Remembering My Dad

I haven’t written a word about my Dad in my newsletters yet. But there haven’t been many days in the past 28 years that I haven’t thought of him – especially on Father’s Day.

He was a fine figure of a man – tall (6’4”), dark (olive-skinned with black hair) and handsome (think Elvis in the late 50’s). Combined with his emotional openness, his big, reassuring bear hugs and his fun-loving personality (complete with big, booming laugh), he was a magnet for our love and adoration – for my sisters and I as little girls growing up, for my Mom (even though they ultimately ended up getting a divorce), and for his own parents, sisters and brothers (he was the eldest brother in a family of 6 children).

My Dad died at the very young age of 58, when I was just 35. It was a sudden death, and the circumstances were terrible – I was working in Japan, and we hadn’t made the time to connect for about 3 months. I got the phone call one night just after Thanksgiving – suddenly and irrevocably – that Daddy had died in the hospital that morning of a massive heart attack related to pneumonia. I hadn’t even known he was sick.

To say that losing my Dad so suddenly was a shock would be a vast understatement. It shook the foundations of all that I had known, and left me feeling empty, exposed and with many “whys” about the meaning of life and how we choose to live it.

My Dad was an independent sort, and he definitely marched to the beat of his own drum. He taught my sisters and I to count our blessings, to believe in ourselves and to live boldly. I miss him terribly, and wish I’d had the chance – and the honor – to “give back” by caring for him as he aged. Even though I know full well he would have been a real handful, I’m sure that he would’ve kept me laughing, and that we would’ve made the best of it.