January 22, 1943 - June 24, 2010

It's been a little more than two weeks now since dad went to be with the Lord. Today I am in a place where I can actually write my thoughts down...almost as if to admit for the first time that dad's dying is real. Sometimes, I find it hard to believe that he's really gone. I periodically post things on dad's Facebook, as if he'll read it, just because I miss him so much. I'm so thankful for the time that I had with dad over the past year and a half since finding out his diagnosis, but when dad died it still felt like I didn't get enough time with him. There's a bond between dads and daughters that's difficult to describe...now, I have a certain ache in my heart at the realization that the first man in my life that I loved is gone forever.

Dad went quietly and in the way that he wanted...without all of us standing around him watching. I had come home with Madeline. Liz had returned to her work schedule. Auntie Pearl had gone back to her home in Southern California. Suzanne had taken Steven to his weekend away at a respite home in Hillsboro. Mom had actually left the room to put a load of laundry in the wash. It was during that brief moment of absolute quiet that dad went. Mom returned to find dad had taken his last breath. In her sweet way, she leaned over and whispered in his ear, "you stinker". She knew that he waited til he was alone.

There was no funeral for dad, per his request. We honored it but it felt weird not pulling people together who loved dad to say one last goodbye. As Suzanne has said, "dad was never one for fanfare." Instead, our immediate family got together to share stories, eat "dad's" food, and make plans for the future. Some IN honor of dad. Some TO honor dad. One thing we all promised was to "take care of mom". Mom's independent, so it's not like she can't take care of herself, dad was getting at making sure that our family doesn't dissolve just because he's not here. We will keep our promise, dad...mom won't be alone.

So, from here, the blog takes on a different life. Instead of attempting to chronicle our journey with dad's cancer, it becomes a place to chronicle our stories about dad...for Madeline. One of the things that made me most heartbroken about dad's terminal diagnosis was the fact that Maddie would not really know her Papa. My friend, Ruth, reminded me that she would know him...because I'd tell her. You're right, Ruthie, I WILL tell her...starting here.

For now, I leave with a lump in my throat as I sit down from going to the pantry cupboard to grab some chocolate kisses (one of dad's many favorites) and I catch another glimpse of the microwavable brown rice bowl that my dad left here "for next time". It's the little things that make me miss him.

I love you, dad.