My father died one year ago today. He had a terrible disease. All diseases are terrible and seem to end the same way. My father is the only adult person in my family that I was truly close to. He was the reason I’d stop by my parent’s house on a Saturday afternoon and most of the reason I looked forward to family events. We didn’t spend a lot of time together or have deep conversations every time we met but rather we would exchange little facts or share some small detail of our week. He would usually tell me about an article he read or a show he watched that I would like and he was usually right about my liking it. He’d cut out coupons for me or tell me about a recipe I should try.
In his last weeks, when we all knew that death was inevitable, isn’t it always, my brother and sister scramble to spent time with him, ask him the questions they never asked before, be the children they are to a parent who was suffering. My brother would say to me “Did you know Dad…”. Yes I did. My sister would tell me that I needed to come and spend time with him, but I kept my normal routine and visited when I wanted, although it was certainly more frequently. Our conversations were the conversations we always had. We shared little details, ideas, thoughts. Before he died he shared with me his regrets, mistakes and sadness’s. I told him not to worry so much about them because it’s our mistakes that help us grow and learn and become. He taught me that every time I made a mistake and he loved me anyway. I think of my father often and miss him enormously sometimes but I don’t mourn his passing but rather embrace who was and am thankful I had him fr as long as I did. I love you dad.