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Fathers and Daughters & Missed Opportunities
My Dad died knowing I loved him.
However, he lived a lot of years not knowing that...even some thinking that I didn't at all. And sadly it was the same for me.
My parents divorced when I was 13. The divorce itself was not necessarily a bad thing. These were two people who probably shouldn't have been married in the first place.
Don't get me wrong, there was no drugs or alcohol or horrific beatings but matching up someone with low self-esteem and a need for constant reinforcement of love with someone who is spoiled and a chronic philanderer cannot EVER be a good thing.
When I was little my Dad hung the moon to me. And I felt like he felt the same about me. When my parents got divorced my Dad moved in with his girlfriend and, in my eyes, dumped all of us for her. My mother made it hard to maintain a relationship with him but in all honesty, I don't think my Dad tried too awfully hard.
Once I got married, we built a sort of relationship. And when I had the kids, we continued. The only problem being that my Dad would shower time and affection on my sister's children and sometimes would visit from out of town and not even call us. I didn't want my kids to feel that there Grandpa didn't love them and to wonder why.
So in a fit of anger and after an argument about inconsequential things that seemed of the utmost importance I banished him from our lives.
Fast forward 4 years or so and my Dad is diagnosed with Mesothelioma, a form of lung cancer that, for him, was terminal.
Suddenly, none of that old argument seemed that important, time with his grandkids was something to hold on to, and wishes for more opportunities to say sorry and make it right were everywhere.
When, finally, almost two years after diagnosis, my Dad started to leave us, I flew down to where he lived and spent a week taking care of him, and talking to him, and telling him that I loved him and that I was sorry. And he spent a week letting me take care of him, and helping me do crosswords, and telling people that he was proud of me and telling me that he loved me.
It was the hardest week of my life. Watching someone you love die is the hardest thing anyone will ever do and knowing that you have a week to make up for 5 years of mistakes is even worse.
My Dad passed away exactly one week after I left and like I said he died knowing I loved him.
...I just wish I could tell him one more time.
Lori
12:16 p.m. - 2006-03-28
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