MY BELOVED FATHER

I cannot even begin to explain where I've been for these last couple of years. It is ironic, however, that I stopped blogging when my father became ill, and am now blogging again only after his passing this past November. Ironic may be a strange word to use, you might think, but that's because you didn't know my father. He was the picture of health, even to the last day. He never complained of any pain because he never complained about anything, so we really didn't expect him to leave us, even though on some level I obviously registered it could be the beginning of the end.

My father was a handsome, brilliant, civil engineer, a man's man, as I've never seen him cry or even tear up until 6 years ago when his father passed away and he was eulogizing him. My grandfather died at age 99.5, and, my father told the meager crowd (because Grandpa outlived all his friends and all contemporary relatives (and he used to say God forgot about him!)), it wasn't enough time. I guess it's never enough. My paternal Grandma is still alive, God bless her, and is now 100. With genes like that it was hard to believe my father would pass away at 74. It wasn't until I saw my strong father succumb to cancer (CMML) that I fully appreciated what a devastating disease it is, depriving otherwise vigorously healthy people of precious time with loved ones. Even my father's doctors and nurses had been impressed with how well he tolerated chemotherapy.

While he was a strong man, he was an incredibly gentle one. He had the patience of a saint, but the old adage "Beware the anger of a patient man" was certainly applicable during my childhood. What most impressed me about my father was that he was one of those people who really perfected himself, overcoming emotions to the point where I don't even remember the last time I've seen him angry.

He was well loved wherever he went. As someone who visited us said, "People always say about the departed that he/she was a well liked man/woman, but in your father's case it was really true!" His coworkers all came and even the men teared up when they met us. But what we'll miss most about him is that he loved perfectly, completely, and deeply, and never hesitated to say so outright ("I love you so much it hurts!") or show you with gifts (of hats with our initials, mugs with beach scenery, and so many shirts!). All of these items are now sacred objects, elevated to holiness from material things which barely represented his love.

We were kindred spirits, he and I, often laughing uncontrollably because of some pun or situation, to the dismay of even my mother sometimes! By the end of such a scenario, we'd just laugh because the other was laughing. I never had that with anyone else, and I suspect never will again. I told my children, with whom he was incredibly close and adored with all his might, "Your father loves me, there's no doubt, but no one will ever love me like Grandpa."

I know that I am extremely lucky to have had a father like that, and to have had time to get to know him as an adult. By design we lived in the same neighborhood. I still talk to him every day. It's hard to pray for a long healthy life on the one hand, knowing that, on the other hand, it means I won't see him again for an excruciatingly long time. It is an extreme consolation to me to know that it's not an end, just a separation, and that any good deeds I do here on earth elevate his soul in heaven.