I realized today that it was the Ides of March and the anniversary of your death. Twenty-seven years have passed. I was almost 27 when you died. You’ve been gone as long as you were in my life. It seems that each year when I light the Yartzeit candle in your memory that the pain and sadness are just a little bit farther away. But when it comes time to really think about (and write about) the reality of living half of one’s life without a father, the tears flow. So, the pain is really still there and perhaps just as raw as it was the day that I got that surprise phone call from mom. I knew something was going on but expected her to tell me that the cat had died. Not you. We’ve missed so much time together. You’ve missed so much.
You’ve missed being here to enjoy your six bright, beautiful, unique grandchildren be born and grow up strong and independent. You’ve missed witnessing the marriage of your two sons and meeting your first-born who is a wonderful man. You’ve missed being here for so many birthdays and lobster dinners, successes and failures, Thanksgivings and school plays. Mom’s Alzheimer’s and pets. We all have missed having you to call about a legal issue or watching you puttering about in the yard with your too-high jeans and white socks. You missed the day I spotted the elusive Roseate Spoonbills and helping us chase the squirrels off the bird feeder in Maine.
I know you’re up in heaven watching over us all. I hope you and mom are getting along as you always expected us kids to do. Pat Kelly and Sam and Nouk for us. Hug Mom and Gram and Ethel. Seek out Rick and Charlottes parents and thank them for raising our big brother. They did a great job.
We carry you in our hearts. Always. I’m working hard to make sure you’ll be proud of me when we meet again.
I love you, Daddy,