My phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing and I kept ignoring, ignoring, ignoring until I finally heard the words from my brother: "yeah bro, dad is gone."
On 9 April 2010 at 7:11 a.m. I lost a great, great man--my father. This truth has been coming in waves, with its emotional troughs and crests, and I have no experience to really bounce this off of. My grandfather's passing was a tough one, but he was 80 and then some; my grandmother also was nearing that mark when she passed; my great-grandparents lived about a century each! My dad, mid 60s.
For anyone who has loved and lost, I have now truly entered, unwillingly, into that circle of experience. It hurts, I am hurting and everything else seems so small and insignificant.
My future memory has been stolen from me: my dad watching me accept my Ph.D. as I walk across the stage, my dad watching me get married to my best friend and best half, and him holding and bouncing and correcting his grandchildren as they consider him old fashion and a bit out dated.
My father's work ethic was legendary, and if I could have even half of his character I would be a very, very accomplished and formidable citizen. As it stands, I will never be my father, but I can try to remain his son.
I miss you and love you dad--every day...
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