if you have your dad still in your life, make sure to call him and tell him how much you love him and appreciate all that he has done and still does for you.

You never know how long you will get to keep him.