Dad

I wanted to call my Dad today.

 

I usually called him on Saturday morning. I never had to worry if he was up. He has always been up early.

 

He didn’t like spending too much time on the phone.  He had stuff to get done. He was always waiting for it to warm up or stop raining or to feel good enough to get up out of his chair. He didn’t like to sit and do nothing.

 

I didn’t talk to him very often. Maybe a couple of times a month.  I would talk to him during the mundane tasks of my morning. I would clean my kitchen, feed my baby, carry stuff from here to there and drink my coffee.

 

We almost always talked about the weather.  He was always right on top of the forecast and he could tell me the temperature at his house without getting out of his chair.

 

I could speak plainly to him.  He didn’t require sugar coating.  I could be honest about hard things. He could take it.  He didn’t add to my anxiety by freaking out himself.  He would listen and ask questions and put in his two cents. He didn’t make me feel worse.  We just had to keep going. “I don’t know what to tell you” he would say.  Somehow, I would feel a little better anyway.

 

I think he thought I was a little crazy with all the kids but I think he also knew that that was just how I was made and there was nothing anyone could do to change it now.

 

I know he thought I talked too much.

 

He was pretty blunt generally.  He had some opinions about some things. I didn’t wonder about his political views but he and I were in agreement on that subject.  He also had some opinions about some people we both knew well.  He sometimes said some things that I was glad were not said in mixed company. Political correctness was not something he concerned himself with. I tried to listen to the intent of his words instead of the actual words.

 

My dad is gone now.

 

It has been a couple of months.  It is just starting to sink in. He was living with a lot of pain for a long time.  He endured radiation and chemo against his better judgement. He did so partly, I think, because we wanted him to and partly because he had some stuff to finish up.  He was very concerned about his ducks being in a row.  He had a plan and he was very careful to have it all laid out for us.

 

At the end, it was clear that there was nothing left for him here. This world was not doing him any favors.  I was more than anyone should have to endure. I have to think that he finally found relief.

 

Now, I am left to come to terms with the facts.  My dad wasn’t perfect.  He had some demons of his own. There were a lot of times growing up when things were not fine. There were long periods of time where I avoided him at all cost.  He made some mistakes.  He had faults.  There were repercussions.  Eventually, he made some changes.  The mistakes faded further into the past.  I was able to see him as a human being instead of only as my flawed father.  I stopped feeling like I needed to avoid him as an act of self preservation.  He knew what was going on in my life.  I could talk to him. I am so proud of that.  We didn’t do heartfelt talks.  All feelings were silently understood but we had comfortable conversations.  There were times I never thought that could happen.  I will always be thankful that we got to that point. I won’t have to live with regrets of leaving things unfinished.

 

Grief is a strange phenomenon.  It hits me in pieces – a little at a time. It’s always the small stuff. It sort of trickles in around the edges of my daily life. Mostly, I remember things I haven’t thought of in years. Sometimes, it’s things I know that can never happen again. I’m glad it is mostly good things that pop into my head.  I will miss being able to call him and talking too much when he had stuff to do.  I’m pretty sure he didn’t actually mind.