Remembering Dad And Feeling Grateful To Have Made Amends . . .

Today marks the second anniversary of my father's passing. He was only 60 years old. It was pancreatic cancer. He used to tell me when I was growing up that he wouldn't live to see 65 years old. I told him to stop saying that. He never did. And then it happened.

I hate admitting this to anyone but mostly to myself. . . I stupidly thought that losing him wouldn't be as hard as it has been because we weren't that close. His drinking and depression came between us. I can tell you that this has been very tough both as a daughter and a cancer survivor. The survivor's guilt has always been with me even as I just celebrated my 9th year cancer free on 5/31 the same day as my 7th wedding anniversary to Lou. It is bittersweet to have just celebrated the other day and now feeling the pain of loss.

Here is an excerpt from my book Breastless in the City where I share our last conversation on his 60th birthday on 4/6/08 . . .

When he answered the door, I almost didn't recognize him. He had let his short crew cut grow almost as long as his beard. He had lost so much weight that his face was all sunken in. He was there alone. It was just the two of us. We sat and talked for awhile.

After some small talk, he said, "Next time around I will be a better dad."

I wasn't expecting that. I responded, "You did the best you could."

"No I didn't, I did what was best for me."

At that moment all the crap between us didn't matter. I don't remember who hugged whom first. I think it was me. As we embraced, it felt foreign and comforting at the same time. Then he said, "I love my little girl."

And I said, "I love you too."

Then the tears began and I was crying so hard I could barely stop. There were tears in his eyes too, which was a first. At that moment Dad and I had finally arrived at the place it had taken my whole life to get to and we were saying things to each other that we never had before. I don;t think either of us had planned on having that talk. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but I, for one, am glad it did . . .

First Anniversary in Heaven

The alarm went off this morning and I hit the snooze way too many times.  As I finally sat up I looked at the clock and realized it was 6:30.  Then I remembered that was the exact time the phone rang last year.  The call that let me know my father had died.

As I look at this picture I think of innocence.  I think of beginnings.  I think about how it was one of the few times my father ever looked happy.  And I don't even remember it.  This was my first Christmas.  The year was 1969. I must have been about 6 months old and my dad was only 21.  So young to be a father.  Unfortunately he was already a well established alcoholic.

I realized at the end that he did the best he could.  Our relationship was strained to say the least.  It was very difficult to get along with him.  He was not a happy man.  I learned to forgive although I wish it had happened sooner.  I waited till it was almost too late.  The last time I saw him was last April for his 60th birthday.  I hadn't seen him in a year since he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  I was grateful he invited me over to see him that day.  That was something he never did.  I almost didn't go.  

He said "Next time I will be a better dad."

"You did the best you could."  I replied.

He said "No, I did what was best for me."

As the tears began to roll down my cheeks I thought about how I wished this conversation had come along years earlier.  When he walked over to me I knew it would be goodbye.  He put his arms around me and I cringed at how broken his thin body felt.  I heard him whisper "I love my little girl.".  I cried as I thought about how this was something he never said and wished he didn't wait till it was too late.  Although he didn't say it in his own way he showed me at the worst times of my life.  He was with me when my husband died, he was with me when I was told I had cancer.  Somehow when the chips were down in my life he pushed his way back in to be there for me.  I didn't appreciate it at the time.  

I thought he could be ok even with a cancer diagnosis.  I was ok, I survived.  I wanted him to survive too.  This loss is tough for me both as a daughter and as a cancer survivor.   I feel guilty sometimes that I am still here.  

Even though I think of him often but on days such as this it always seems harder.  I wonder if it is because it transports us back to the realness of that day, of that moment we got the news we never wanted to hear...