#losingaparent

I lost mine 10 years ago to lung cancer that had spread to his bone & liver. He lit up a room with his smile and could make anyone feel special. He loved to drum on the dashboard with his giant college ring and he lived for Motown music and to be with his friends. He's the only man I know of who could be traveling and run into someone who had met him _____ years ago at ______. It happened when he visited us in Atlanta, on business trips, once on a hunting trip in Canada, and once at his favorite restaurant...a woman who painted my parents in 1988 (for a wedding gift) remembered him 20 years later!

I never saw him get sick once in my life. He

was still playing golf, fishing, working out, and living his life to the fullest without even knowing he had cancer. The last time I saw him before his diagnosis, I knew something was off. His skin tone was no longer tan and rosy, he was yellow. He was sleeping after work a lot. He said he "just felt tired, probably gettin old". The hardest thing about caring for him through treatments was not just seeing the sickness take over his body and the chemo knock him down, it was how his heart and confidence shattered. He went from the most handsome silver fox to a bald and frail man of 115 pounds who could barely walk across the room. It broke my heart when he looked in the mirror and started crying. But I stayed strong for him and helped him eat, get out of the car, and watch over him when he tired from a long day of visitors. I was strong until the end and I knew I had to be to help him let go. He was in so much pain and really put his body through a lot just to hang on a little longer for my brother and I.

The minute he died in his room surrounded by family, I felt this intense silence. It was almost peaceful. I touched his head and kneeled down to kiss him, then laid down to hug him with my brother. After a few minutes it finally hit me that I would never hug him again. That he wouldn't walk me down the aisle. That he wouldn't teach any grandkids how to fish. That he would never call me again. I had been really strong up to that point and not allowed any thoughts like that to creep in. It was like a storm over my soul, and I lost it. I was crying harder than I ever have, shaking and screaming out in despair. I feel bad in knowing that his hearing was still working and his brain still had electrical activity, I remember thinking "get it together". But at least he knew how much we loved him. How strong his absence would be. When the hearse came to get him at 2am, I remember peacefully feeling out of my body, like I was floating and seeing myself go through this. The movie of my life. I didn't let anyone put a sheet over him until he was in the car. For some reason the driver had death metal on and I took him aside and said "please put the music on something softer... preferably oldies... just for the next hour".

I feel immensely grateful I had him for almost 22 years. I feel grateful for how much he loved me, took me on stroller walks every day after work, how hard he worked for us to live a comfortable, privileged life. I feel grateful for all the Christmases, the summers, the 4th of Julys, and the events he showed up for. Football and soccer games, horse shows, HS graduations. I feel grateful he let me debate with him and tried to listen when I was hurt or upset or questioning his thinking. I feel grateful he always apologized within the night. I feel grateful for the moment he asked me to walk up to his Dad's casket with him. I was probably 16. He leaned on me to cry. He must've felt vulnerable and safer with me than I realized at the time. I am so grateful he accepted me into his home to stand by his side as he battled cancer. I am blessed for the many gifts he gave me and that I was his only daughter.

It took me a year to stop bursting into tears almost every day. It felt so random - when I saw girls with their dads, when I heard his favorite music (the Temptations, Sam Cooke, the Four Tops), when I saw a well-dressed man in a pink button up shirt, a silver haired man, or a frail man. It took me 3 years to stop running from my pain and feel calm enough to focus on something for longer than 20 min. It took me 7 years to live life without feeling afraid I would disappoint him or that he was "watching". It took me 9 years to ask for help with a therapist and feel truly free again. I am just now learning how to call in his energy to assist or guide me. Losing his sister to a car accident 5 years after his death made me more aware of how blessed we were to be able to say goodbye and hold him as he died.

All of you will go through this, and it's my prayer today that you will live more presently, be a bit more gracious for the moments you have with your parents, communicate with them so they are more aware of what you need, learn also what they need, prepare yourself to care for them in the same ways they cared for you as a baby, and be at peace when you say goodbye. Many who don't have fathers may have a special man in their life that teach them the things a Dad would. They may only have a special teacher or uncle or neighbor or fam friend who helped them feel that tenderness. Reach out to those men, especially the childless ones. They are glad to give their energy and they need to feel appreciated today too. I wish you all love, gentleness, & peace.