On this day eleven years ago, my father left this world, after cancer claimed him. He died at home and I remember feeling something I had never expected to feel: relief. I was so glad to see his suffering end, to see his ravaged self freed of the indignity of that disease.
The relief remained in some ways but was replaced with so many emotions, and the reality of how final death is when it happens. I’m able to bear the loss with more ease, with an adjusted acceptance of this state of being. But I still sometimes hear his voice in the expressions that are so much a part of who I am, still sometimes know what he would have thought in situations that arise. What surprises me the most is how often I think, I wish Dad could see/know this…
So here he is on my wedding day, 25 years ago, and sorry for the quality but it’s a photo of an old photo:
When I see him that day I remember walking down the aisle on his arm and the speech he made welcoming my husband to our family, and how sweet he looked with my mom all dressed in her fab mother-of-the-bride outfit.
Today, after eleven years without him, I am filled with things I want him to know. Things like this:
- Remember the little grandson who lost you when he was five, who cried his little heart out when your coffin was placed in the hearse? He is sixteen now Dad. Sixteen. He is graduating from high school in two weeks. He is almost as tall as you were, taller than his own dad, and I look up into his still mischievous eyes. He is handsome and funny and kind. I think you would love him.
- You know how your granddaughter loved words and stories and reading and learning? How her eight year old self would be filled with imagination and how spitfire tempered she was? Well she is a woman Dad. Full grown, nineteen. She is beautiful and smart and proud and strong. She is halfway through university and still uses her words well. She has matured and developed grace and character. I would love to hear the two of you talk about history and politics. It would be a conversation that touched the heart and mind. You would be so proud of her, I know.
- We are celebrating our 25th anniversary this summer. A quarter of a century Dad! I know it was hard for you when we decided to get married – young, students, limited financial resources, short courtship. But you knew G loved me and you were right. He did/does. We are going to reaffirm our vows in front of both of our families. I will miss you that day and I hope you’re watching.
- I’m sick Dad. I have something weird going on in my brain and it’s a real bugger. I had a lumbar puncture that went wrong last week and I told Gary you were up there saying, “second generation incubator baby…” and that made me laugh through my tears.
- Mom lives with us and I try to take good care of her. She has to work hard to cope with her COPD and it isn’t always a cakewalk for sure. She misses you. You would be so proud of her – honestly. What a woman. And she bakes for the kids and G. Lucky huh?
- People down here still don’t know the difference between the use of the words bring/take, come/go, me/I and it drives me nuts. Thanks for that
- Sometimes when I’m writing I see my letter formation and think of how you would hate it. I mix writing and printing sometimes and know you would despise that. People always tell me how nice my penmanship is and that makes me think of yours. Almost like calligraphy. I found something you wrote the other day and it made me feel close to you. I love your handwriting.
- I’m forty-five dad. Halfway to ninety. So much wiser than when we last talked. I’m a good mother, a good wife, a good woman. I think you would be proud. I hope so.
- I’m writing. See, in a blog! You wouldn’t even have any clue about this. You might say it’s a lot of talk about nothin’. But you know how I always loved words, and writing them down. So if you have wireless internet access where you are, put this in your reader feed. K?
Love,
M
Thanks for this, Mary. My father didn’t get to meet my little girl, but would like to think he can see her all the same.
I’m sorry you weren’t able to share the joy of your daughter’s birth and growth with your dad. I just said to G this morning that it’s funny – I have faith that when we pass our spirit lives, yet I grieve what he has not shared. I think I grieve not getting to see him see. I’m sure your dad is seeing and there will be a time of sharing in the future. I’m glad my post resonated in some way with you.
Beautiful Mary. I would say lots of the same things if I could talk to my Dad.
I know you miss your dad so much too Elaine. I don’t think it matters how old you are, there is still a part of being fatherless that is a wound.
What an amazing bit of insight. You’ve tapped the powderkeg that is my emotions about my Dad. Grief is love, all trapped inside you instead of showered on the one you love, and I think you let some of that out into the universe today. Thanks for sharing.
I’m sorry you have a lot of grief over your dad’s passing. It does sort of build up – the conversations you never got to have, the milestones you or your children reach that are not shared, the questions that never got asked, the traditions that are never quite the same…it’s a lot of little losses that add up. I hope my words help you share your grief a little. You’re right – it did feel like I got to love on him a little in the universe today. Take care my friend.
It always makes me smile and a bit melancholic when I read about people’s loving relationships with their fathers. It’s a beautiful letter Mary.
You know Kat, it’s funny you should mention that. We often had a very conflicted relationship actually. We didn’t always communicate well. There were issues. He wasn’t the person I would pick first to go to, or to talk with about things. But I did always know that though his ability to express was fraught with difficulty, he loved his family fiercely. Getting a chance to look after him in his final months allowed conversation through vulnerability that was healing in many ways. I’m sorry this made you feel melancholy. I’m glad it made you feel.
What a beautiful letter and I just had a big cry. Your dad would be so proud of this letter (maybe he does have internet and if so I am sure he would be checking the grammer, etc.). He would also be saying “My constant grammer correcting paid off”). He would also be so proud of your children and so happy to see “that young marriage” sure was successful.
Yes, you are a good mother, good wife, and good daughter whom I am so lucky to have.
I am sure you have touched the hearts of many
Luv
Mom
Bahahaha! You spelled “grammar” wrong. Dad would love that! I know you miss him every day but he would be so proud of how you have managed to live without him.
