Yesterday was my father’s birthday. He would have been 80 this year……if cancer had not killed him.
I started to write a letter to him yesterday, but I just could not do it. Even after almost 13 years, his loss is still so fresh for me. Like a wound that keeps breaking open.
I did not bake a cake and celebrate his birth with my kids. I didn’t jump in my car and drive to the metroplex to put flowers on his grave. Quite frankly, that would have pissed him off. “Wasted money and time” I can hear him say.
To give you an idea of how frank and dry his wit could be, when he was sick and in the middle of chemo, Bill and I sat talking with him at home. Everyone in our family had tiptoed around the topic of death. No one had dared broach the subject since his diagnosis. Dad and I had a special bond, and used to spend mornings all through my life talking. I am so happy that I took the time to actually listen to my father. I shudder to think of what I would have missed and been unable to pass down to my kids had I been more interested in being heard than hearing.
That day, I turned to him and said “Dad, what if this chemo doesn’t work. What if you die? How do you feel about that?”. I saw Bill nod his approval across the room. My dad looked me square in the eye and said “You know, no one has asked me that yet. Hmmm. Well girl , you will need to bury me first, because I might start to smell after awhile”. He then went on to say that he had lived a good life, and that mom was taken care of and he was ready to go if it was his time.
Six weeks later he was gone.
He was a man of extreme intellegence, quick wit, and a huge capacity for love.
No, I didn’t celebrate his birthday this year. I did that the first year he was gone…..I went for a run on the Galveston seawall, and afterwards sat on the jetties , cried, toasted my father and drank a beer. I threw one out into the water symbolically for him. Yes, I wasted a good beer, Dad. Get over it.
This year, I went for a run along the coast here. It was on the 16th, 3 days before his birthday. I was listening to my iPod, the song Billy Gray by Robert Earl Keen was playing. Half way through the song is a mandolin solo, and it was at that point I had to stop, bend over and sob, because my father played the mandolin for us on an instrument made by his uncle. He would bring it down from the top of the fireplace in the evening, and my brother, sister and I would gather at his feet to hear him play.
I sobbed and remembered him on the 16th. It was on September 16th that he went to be with his Lord….born again into heaven.
His birthday 80 years ago granted me the privilege of being his daughter, but I remember the 16th of each month as the day his suffering was over and he had peace.
I love you Dad and I miss you so much.
oh jody; that is so sweet and so sad. Mom and I talked in the hospital about what she wanted; we have such black humour; she said “bar-b-q” me and scatter the ashes at the lake house.
i’m so glad they’re still alive; i can’t imagine the pain of their loss.
much love from mexico (again).
Sigh….I know how you’re feeling.
(((Jody)))
Beautifully written.
and no goodbyes.
Someone that special leaves a hole that nothing, not even time, can ever fill. Ever. I feel for you, Jody. Heaven will surely be a long hello.
Jody – I loved this post and it got me all teary! I am honoured to know that my son shares a birthday with someone who was so important to you.
Jody,
Your dad sounds so wonderful and I know his birthday being so close to Father’s Day must have been really tough. The anniversary of my Mom’s death is always right around Mother’s Day and it’s like a double whammy for me.
Sending big ((hugs)) to you…
xo
I’m so sorry about your loss. I feel the same way about my mother-in-law – we lost her to cancer too (she had only been diagnosed in October). She died 9 days after my first child was born – and she would have been the BEST grandmother. I grieve for her every January 9th – the pain gets easier to manage, but it never goes away.
Thanks for sharing this.
Your father sounds like a wonderful man. I’m sorry for your loss.
I HATE cancer. Your family is beautiful. What a wonderful legacy your Father was part of!
sounds a bit like my own father … intelligent, dry humor, … untill we found out he had MS. It changed him completely, fysically as well as mentally. I can’t even begin to compare the two persons. It’s been 13 years since he was diagnosed, and all he can move now is his right hand, he can also still see and talk, so he “internets” a lot and tries to read. But he is very bitter and has completely withdrawn himself from the world, lives in his own private little hell, there are no other words to discribe it. It is very hard for us (me and my brother and sister) to see/experience him like this, to miss our dad, even before he is really gone. I miss him a lot, especially because me and my mother don’t really ‘click’.
I’m glad you have such beautiful memories of your father, and I know you treasure them, as I treasure my “old” memories about my dad … they are priceless.
I often read your blog and enjoy it. We have 4 children as well (2 girls, 2 boys) and allthough I live in Belgium (so excuse me if there are a lot of mistakes in my reply!) and we are worlds apart, we are not so different in our thoughts and the things we experience. You have a lovely family and wonderfull stories to tell!
I found you on someone’s blog roll and have been reading on your adventures on and off. You have a delightful family and very beautiful children. I’ve never felt the urge to comment until today.
Today would be my father’s 57th birthday. He passed away last May 28th from an aneurysm. It’s a comfort to me that someone can understand the grief that I feel.
Thanks for sharing this.
I’m sorry your dad is gone. He sounds like he was a wonderful man and father.
Sounds like something I would have said to MY Dad and yep, he would have respected me for it too.
I’m sorry that you miss him and that it hurts so much… but I’m thankful he doesn’t. Cancer is such an ugly thing.
I am so sorry your Dad is gone.