Happy Father’s Day, Daddy (!)

In 1989, my father sent me this letter while on a business trip in San Francisco.

Dear Alaina!

This is a letter for you from your father who loves you from here to heaven and back, which simply is a distance that no person can even begin to imagine, until that person has been as fortunate as I have been in being a part of your creation and your life.

Let’s always be honest and truthful with each other so we can always be close and not be separated.

Your only,

Dad

Ten years later he died of cancer.

My five brothers and sisters and I, our mother - we were shattered. Our family torn to the core. We’re still picking up the pieces. He was our rock. He was humble, modest, reserved but filled with joy and love for the world and for life. As a doctor he healed people for a living, but he also healed their souls with his eyes, his understanding and his compassion.

When I first started this blog, a brilliant commenter Tim Chard suggested I write a letter to my father. I had written about my fears of commitment, my fears of loss. Tim asked me if my father would want me to carry guilt and fear. So, here it is… it’s long, I can’t read it again because my eyes are flooded. So bear with the long form, this is just what came out.

Dad,

You wouldn’t believe it … you wouldn’t believe how beautiful Benjamin is! How smart he is … and he has your smile! He does … his eyes cinch up like yours did when he smiles really hard. I wish you were here to throw him up in the air, tickle him like crazy and teach him about the world.

Remember the thunderstorm in the lake? When you woke me up in the middle of the night so we could go swimming in Lake Michigan, with the lightening off in the distance and the rain pouring over our heads? I wonder about that all of the time. Why didn’t you just go alone? Why bother waking up your 12-year-old daughter, who probably needed her sleep. You woke me up because, as with everything else, you wanted me to experience that thunderstorm. You wanted me to face my fears. And you wanted to enjoy it with me. I’ll never forget it…ever.

I can still feel the water, I can still see you jumping through the waves, diving and then popping back up shouting - that shout - you know the one. The one where you sounded like you were completely exhaling all of your frustrations, all of your stress. And then we were jumping around - swimming in the dark. I knew nothing would happen to me, because you were there to protect me

You’re gone now. I know you are. But I can feel you. I see you in Benjamin’s eyes. He sees you in mine, and we love you so, so much. It would be easier if you were here, maybe … but in a way, all of this - this single mom thing - this life thing - seems easier because I watched you suffer with that cancer. That evil, evil cancer. Everything else pales in comparison on the emotional pain threshold compared to the way you had to suffer. And the pain I felt after you were ripped out of our lives.

I still love you from here to heaven and back … and I try to be strong. I do. But I’m just your little girl inside. All I want sometimes is for you to just tell me that everything will be okay. For you to give me a big bear hug, or for you to even yell at me and tell me when I’m wrong. Sometimes I forget that you’re gone. It happens once every few years. Something happens, something silly and my brain thinks for a split second, a nano second that I should call you. And then I remember that you’re gone. But that second is so blissful.

I want you to know that I tell Benjamin about you all of the time. I tell him that he has you … and that because he has you, he has a special angel looking out for him. You are an angel. You were an angel. But you were also the most amazing father anyone ever could have dreamed of having.

You weren’t scared of anything. You just lived. The most important lesson you ever taught me was to love and appreciate life, and you taught me that long before you died. You knew it all along. I’m just so sorry you had to suffer like that. And don’t feel bad for being so pissed at the end. I would have been too. I just want you to know that you still inspire me, every day.

And I can still see your smile, I can still hear your voice and I can still feel your hugs. You’re still with me. Don’t ever go.

Happy Father’s Day Daddy!

P.S. I love how you put an exclamation point after my name!

Filed under: My little guy, Striking thoughts