I Miss You Dad, Wherever You Are

Today is the first anniversary of my dad's death. That's him, in his cop days.

It's hard to believe that a year has flown by. It only seems like yesterday that I said goodbye to that poor, frail body and wished him godspeed.

My dad was many faceted. Funny, gregarious, pigheaded and bossy, loving and kind. I'd like to think I'm the same. He used to always say "Who's the prettiest girl on the block?" and I would say "who?" Of course, he answered "you".

He knew so many things, and I miss talking to him about things, even if we did disagree on a lot of things. I'm so grateful that I moved back here and got five years in person instead of phone calls, and that I could take care of him as he slowly died.

He died on a Tuesday, and on the Friday before hospice called me at work and said "you better come home, he could die any time." When I got there, I went to talk to him and he kept pointing at something, like he could see someone standing there telling him to come. Through my tears I asked him to say hi to my brother and grandparents when he got there. He was kind of agitated - and even though they encouraged us to tell Dad it was okay to go, none of us could actually say those words. So I leaned into him and said "don't worry, I'll take care of everyone, just like I always have" and he became peaceful.
He never opened his eyes again, and died early in the morning on Tuesday. It still hurts.

Thankfully, mom is still going strong, albeit slower, and everyone at this moment is healthy and alive. I hope it stays that way for a long, long time. But I can't help but remember that she is 81 years old, and has had two heart attacks. But she's here now, and I'm loving that.

Anyway Dad, I miss you every day, and I love you like crazy.


Anne said…
What a nice tribute you just gave of your Dad. I feel like I got to know him a little bit. What a beautiful and touching post. Best wishes to you and your family. I seen your blog at Blogger Coffee Shop by the way and thought I'd check out your blog.
Anonymous said…
It's the best part of life - memories, becaue they never die.

You were lucky to have a Dad like that, I didn't. I respected my Dad, but he would never let us get close enough for us to love. You have good memories.

MarthanĂ³ir said…
Your Dad sounds like he instilled some great values and life lessons in you. He sounds like he was an awesome person.
Thanks for your comment about Ernie over on my blog. Wondering where your love for Kovacs came from, I zoomed over here to see.

Then, a surprise. Someone with whom I can identify for a more important reason.

Your account of the one year anniversary of your dad's passing was moving. I lost my Dad a couple of years ago. I can't tell you the date as I have blocked it out of my memory.

The time - that's different. 1:47 in the morning. 1+4=5 7=7 5 and 7. The numbers have followed him around his entire life. My sisters were both born in room 507. The hospital I was born did not have a room 507, but I was born in 5C7. My Dad's locker at his club = 507. His office suite at his building - 507.

Most every day, for some spiritual reason, I click on the screen on my iPhone (I don't wear a watch), and there is the time - 5:07. I think it is his way of saying hello.

I'd glad you still have your mom. My mom was the one who introduced me to Ernie Kovacs on the television. When I was little, they used to play some of his old shows on PBS and we would watch dinner with Kovacs. It became the most unexpected love of my life. To this day, I am one of the few that even understand what it means to say "I'll see you just outside the bookends."

I lost Mom two weeks before the birth of my son, over 9 years ago. She had a stroke and I flew cross country to see her. She was in bad shape. On a Tuesday, we, as a family, met to make final arrangements. On that day, we walked in... and she opened her eyes and looked at my sisters, my dad and then me. She closed her eyes and never opened them again.

Ironically, the next day, they said she would have a recovery, that the signs were good. So, I decided to head back to Seattle. On my last visit to the hospital on the way to the airport - the doctors told us of the recovery possibilities. She said she'd never be the same, but she would live.

As I was saying goodbye with the rest of the family, something did not feel right. I left the room and told the family I wanted to say one more thing on my own.

I went back into the room and said "Mom, you do what you need to do. I'll take care of Dad. If you need to go... go, knowing that we love you and will love you forever." Something told me I needed to say goodbye on that day.

With that, I kissed her and left for the airport. I arrived in Seattle and she died the next day.

So I am glad you said what you needed to say to your Dad, and hope you will take this from your Friend in all things Kovacs.

Always remember to leave nothing unsaid when it comes to the people you love.

It was Edie's strength that kept Ernie going through the tough times, and it was her strength that allowed her a great life after him as well. It was because they said that they needed to say.. and could live with the laughter.

Thanks for a wonderful entry, and I look forward to following your blog into the future.
What a touching tribute. Beautiful post, and wherever he is, I'm sure he's proud of the most beautiful girl on the block.

Thanks for stopping by my blog... I'll definitely be back to visit!
Unknown said…
The 10th of this month marked ten years since my dad's death. I still think about him every day.
Unknown said…
The 10th of this month marked ten years since my dad's death. I still think about him every day.
Sometimes I take time out of my day to read blogs. Today I found yours. It was touching and nudged me call my parents. Just to say hi.

Popular Posts