Now I'm struggling to accept the worst reality of all: the mortality of someone that I dearly love. My Dad has been my best hero and boyfriend my whole life, and he's now leaving me. There's nothing that he couldn't or wouldn't do when I was little -- and I've never changed that opinion. When I was almost 30 years old and had just been divorced, he gave me a package for Christmas that included a flashlight, jumper cables, and other safety equipment because he was worried about me driving by myself. Even through Thanksgiving of this year, he made sure that I called to let him know that we had gotten home safely after visiting for the weekend. During the multitude of years that I traveled by air continuously for work, I had to check in to make sure he knew I had landed safely. I'm 58 years old and still call him Daddy -- because he'll always be my Daddy in my heart. With him around, I always felt safe and confident, and I was raised with ultimate self-confidence because he approved of everything that I did and thought.
His love for his grandchildren and great-granchildren was enormous; nothing made him happier than having the whole family around and listening to the squabbling and laughter -- while drinking pot after pot of coffee, and always offering it to the little kids (much to their horror and delight). All of the kids knew that they could just run to Grandpa and he'd always be on their side. He felt almost the same way about the "grand dogs"; he'd always have a treat in his hand.
|Dad touching the tree where Lincoln touched it|
Again, intellectually, I know that time heals, but I just can't believe there's enough time left in my life to heal the pain that I'm now feeling.