This is so touching Mary and so very familiar.
Thanks for putting it into words.
I think its wonderful when one’s written words feel like your thoughts being captured. I’m glad I was able to do it for a moment for you. It happens to me when I read the work of so many wonderful writers. I hope I didn’t make your grief worse. Thanks for your comment
Oh Mary, that was so beautiful. It took me quite some time to read, because I had to stop crying several times. We spoke once before of the difficulty of losing our dads (on twitter – cookie00532), but reading your words shows me how much our feelings are alike. My dad was my best friend and mentor and I miss him every day. I love seeing him in my boys – even the youngest (who arrived two years after Daddy passed) shows some of his character traits. Your writing is beautiful and shows such honesty. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for the lovely compliments. I am so glad you see your daddy in your boys. It reminds you that he’s in you, and in them, and can never really be gone from you.
Grandpa lives on through my superego. He aids my reasoning, strengthens my restraint, and pushes me to achieve. Just the other day, he half-jokingly asked me why the ‘A’ I had earned wasn’t an ‘A+’. There is no end to the questions I ask my inner representation of him. I wish he were around to expand upon and clarify what he’s already so deeply impressed on me.
Oh Dev. He loved you so very much and you made him smile so often. I’m glad you had him long enough to learn that he believed in you and wanted you to reach for your best self. And what a man you have become! He was proud of you then, and would be so proud of you now. xoxo
Bawling my eyes out! Have to keep wiping them so I can see my screen. The ladies at work have started calling me Ernie whenever I take it upon myself to edit documents just one more time before we send them out. I have shared with them that I learned way more about grammar and punctuation from my dad than I did from my teachers. I know the boys think of him often and still remember some of his words of wisdom, especially around interview times. I know they still remember some of the less wise, more humorous expressions, as well. Mostly, I think we all miss his love and ever-present support. (“Ever-present” is hyphenated because it acts as an adjective in that last sentence.) I think he would be proud of all of us!
Well, thank God you clarified that bit about the adjective. Now I know for sure you’re my sister. And your father’s daughter. I loved Mom’s comment earlier in this thread – she actually spelled grammar wrong and that made it all the better. Sorry I made you bawl but I’m glad it made you have a chance to know I was thinking of him too.
Thanks for this…I lost my dad when I was 11. I’m 37 but it is still hard because my life is hard and he was so calm and peaceful. He was the glue that made our family what it was. I am very spiritual. So was he. I do believe he can he me/ see me but that this journey is mine and I know one day we will be together again and I kn0w I am loved and its ok, I guess…
I’m sorry you lost your dad at such an early time. Going through adolescence without him must have been very hard. I was lucky not have to deal with that loss until I was 34. My dad did not bring calm but we miss him nonetheless. I also believe that I am loved and that we will see each other one day, but that doesn’t mean you don’t miss that actual presence. Then you can feel the grief so tenderly. Have you ever heard the Mercy Me song Homesick? It captures it for me so well. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvhrPMJe8LE
Beautiful post Mary. I lost my Dad over 25 years ago but I have always felt that he continues to know exactly what has been going on in my life and if he missed anything, my Mom brought him up to speed when she joined him 12 years ago. Now they are both (along with my little brother) busy keeping up with their , their grandkids and their great-grand kids from the best seats in the house
We still have conversations but they are much more intimate. Those of the soul always are.
I love that – conversations of the soul. I’m very glad you feel close to them still and know they are waiting for you down the road.
Mary, how wonderful that you are sharing your most intimate thoughts of your Dad. I believe your Dad is aware of you today as you are of him. Are you not living here on this earth today? You (and your siblings) are a unique representation of your Mom and Dads’ gifts to the world. While his earthly presence is gone; you live ….thus his essence, lives within you. I believe, when we leave this earthly place, we leave behind a spirit or essence for our children, our friends and others whose life we’ve touched or been touched by. Just a simple act of sharing special moments brings our beloved essences to life, through us. Thus, Mary, by good sense and logic, he lives, through you! Thank you for sharing.
And thanks for this good sense and logic!!
I’m crying reading this. It is a beautiful letter to a loved one, and I am sorry you aren’t able to say this to your Dad in person.
I’ve never lost a Dad, but a year ago Father’s Day my husband lost his. And it is because of that especially that this post hurts my heart so much. I can just picture my husband holding Cameron while they look at pictures together. “That’s your Grandpa. He loved you. He would have loved to get to know you.” And our new baby – he didn’t even know about him! I know there is so much my husband wishes he could share with his Dad. And the pain is still there, so raw. And I can’t fix it.
I hate the finality of death too.
I’m so sorry for the loss your husband, and your family, have had to grieve with the passing of a dad and grandpa. The pain is raw but it will heal slowly and in the full measure of time.
Mary,
What an amazing letter. It pretty much sums up what I would love to say about my father and father in law, who have both passed.
It’s hard when we hit the milestones, and the people we love and care about are not there to share it with us.
As long as we don’t forget them, and the generations after us don’t forget them either, they live on.
I hope all is well with you Mary, you mentioned an illness.
I remember the Mary from LHS, who was in my sister’s class (Aza).
Best wishes.
Wendy B (was an H)
Hi Wendy! You have the right Mary
Thanks for your lovely comment and I’m sorry for your losses. Thanks for reading.