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Mar. 31st, 2007 01:39 pmToday would have been my dad’s 73rd birthday. He has been gone for more than ten years now, but I miss him every day. The sadness and anger have faded, and left only good memories of being loved by a gentle man who looked a little scary, and who didn’t really understand his girls, but loved them unfailingly.
For those of you who don’t know, my dad died from complications of MS – a disease that I also suffer from. I think that he always blamed himself for my condition, but I hope he knew that I never did. He was gone within a week of the onset of the episode that caused most of his organs to fail, so it was fast, and virtually painless.
He was a good man with a strange and wonderful sense of humor. He didn’t talk a lot, but he spoke volumes. The memory of his laughter still makes me smile and giggle a little bit with the way he would get to a point where all he could do was wheeze with it, while his eyes teared up with mirth.
The whole point of this post is a simple acknowledgement of his birthday, and the imprint he left on my life.
I also want to issue whoever reads this a challenge: Tell your father or father figure that you love him (if you do)—if your father is not part of your life, and your mother played both roles, then tell her. Call him right now, or send a note or an email him, or text him…just let him know, even if you know he knows, already. It was the last thing I ever got to say to my father, and I have never regretted saying it, but I would have regretted neglecting to.
For those of you who don’t know, my dad died from complications of MS – a disease that I also suffer from. I think that he always blamed himself for my condition, but I hope he knew that I never did. He was gone within a week of the onset of the episode that caused most of his organs to fail, so it was fast, and virtually painless.
He was a good man with a strange and wonderful sense of humor. He didn’t talk a lot, but he spoke volumes. The memory of his laughter still makes me smile and giggle a little bit with the way he would get to a point where all he could do was wheeze with it, while his eyes teared up with mirth.
The whole point of this post is a simple acknowledgement of his birthday, and the imprint he left on my life.
I also want to issue whoever reads this a challenge: Tell your father or father figure that you love him (if you do)—if your father is not part of your life, and your mother played both roles, then tell her. Call him right now, or send a note or an email him, or text him…just let him know, even if you know he knows, already. It was the last thing I ever got to say to my father, and I have never regretted saying it, but I would have regretted neglecting to.
