Twenty Years

It was the summer of 1989.

It was the first summer I could remember in forever when I wasn't in some sort of summer camp program. BFF went away to camp that year so I spent a lot of my time hanging out with my neighborhood friends. It was the summer I met the boy who would later become my first boyfriend, first love and eventually one of my best friends - another brother. In mid-July, my mom and I ventured to Ft. Lauderdale to visit my grandparents (her mother and father). We stayed there for two weeks. The day after we arrived home from Florida, my brother and I were off to Ft. Worth to visit my Aunt, Uncle and Cousins. He would stay for just a week and I would stay for two weeks. The time flew by so quickly. Little did I know that about a week or two after I arrived back home from that trip my world would start to change completely.

While I was away my dad's health was declining and I was not aware of this. One night, after my final return home, my dad fell getting out of bed in the middle of the night. I'm not sure of the details, but his doctor was concerned enough by this that dad checked into the hospital that next day. Testing would take place and my dad's worst fears (our worst fears) would be confirmed. He was diagnosed with Lymphoma cancer. If I remember correctly, chemotherapy was not an option because of his age and how far along the cancer had progressed.

The weeks after the diagnosis were hectic. Much time was spent commuting from the suburbs to the hospital downtown. Like any child not wanting to face the fact their parent was dying, I refused to discuss what was going on with my mom. I didn't want to hear about it. If I kept myself in a "happy place" it would all be okay . . . right!? That was until the news we received on Sunday, September 17, 1989. The doctor informed my mom that my dad's time was short. He could go at anytime. My middle brother and mom were at odds that day as to whether or not I should be taken to the hospital to see dad one last time. By this point they had an oxygen mask on him to help him breath and he had lost a significant amount of weight. Middle Brother didn't want that to be my last memory of dad. However, my mom had the final say and we went to the hospital that afternoon.

It was early morning Monday, September 18, 1989 when we got the call. I was getting ready for school when the phone rang. I made my way half-way down the stairs and leaned against the wall so I wouldn't been seen. I heard my mom utter the words, "What's going on? You wouldn't be calling this early if something wasn't wrong." It was my dad's doctor. My dad had passed just moments earlier. I made my way back to my room and waited for mom to come up stairs to give me the news. The days that followed were a blur. My friends found out by seeing an "F" next to my name on the daily announcements list that was passed out to each home room. A sea of people, and food, flooded our house as word spread. As my mom made funeral arrangements one of our neighbors came over and had my brother and I start cleaning and organizing things. After school, I had a visit from a girl I wasn't great friends with, but her dad had been killed on the job several months earlier so she knew what it was like to loose a parent so young and wanted to make sure I was ok. My neighborhood friends also come over that day as well. I remember just sitting in my room with them, saying nothing.


My dad was a wonderful man who loved his family and friends very much. A man so filled with life. He had his own special way of sharing life lessons . . . because of his constant reminders that we didn't own the Edison company I learned from an early age it was important to turn lights off when you leave a room. He was a man that made the simple gift of a Kelly Green dress super special by telling you it was especially made for you by him. He was the only person who has been able to make me disappear, and reappear, on queue. And, as any good dad would, he questioned me thoroughly as to who the boy calling for his little girl was and why he was calling (Clearly I wasn't 30 yet which was the age it would "ok" for me to start dating).

Being the child of an much older parent, I always anticipated my dad would not be around my whole life. Sometimes I would wonder if I was "too" prepared for the inevitable and didn't give myself a chance to be a child. When I talk to those who have had a loved-one pass unexpectedly I am told how lucky I was to have had the chance to say good-bye. I understand where they are coming from and yes, I was lucky. However, at the end of the day, the absences of someone so important and special to you whether you've had time to prepare for it or not is still a great loss. A loss you never really forget.

Back then, the idea of getting through the first week seemed to be a great accomplishment. Before we knew it a year had passed. Now, twenty. Not a day goes by that I don't pause and think of my dad; even if it's just for a brief moment. He will never be forgotten. My mom has informed me, on many of an occasion, how much I am like him. Both physically and personality wise. It is he who the world has to thank for my adorable dimples and talkative ways - amongst other traits. To know me, is to know my dad. It is this very fact in which I have taken comfort and found peace in his passing. I carry around with me a piece of him that no one ever will. A piece with many special memories that only we understand.

It is for that reason that I honor my dad today and share with you how special of man he was. Also, I dedicate this post to anyone out there mourning the loss of someone special to them. I can't fully understand what you are going through and say it is always easy, but I can relate to how you feel and let you know it does get easier. Know that it is ok to be sad from time-to-time no matter how long it has been. Embrace the memories and find the thing(s) that bring you comfort and peace. I believe this is what they would want for you. I believe it is what my dad would want for me.

Until later . . .