Missing My Dad

I'm missing my dad today. He would be 98, he so wanted to make it to "triple digits."

I think about my parents just about every day. It's still hard to wrap my head around the fact that they are both gone. 

My dad and I had, at times, a complicated relationship. I know that’s not shocking, most families have some kind of complications. Mine stemmed from a secret I uncovered when I was about 12, something he tried very hard to hide, suppress and ignore.

The secret is what I’ve been trying to write about for decades. My mother used to say it would be easier to write the story after he was gone.

But nothing is easier with my parents gone.

Writing has always been a mixed bag for me. When it’s hard, my stomach knots and my eyes tear. When it’s good, I feel like I could fly.

I’m getting there on my story but it’s not easy. I appreciate days like today where I get to sit and think about my dad, hear his voice try to talk me out of writing what needs to be written. He’d distract, tell a bad joke, ramble on about a story he’d just read and suggest we eat some chocolate instead of talking. I’d push, he’d relent a bit but he’d still hold the real story, the real cards, close to his chest.

I’ll keep writing, I’ll keep pushing, oddly I don’t feel like I have a choice. Today though, I’ll let him win, I’ll think good thoughts, touch my hand to my heart, tell him how much I miss him, and I’ll have some chocolate.