Thursday, March 9, 2006

A part of me is missing...

Those of you who follow my blog regularly know that I have been MIA for many weeks. Those of you who know me personally probably know why. My father passed away, somewhat suddenly, on February 1. He was only 69. It has taken this long for me to muster up the courage to openly talk about it. And still, I am having a hard time putting words to paper (or computer)- something I have always been good at.

My father was a huge part of my life. I don’t mean huge in the sense that we spoke every day, or he knew all of my deep dark secrets. I mean that, from a very early age, it was clear that I took on most of my characteristics from him- from my childhood bad temper to my predilection for bad puns; from my fair, Irish skin to my wide smile when cameras came out. Growing up I was the only one who really looked like him, and for some reason that gave us a bond. Not only that, but if ever there was a champion for the talents of a child, it would be my father for me. I used to joke that there was a 15 foot radius around my father in which he could smell out anyone who did not know he was my dad. He would immediately introduce himself (as he was wont to do with complete strangers) and let them know that I was his kid, “The Kid” as he nicknamed me growing up.

How do you express to people that your whole world is different now that your dad is gone?

I look at old people differently. I look at young families differently. Every time I hear the age of some older person, my mind immediately counts up how many more years they lived past my dad and then I ache for those years that I didn’t have. I can’t bear the idea that when I call home and say, “Hi, it’s me” I won’t hear him joke, “Me, who?” on the other end. I don’t get to go to anymore baseball games with him, a tradition we had for Father’s Day each year. This year was going to extra special because I was planning on going to my first Yankees game with him, a team he grew up with in NYC and now that I live here it would take on special meaning.

I could go on and on, and I might... in future posts. I just didn’t know how precious life was until my Superman was taken away. The man who always would answer “I’m fantastic!” even if he was recovering from surgery. The man who always waited up from me no matter what time I visited home. The man who stood at the front gate watching me drive away, no matter how late it was.

I miss him.

5 comments:

  1. Thank you for sharing this with us, TheatrDiva. I applaud your courage to write about your father as I know that you have had a hard time of knowing where to start. This is a really beautiful post.

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  2. Thanks, Courts. I feel like I jumped a big hurdle just posting about it. Now I can start to feel a bit more free about writing and expressing myself...

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  3. Damn you! Now I'm sitting at my desk at work and crying. :-) Seriously, I am so glad that you shared this. Your dad sounds like a special guy.

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  4. Thank you so much for stopping by, Claire! He was (and is) a special guy. There are so many memories to share, so I hope you will keep checking back from time to time... I love you!

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  5. Hey the Diva,
    I am honored to know you and to know of your dad even though I never met him. And you have painted a picture of who he is so well that I will keep on honoring him and you just the same. It's a beatiful thing to have people alive even though they are not with us anymore. I never thought I could cope with death, but you are showing me that death could be a beginning of a new life. Your dad lives with you, I can tell, and he lives with me and everyone who reads your letters. I am honored, honored, honored...It's like I know your dad because of who you are.
    Marija

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