Life Without My Father

I have been looking at old pictures of my father, trying to remember everything about him. I see a boy with a mop of golden hair and piercing blue eyes looking back at me. There are features that make me think of my children and their cousins — a bit of him in each of them. His voice, similar to my brother David’s. His sense of humor in my son Jordan. The recent loss of my grandmother has made me consider my connection to him and to miss his presence in my life.

My father died too young after a long and painful illness that stole the best of him from us. I was into my 20s when he died. I had lived away from him and my mother since leaving for college at 18. His only brother and I were racing to the hospital that he was being airlifted to when he died on the flight.When the nurse at the hospital took us into a room and told us he was gone, my world stopped turning for a minute and I know my uncle’s did too. That he could die had never occurred to me. He was my dad. Even though I was an adult, in the midst of my grief there was fear. Who would take care of us now?

My father was a miner. He worked hard to become a welder. He wanted more for me and my three siblings than he had grown up with. He built us a house when most families we grew up in homes provided by the company they worked for. My father could make anyone laugh and found something to joke about in every situation. He had good friends.

I feel that although I was the oldest, I was the child to whom he was least connected. He valued athletics but I was the kid who cried when he tried to teach me how to skate, and who preferred to spend all of her days buried in a book. My brothers played hockey and my sister was gifted in every sport she tried. I wish I had tried harder to please him.

As I grew older, most of the significant parenting was left to my mother. My father’s hopes and desires for me were communicated to me through my grandmother. He would discuss his worries and fears with her, and she would tell me how much he loved me, how proud he was of me, and what he didn’t want me to do. My grief in losing her is compounded by feeling like I have lost my connection to him once again.

On the day of my wedding my grandmother squeezed my hand and whispered, “This is the man your father knew was right for you.” When my first child was born she said, “Your dad would have been so happy.” She would often say, Remember that when your father did this or that. She kept him alive in me.

When I was born I had both sets of my grandparents and great grandparents alive. They contributed to my life in very meaningful ways. My children were blessed to have my mother and my husband’s parents and my grandparents, but I feel my father’s death cheated them. I know telling them about him will never replace having him here.

I wonder what he would have thought about all of his grandchildren. I wonder too if he would have liked the person I grew up to be.

Photo Credit

“Leaves in heart shape” [nati] @ Flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.

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