My Dad would have been 86 today.
There is not a day that goes by that I don’t miss him, think about him, and wish he were here.
I miss his hugs, his laughter, the way he said “Right-O” before he hung up the phone – and most of all – our conversations, which inevitably, often led to yet another lesson learned.
My Dad was a great teacher. He was the guy you went to for advice in any situation. He would always listen attentively, arms folded, facing you, head down, frequently glancing up to make eye contact with you, sometimes rocking slightly back and forth on his feet and nodding his head as he absorbed the weight of your issue and formulated his careful reply. Yup. This was the guy you wanted to talk to when you really, really needed sound advice. You may not have always liked it, but he was always spot on.
Last year, I wrote a post about the lessons my Dad is still teaching me, posthumously, since his passing three years ago – a post which caused several interesting things to happen as a result. The events that unfolded following my post I believe were meant to happen and honestly, although at first it seemed tragic, I understand now it was exactly how it was meant to be – and his lessons keep on coming.
To quickly recap – I strengthened some relationships while others weakened in its wake. The ones that weakened were meant to weaken, because they weren’t built on solid ground – their balance was always off. I lost some unhealthy held beliefs about others and the roles that I had always wished they played in my life but in reality, they rejected long ago. I suppose I was always hoping that my projection of what I wished for would one day become the reality, but learned the hard way that when you turn off your projector, you’re left starring at a blank screen. The happy news is that as a result of that pain of recognition, I felt an enormous weight lifted. I finally ended an exhausting chase.
Every death in a family leaves a horrible, irreplaceable void of some degree. The void my Dad left for me is breathtaking. I fail most days to see the end of it. It feels as if I’m lying on my stomach, peering over the edge of the Grand Canyon and realizing just how small I am compared to all I have lost.
And when someone that passes away means so much to you – and to a family – the ground literally quakes and shifts in their absence. Some may stumble. Others fall. Some – like me – fall, then fall again, and again until I can finally get up on shaking hands and trembling feet and feel solid ground for the first time. I’m unsteady, but I’m standing.
It has been heartbreaking, scary and liberating all at once. I continue to mourn my Father everyday and not a day goes by that I don’t yearn for my family back – all of them – my brother, my Mother and my Father. My heart aches as my mind races at times trying to accept and understand but knowing I never will – not completely.
But having faced my very worst fear – a fear I’ve held in my heart since my Dad said to a very small, young girl, “Your Mother is dying”, to the in-between when on my 28th birthday my big brother tragically died, up to the morning when my Dad drew his last breath – that fear of being “alone” in this world – and letting go of all false hopes I had of being accepted and my childish, idealistic notions of what family and belonging should mean – I have emerged stronger in the letting go.
And, I am free. That blog post began my path to that freedom. It taught me that my family is made up of the people in our lives who chose to be there and show up. Who love us unconditionally and without fail, judgements or conditions. Who hold out their hand so we can stand when we stumble and fall. Who offer a hug when there are no more words. Who believe in us, trust us, respect us, see us as we really are (even when we can’t see ourselves clearly) and want us in their lives anyway. My Dad was that person for me.
These bonds we have are rare, precious and valuable beyond any description I could offer. They should be cherished, acknowledged and celebrated. I am lucky that my Dad and I shared this bond. We knew exactly how much we meant to one another and at the end of his life, there was peace in that there was nothing that was unsaid between us. He knew. And I knew. Together we knew each other new. And there was only a look, a hug, a squeeze of a hand or a smile that seemed like nothing – but said everything – to us. In reading this, I know you must have heard your own heart speak the names of those people who you share a similar bond. We are blessed just to know this kind of love in our lifetime. It is – in my opinion – life’s greatest gift. Which makes it so hard when its gone.
My Dad led me on a path of enlightenment and understanding that everything I ever needed – or will ever need – everything – is right at hand. He is gone but he taught me that I am not alone, rather, I’m lucky that there are people in my life who I recognize and celebrate as part of my family. I forget this sometimes but when I do, I need only to look into my children’s eyes to be reminded and know my Dad is right – yet again. We are never alone if we love and are loved unconditionally in return. I am not alone. I will never be afraid of being alone again. This brings me enormous comfort and peace. Another lesson learned.
Happy Birthday, Dad. Thank you for the lessons and gifts you still bring to me. I’m listening. I’m always listening. Always hoping, striving and with your help, growing. And forever loving and missing you.
{image: Celebrating my Dad’s birthday, along with my (at the time) newborn daughter and my husband}.
