Thoughts on my Father

You never know how you’ll react to losing a loved one until it happens. You think you know, but you really don’t. Sometimes you cry more than you thought, sometimes less. Sometimes you even laugh when it seems like the most inappropriate time. We are built to process grief in many ways, but it’s mostly unpredictable. At least, that is how it turned out when I recently lost my dad. I thought I had mentally and emotionally prepared for this. He was going to be 81 this year and was struggling with a host of health issues. It made sense that this day would come. And yet, his passing completely knocked the wind out of me.

My dad was a force to be reckoned with. Even in his feeble state, he never lost his voice. He didn’t sound like an old man, he sounded strong and sharp as ever. Neither did he lose his humor or wit. My father had an astounding mix of intimidation and tenderness. In fact, the greatest sign of his aging was how the scales began to tilt more heavily from one to the other. While he still had the ability to express his ire, with time, he became more of a softie, especially where his family was concerned.

The last time I saw my dad was back in August. My niece from North Carolina was getting married and with so much family making the effort to attend the wedding, I too decided to take the opportunity to drive down there for the big event. Knowing my dad would be there was a particular draw, as it’s always in the back of my mind that it could be the last time. Little did I know, I was right this time. But what I can say of this last visit — I could not have asked for a better experience. My dad, while struggling to get around, was in high spirits. Never had I seen him beaming with so much pride at his family and enjoying each person to the fullest. He was in his glory! I even had some personal conversations with him that were very healing.

The hard part for me to talk about is the complicated nature of my relationship with my father. I have always had great love and admiration for him, but there were difficulties too. My dad was in no way perfect. He was a flawed human being with some amazing traits. We had seasons of extreme closeness and ones that were more distant. Those memories are the most difficult to work through. But one thing I never doubted was that my dad loved me, even respected me. Whenever we talked he would ask me about all the things I was up to and always seemed proud of what I was doing. He would always conclude our conversation by saying, “A rolling stone gathers no moss.” meaning to imply that I was always keeping busy and making progress.

To my dad though, I was always his “little sweetie”…at least that’s what he’d call me every time he’d give me one of his big bear hugs. But I was so much more of him than anything. I often said I was “my father’s daughter” because I took after him in so many ways. I am sure all my siblings could say the same, but for different reasons. Some of the ways it is true for me is in my love for music and film (and collecting them), old cartoons (Disney, Looney Tunes, Droopy etc.), classic television (Honeymooners, Abbott & Costello, Little Rascals, Life of Riley), oldies and big band (his favorites were the Beach Boys and Glenn Miller), drive-in theaters, weather watching, technology (my dad always had the latest), photography, politics (Rush baby), home decorating, and making a big todo about Christmas (unmatched). Some other traits I like to think I got from my dad were his sense of humor, the ability to sniff out a deal, a fraction of his charm, the desire to learn an instrument, and his childlike nature. The ones I’m not so thrilled about…his Fred Flinstone feet (thanks Dad), his melancholy, and even his temper.

Some things that were uniquely my dad were his pride in his German heritage, fishing, the joy he found in gardening, his genuine love for Lawerence Welk, and his ability to say the most inappropriate thing imaginable and get away with it. No doubt he got a kick out of pushing boundaries and stirring the pot. But his charm far outweighed his ability to offend and pretty much everyone had a soft spot for my dad and thought he was great. No question, I have never met a person overflowing with such charisma. Anything he did say was usually followed by that twinkle in his eye that made people simply say, “Oh, Dave!”

But my dad was no fool. He was one of the smartest, most competent men and he knew full well what he was doing at all times. Despite his Catholic upbringing, he knew the truth that Jesus Christ was the only path to salvation. He argued this truth, along with my mom, and because of that, I too, along with all 7 of my siblings confess this truth as well. There is no greater thing my father could have passed on to me than that knowledge. For that, I will be eternally grateful. That is where all my hope is found.

Death is inevitable. We all know that, but it doesn’t make it any easier. And the reason being, death is not natural. We were created as eternal beings and we all intrinsically know that something feels wrong about sickness and death. So even though I knew this day would come, I don’t like it. I hate it. I hate knowing that I will never hear my dad’s strong voice again, that he’ll never again call me his “little sweetie”, that we’ll never again laugh over watching Donald Duck cartoons, that he’s not going on that North Carolina trip many of us were planning in April, that he didn’t have time to master the harmonica, and that I can no longer get back the good times we shared (and there were many). But I have hope for something even better.

The last conversation with my dad was when he was in the hospital. He was especially sweet and kind, but he told me he’d be going home in a few days. He sounded good. I had no reason to believe that was the end, but then he took a turn. As cliche as it sounds, you never know when the last time you’ll talk to a loved one is. Don’t take your time together for granted, make it count. Even though we’ve had times of trouble, I’m glad the last thing I said to my dad was, “I love you.” He truly was going home.