With
the stalemate in Congress, October 17th has taken on an ominous
meaning for many people this year, but for me, that date will only ever mean
one thing—the anniversary of my dad’s death when I was twelve.
You
hear people say, “A day doesn’t go by that I don’t miss him.” The truth is, I
don’t think about or long for my dad every
day. But even after 49 years, there are many days when the ache of missing him
is so raw, it still feels new.
In
my upcoming novel, CAPE MAYBE, there’s
a point when the main character, Katie, reflects on the anniversary of a loved
one’s death and says, “Neither
of us says anything. We never do . . . like we are both afraid of what might happen to us
if we admit what day it is.”
For
years after my dad died, it was that way in our house. My mother’s grief was so
palpable and fragile. We learned not to talk about missing him for fear it
would plunge her over the edge.
I’m
guessing that has something to do with my pressing need to write about him now.
In CAPE MAYBE, Katie’s dad died when she was
just a baby. At one point Katie says, “I don’t remember my dad, but I miss him
as if I do.”
Unlike
Katie, I do remember my dad—he was burly, consistent, and dependable, a
mystifying balance of gregarious and reserved. Here’s the best way I can
explain him. When one of my clubs or my girl scout troop needed parents to
volunteer to drive us somewhere or chaperone, I knew without having to ask him,
that I could raise my hand.
Because
he died when I was so young, all of my memories of him are tinged with
childlike awe. I wish I could have known him as an adult, even if that means I
would have learned he had some flaws.
Recently,
a friend who also misses having her dad in her life referred to him as the one who got away. That really struck
a chord with me.
Does
it resonate with you too?
Carol, I was fortunate to have my dad in my life as an adult but my best memories of him are from childhood. Like your dad, he was the kind of man who would volunteer to be present at anything we did. I fondly remember as children racing to the front door with my mom as he returned from work, all of us calling out "first kiss". I can only imagine the heartache of losing your dad as a child, and then the other loss of your mom's joy in life. Lovely thoughts in this piece. He must be so proud of his daughter .. two books under her belt.
ReplyDeleteChris, I love "first kiss" such a sweet and happy memory. Thanks for sharing.
Deleteand, thanks for reminding me my Dad is proud
Carol I know how hard this one was for you to write; almost as hard as it was for me to read it, and to relive it again with you. But it's a beautifully written, loving tribute. Dad (and mom) would be so very Proud of you. He's definitely smiling down on you tonight. Thank you for writing it. Love you, j
ReplyDeleteThank you Carol for this moving post. It's no wonder you remember him with such love.
ReplyDeleteI can very much relate to this post because my dad passed when I had just turned 17. Actually is was a mere week after my birthday. I have always regretted that I never had a true adult conversation with my dad. It's a missing part of the puzzle of me, I guess. But I'm one of those folks who believe that I will someday! Very moving post.
ReplyDeleteJasmine, I know I'm lucky I had his love, just wish I'd had him longer.
DeleteJacquie, wishing I could have that adult talk with my dad, too. A missing puzzle piece is a great way to put it.
Carol, I know how hard this one was to write; almost as hard as it was for me to read it, and to relive it again with you. But it's a beautifully written, loving tribute. Dad (and mom) would be so very Proud of you. He's definitely smiling down on you tonight. Thank you for writing it. Love you, j
ReplyDeleteJeanne Fragale Keller
Jeanne, it was hard, but after all these years, time to dig into the cave and let in some light. xxoo carol
ReplyDeleteLovely post, Carol. It makes me very grateful that I still have my dad in my life, that we have many conversations as grown-ups, that I even help him with his business. Thank you for the reminder to cherish that relationship.
ReplyDeleteI also related to the idea of sometimes missing loved ones so much, as if the loss just happened. I had a dream about my Grandmom a few nights ago, which has stayed with me, making me feel like she's with me in a way I hadn't felt in quite some time. It's both sweet and bitter, having had someone so amazing in my life, then losing that person.
Julie, I'm jealous, I think in all these years, my dad has only been in my dreams once or twice. I long to see him, and my mom, in my dreams
ReplyDeleteWhen I hear the one who got away, makes me think the person is still alive. I resonate well with the Elton John's song, for Marilyn Monroe, your candle burned out, long before your legend ever did. Yes, you might have learned more of your fathers flaws but also of his strength. I learned both when I connected with my dad during the sailing years, age 12-23 I learned his adventurous side and being with him one on one in the ocean, the only light we had was from the stars and red and green buoys as we motored by them. How impressed I was, he sailed through the night while we slept, and always made sure we had enough layers on and never got cold. I got to see his nurturing side that I never saw b/c Mom was always around.
ReplyDeleteInteresting my dad has been in my dreams lately. I thought I was young when my dad died, age 28, but 12 for you, I'm sorry for all that missed time for all the kids/baby Tommy. Carol I love the way you write.
Thanks Kim. And, thanks for sharing about your Dad on what should be another wedding anniversary with your mom. carol
DeleteSometimes I curse having my Dad with me all of the time but, at 83, he is still the life of the party and I have learned to cherish every blessed moment we have together - even our "heated discussions"!
ReplyDeleteJulie V
Oh, and I know ALL of his flaws!
DeleteI'm laughing, Julie.
DeleteI sometimes wonder if I'd take my Dad for granted if he had lived longer.
Glad you're grateful for yours.