Friday, October 30, 2015
Hi Dad, Today, I thought about your laugh and came to the horrifying realization that I can’t remember what it sounds like. I just don’t remember. I felt paralyzed with this shame and disbelief, as if I couldn’t recognize my own face. I closed my eyes, tried to quiet the rest of the world. I took a deep breath. I saw your smile. The gap in between your two front teeth, the way you part your hair, your finger nails and how you bite them, just like me. But I couldn’t hear your laugh. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t hear it, Dad. I tried, Ireally did. I feel like it’s not so much to ask that I just hear it once more. Just once. On October 18 dad, when I tried to make it to the hospital to be with you, and did not make it, the first thing I felt was a wave of sadness which I suppose is only to be expected when someone passes. I'm so glad you went quickly and didn't suffer. Had you lived you would have suffered, I'm sure of it, and you would have hated that, more than you already did. You not being here didn't really hit me and I am not sure it really has yet. All I could concentrate on was your ending. I knew you were dead but I didn't really believe it, if you understand me. I'm not sure you would have understood that, dad, as you sometimes found what I said a bit wacky, I know. You were much more straightforward. But you would respect how I felt, I know that. Now I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you've gone and it's awful. I just cry and cry and cry all by myself, as you know that is what I do. Of all your children, I think I am most like you. I could understand perfectly why you got cross when plans were changed without warning. As children, I could never understand why you hated going back to the house if we'd forgotten something, but now I am that person. We're both guilty of being a bit inflexible at times – we each liked things done our way. Yes, dad, you did and I still do. Maybe the wisdom of age is just teaching me a bit about keeping my mouth shut, though I know the family would disagree! You always spoke out for what you believed in and I know you passed that on to me. And from a very young age you taught me the importance of being honest, which I hope I am. And it's so hard that most people don't really understand. Or if they do, they don't say. Everyone can understand that mom misses you but it's so hard for us, your children, too, even though we are all adults. We've lost you, dad, from our everyday lives and your absence is piercing. I'll never hear you ask how Junior Hanley or Tony Stewart is, where I am again, or hear that endless chittering, or hear your whistle, or listen to you screaming. I just feel unbearably sad. I know it's a sadness that will change into something different over time. At the moment I'm not sure what but this rawness won't last forever. There is solace in knowing you had a good life, the death you wanted and that you are where you always believed you would be. It doesn't take away the pain, though. I miss you, dad, and no amount of consoling words can change that. You were still my dad, even though I'm a grown-up. You had a great influence on my life when I was a kid you were a good father and you protected me, you were funny, charming and taught me good values. We had a lot of great times together. I remember singing with you, you taking me to hockey, letting me drive the car when I was not supposed to, shovelling the snow in the front end loader over at work. I remember the very last race that you went to and how we fought so much, and at the time I did not realize that you were getting sick. But you always had a glimmer of love for me in your eye, and your easy way of forgiveness never left. I suppose in a way this is why I can feel proud of what I love and I can respect other peoples passions providing there is a glimmer of intelligent thought to why they like what they like. The important thing is that while I did not take on some aspects of your life, I did take your sense of values. Your sense of looking out for people who need you, your sense of humour, of treating people right and a common sense of decency and good manners. I think these things are kind of lacking today so I am proud that I was taught them in my childhood as these are values I hold very dear to me now. Ironically even though we had difficult times, it feels like you died your old self and that’s what I have lost. That’s the funny thing about death: just how alive it really is. The way it can sneak up on you. Sort of like playing the ACE of hearts in 120’s, touching you without knowing it was coming. Death slips into moments it should have no part in. Every grand moment is a reminder of the loss. The empty seat. The empty space. The hollow smile. Death should not be in the ceremony, but there it is, waving to me. I don’t want Death to follow me like this Peter Pan shadow I did not ask for. I want to remember you. Your laugh, your arms. Your love. I do not want to remember the Death. Until we meet again, or you decide to visit me from time to time, thanks for being my dad, for helping to shape the person I am, and for time and love you gave me. Forever in my heart… now and forever. Dwayne
