My Dad

I wrote this a year ago. I think its relevant for a blog for my practice because a lot of us are dealing with aging parents who are faced with illness and their mortality. It's eleven years today and this is the first year where I'm not overcome by intense grief on September 30th. Maybe 4,015 days is the key to dealing with grief. I'm watching a couple of funny episodes of Seinfeld and drinking a Manhattan in his honor (he didn't drink, but I'm sure I could have talked him into sharing a drink with me as he aged). Regardless, I miss him a lot.

Ten years ago today at 1:35pm, a 66-year-old man breathed his last breath. It was a deeper breath than the other ones that day; maybe he knew this was the end and he was trying to take in every last bit.

He was an average man. Blended with the masses. Did not take up too much space.

He was the one male in our family of four. And yet he somehow managed to balance everyone out.

He took longer to get ready than the three women in his life. He combed his thinning hair with such care and precision.

He set the alarm for an unreasonably early time, so he could listen to Felicia Middlebrooks and John Hultman on WBBM before getting out of bed.

He smelled like Old Spice; he was never interested in the newer smells as evidenced by the Drakkar bottle which would last for years.

He was kind. He warned his kids not to talk to strangers, yet once he picked up a Spanish speaking couple who were stranded on a Sunday afternoon with no money to get to their destination.

He believed in just the right amount of religion. Enough to make you feel safe but not enough to make you feel guilty.

He worked hard in life; came here as an immigrant; working three jobs at a time. He never became a boss because he could not stand making anyone unhappy. So, he stayed on the bottom rung and carried on.

He had perfect handwriting- straight lines, flawless spacing and small letters.

He did his own oil changes. He mowed the lawn from the outside border moving in until he was in the center just doing a final tiny circle (something I do now). He replaced the rocks in the landscaping and needed two Advil afterwards.

He took my sister to Bulls games in May where they saw Michael Jordan in his prime.

With me, he watched MacGyver on Mondays, West Wing on Wednesdays, and Hunter on Saturdays. He loved action movies; Harrison Ford, Denzel Washington, Arnold Schwarzenegger.

He had a Time Life Fix It book that he used to change the water heater and unclog the toilet and clean the furnace. Since he has been gone, we rely on electricians, plumbers and HVAC workers.

He ironed using starch spray the so creases were perfect.

He never complained about the burned tea or when there was an extra 6 tbsp of salt in the food his kids made. He ate every last bite even when the rest of the family had given up eating it.

He loved to travel and planned to do a lot of it after retirement.

He had paid off his mortgage, paid for his kids’ college, and even helped pay for some of my medical school loans.

When our first house sold for $39,900, the woman buying it was unable to get a loan (mortgage discrimination). He loaned the money to her, and she paid back every cent plus interest over the next decade.

Because he was so precise in everything he did, he was so slow doing it all; often stretching my patience. I yelled at him to hurry more than once.

He met all his grandchildren before he died. I am not sure he would recognize them ten years later, but the fact that he laid eyes on all five of them means so much to their parents.

He was a wonderful driver- until he turned sixty. After that, he was just a little bit sloppier, and his reflexes were a little jerkier, but no one had the heart to tell him.

He smiled. He smiled in his eyes. His son-in-laws made him laugh so hard; the noise was buried in his heaving chest.

He liked listening to music, especially the Bee Gees.

He made toast with butter, puff pastry and nachos for breakfast on Sundays.

He was not a big spender, but occasionally he loved splurging like when he bought a Nissan Maxima that spoke or 52-inch plasma TV when they still cost $5000.

The back pockets of his pants always contained a small thin tooth comb, a wallet and a handkerchief.

He helped my sister and I with every science fair project. He helped friends put in sump pumps. And he helped my kids learn to ride a bicycle.

He cried at sad movies; was not even embarrassed about it and I relish that I have a husband who does the same.

He used to drive an ice cream truck and whenever I hear the music, I think of what that time must have been like for him.

He made a mess on Sundays- took out every bill, the checkbook, the computer and a ton of paperwork. He sifted through it very slowly because he would mainly be watching the Bears play.

He said “Shhhhhhooooo” and shook his head when he couldn't believe something was happening. And now my husband and my sister repeat it often and make me laugh.

He stayed up late on Thursdays so he could talk to me on my drive home from work. I would hear him yawn but did not hang up until I was safely in my garage.

He loved trading stocks, and yes we spread some of his ashes outside of a Fidelity Investments building.

He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer five days after he animatedly announced his retirement over Facetime; a cruel twist to what was supposed to be an exciting time (a twist that I have not forgiven).

I am aware of how much my dad has missed in the last ten years- some of it, I am thankful he has not seen; some, I would give my right arm for him to witness. While the grief is not as bad, the memories still come on strong, hard and fast. I will never come to terms that he is gone but if he were here, he would calmly put his hand on my shoulder and tell me that it will be ok, just like he did for the first 38 years of my life.