My dad passed away January 9, 2011. I am thankful every day that my dad was there when I married my husband. You see, he wanted us to wait a year, but after his first heart attack in 2009 I told him no. That I wanted him to be there when I got married. So, I didn't have a fancy wedding. I didn't have a big wedding. I married my husband at the Courthouse in our city. I saved money. I saved time. And my father was there. The only three things that mattered to me.
I didn't have the greatest relationship with my dad.
In fact, I made my father cry at least twice that I can remember. All of us inherited my dad's temper, which is a very bad thing. I however, inherited my mother's vocabulary and ability to bottle my emotions up until I explode. I'll never forget the day I really hurt my dad though. I was dating "some guy" at the time and I let him borrow my car with the agreement that we would meet at McDonald's at a designated time. I went with my friends, he borrowed my car and went with his, no big issue. I trusted him at the time and had no reason not to. Well, fast forward to the designated time and he's a no show. I went back to my friend's house all the while calling him repeatedly until eventually I gave up and just went home (around 3-4am). I woke my mom up and told her he had my car. My dad overheard and hit the ceiling right about the same time "some guy" showed up back at my house. My dad was so furious he would NOT stop yelling at "some guy" and they about had a fist fight on our front lawn. My mom and I are yelling at them both to STOP and eventually my dad stomped off back into the house, leaving an awkward me to take my "some guy" home. Well, he broke up with me on the way there. I was devastated. And at 18 years old it is NOT good to be devastated because devastated turns into my father's temper. I stomped into my father's room as soon as I returned home and just went into him. I yelled things at him like "Are you happy now? He broke up with me! Is that what you wanted?! You ruin everything!" My dad was so upset that he just started SOBBING. I remember feeling horrified. I remember thinking this is my dad. My big, tough, strong dad and I just reduced him to a sniveling toddler. I then, also started crying while trying to apologize to HIM while he's apologizing to me for "ruining my life." He ran out of the house sobbing. Literally ran. I sank down the wall and just cried, thinking what did I just do?!
I was also the only one of his children that could really do that to him though. I was also the only person he would ever apologize to and my father never apologized to anyone. That's just how he was built. He was hard on my brothers. Especially my oldest and youngest (my middle brother moved to Tennessee when he was three, but that's another story). There was one instance where my dad got so mad at my younger brother that he chased him into his bedroom and just pounded on the door. I just stared at my father like he was an animal. A wild animal. I yelled at him then too. First I yelled "DAD" and when he answered with a growly-screamy "WHAT!" I told him "GO TO YOUR ROOM!" And he did. Just dropped his fists, went into his room and shut the door. I remember shaking my head in disbelief like, what the hell? I need to make this clear. My father never beat us. Ever. He just had one helluva temper. My mom wasn't good at standing up to him when he went into a "rage" either, but I think that's why I was put into our family. Because I could. He started in one day to my mom and I couldn't even remember what it was about, but me and my smart mouth got the attention turned to me, and my father actually backed me into a wall. He didn't even look like himself. I remember that was the first time he raised his hand to me and I remember being dead calm as I said, "what? Are you going to hit me, dad? Do it." As soon as the words left my mouth it was like he came back into himself. He looked scared, like "what was I doing" scared. He just backed away, went into his room, and shut the door. My mom and brother were just starting at me. It's kind of funny how much I DO remember of my dad. Our relationship wasn't the greatest, but it WAS good. More good times than bad, but my dad was NOT a big communicator. He preferred to sit in his room, and watch TV and leave the rest of us to our own devices.
I learned valuable lessons from my father.
Love.Your.Family. Even at their worst, you still love them. And believe me, I've seen them at their worst. I adored my father. After his first heart attack in 2009 he was a completely different person. He had little to no temper, he was calm, he didn't get upset as easily. He was changed. I remember going up to the bedside to see him in the hospital and he looked at me and APOLOGIZED to me. I remember kind of scoffing and asking him WHY he was apologizing for having a heart attack? Like he could really stop his body from doing that? He just kind of shrugged and smiled, but I remember that. I think he realized that he took us for granted a little bit. Like he realized "this is my family, they love me, and aren't going anywhere." Once he got out of the hospital we started going to the gym together and having breakfast every other Sunday, and every third Saturday. Just to talk. The gym wasn't as regular for me as breakfast, but I actually got to KNOW my father. His favorite color was green. His favorite football team was the Chicago Bears. One of his all time favorite songs was "Caribbean Queen" and he loved anything by KISS, Kansas, and White Snake. Country music was a favorite. He could eat biscuits and gravy every day. He loved his dog. He loved his wife. He loved his kids. And he loved to bowl. My father was a great bowler.
For as long as I can remember my parents have been bowling. My mom eventually got out of it, but my dad bowled two or three nights a week. I bowled with my dad when I was younger before getting into softball. So when I decided to stick with softball he taught my younger brother to bowl. My younger brother is pretty amazing. I remember the first time my brother bowled a 300. My dad was nearly in tears, he was so proud of him. I was proud of him. I remember thinking "this kid is amazing, I'm so glad he started doing this." My dad never bowled a 300, but he made such an impact in the bowling community that a fellow bowler put his first 300 ring in my father's coffin at the viewing. An honorary "300 club" member. I was so touched by that gesture, I don't think I'll ever forget it. My dad also taught my nephew to bowl. It's so adorable; he has the perfect form! My dad played such a huge roll in my nephew's life and he made SUCH an impact on him that he still asks my sister-in-law when they can go to Jesus' house to bowl with "papaw." My sister-in-law tells him now that when it thunderstorms the thunder is papaw bowling a strike up in heaven. I have never heard of that analogy before, but I love it.
I love my father.
One thing that is on my mind a lot, and upsets me more than anything is that the day my father passed was a Sunday and we were supposed to meet for breakfast. My mother knocked on my door at 4am to tell me he died and I was just in shock. We were supposed to have breakfast three hours later, there was no way he wasn't going to be there. But it was true. The diagnosis was Pulmonary Edema, but they said he had a heart attack in the ambulance as well. I think about him every day. I'll hear a song on the radio and smile. Because like I said, way more good memories than bad. My father was good man. A GREAT man. And I did learn a lot from him. People say I look like him (I think I'm prettier though).
I miss him every day.
I'm constantly wondering what my dad would think about all of these tests and procedures I'm going to have done to me. What he would think about me, his only daughter who is petrified of medical needles, giving myself a shot in the belly once a month. Would he laugh about it? Would he shrug his shoulders indifferently? Would he disapprove of me going through all of this "trouble" just to have a child? Tell me it's a waste of time? I can't help but dwell on the fact that my children will never know him. I think about THAT every day. My oldest brother and his wife have two children. My nephew, who will be five in September, was only three when my dad passed. My niece, who is now one, will also never know my dad. My other older brother also has two children, neither of which will know my dad, and that's nearly too much to handle. He has four grandchildren and only got to touch one of their lives. It breaks my heart, but I know he's watching over all of us. I know he misses us probably as much as we miss him.
We'll be okay though. And so will he.
Happy Birthday, Dad. Love you.
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