No Father's Day barbecue for me today, I'm working. My kids will honor their father today, as they should, and I will go off to work to take care of patients. I will celebrate the day in my own way, thinking about Daddy and carrying him, as always, in my heart.
I swear, that man knew everything. He was well read and well educated. He worked full time and put himself through Columbia University. After graduating, he signed on to sail on a merchant freighter so he could see Europe.
He met my mother when he got back to New York City and got a job. She was a secretary in the same building. They enjoyed their carefree, childless years as a couple for almost five years. Then the war broke out and my daddy wanted to enlist in the Marines. My mother was against it, but he did it anyway, leaving her with an infant and heading off for parts unknown to fight the war.
As a child, I thought we lived an idyllic life. Of course, we probably didn't but I didn't know any better. We weren't particularly rich, but we were happy. Most of the social experiences I had as a child were with my immediate family or with my church family. My daddy, my mother, and my two brothers and I did things together all the time.
Daddy wanted us kids to be exposed to the great classics of literature, so he read to us almost every night, after supper. We would sit, spellbound, as he played all the parts and peppered the stories with his melodramatic readings, at times. Other times, his soothing voice and rhythmic reading nearly lulled me into a gentle sleep.
When I was in high school, he was the one who helped me with my homework. Not only did he know how to do the math, but he had read everything that was ever written (or so I thought). And when I had to pull an all-nighter to finish an assignment for my Contemporary History class, Daddy stayed up with me, and kept me awake and typing!
He was there for me when I was a young mommy, too. And then, when I went to nursing school, he was my chief babysitter, picking my kids up after school and taking them to his office for the rest of his afternoon. The kids loved it and I think he did, too.
He was so sad and lonely after my mother died. I worried about him and went to see him almost every day, just to make sure he was all right. He grieved as he needed to, and then he moved on. He remarried a woman who also loved to travel and they set off to see the world together. I was glad that he found someone, and that he was happy, but I missed our time together.
He was tall and handsome and honest and kind. I thought he would live forever, just because I knew I would always need him. But then, he got ill, a dozen years ago. No longer looking larger than life, he was frail and pale and dying. I was distraught. I wanted him to be okay and he wasn't. Even though I am an RN, I fantasized about his having a complete recovery from the devastation of CHF that put him in the hospital.
But, it was not to be. He got worse and worse, and I could see that the end was coming. When his wife and her family left the hospital room for a few minutes, I bent over Daddy and whispered in his ear: "you can go, if you need to, Daddy, I will be all right."
An hour later, we "pulled the plug" and Daddy drifted off for one last sleep. Though he is gone from my sight, he still dwells in my heart. And furthermore, he is STILL larger than life!
Happy Father's Day, Daddy! I love you.
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