Two Years On: Life Without Dad

It seemed like yesterday “Dad” showed up on the call display.

Dad showed up at the kid's birthday party.

Dad found every ounce of strength to shake your hand and congratulate you, or give you a hug, kiss, or his nod of approval.

Dad may have pushed you to your brink, or peeled you off of the floor.

Dad bugged the hell out of you on most days when he was here.

Sitting in the corner of the cupboard, Dad’s belongings sit untouched. His glasses and his work badge. Two years later.

It occurs that this feeling of emptiness doesn’t seem to go away, and every waking moment is a reminder of how many things Dad did for us that went largely un-noticed while he was here.

Rewinding the tape on his life seems so tragic, knowing that at some point he lost his own Father earlier than he expected, while he was busy living his life. Knowing that the only tools he had at his disposal for dealing with it were far fewer than what we have now.

Two years ago I spent the last week of my Father’s life by his bedside.

“Can you help me do this son?”

“Nobody here can guarantee if I get out of here that I would resume my normal life. I don’t want anyone to try to save me if they cannot guarantee that. Can you help me through this process?”

“Of course I will Dad.”

And time passed as we watched the clock and the Nurses administered the Morphine.

All hours but his last, it was too much at the end, listening to a Hulking man in his heyday gasp for every breath as his organs shut down one by one.

I left at the 11th hour as he peacefully went to sleep and got the call on my way home.

Dad, I love you and I wish I could call you. Just so you could wish me well on another day here. Most days it feels like you were the only one who prayed for me and my family.

Dad, you’re missed. I just wish I had done more while you were here with us to show you.