If He Were Still Here

If he were still here, Father's Day would be a day filled with laughter, card games and beer. Ice cold beer. If he were still here, I would work up the courage to ask him all the questions that have circled my thoughts my entire life. I would ask him what kind of student he was and what was his favorite subject. What was the first thing he did when at only 16 he found out his father had died? Did he look to his older brother, an uncle, a family friend to fill the gap? What was his first job and how did he end up being a welder? How did he know that my mom was "the one"? He was the love of her life. Was she the love of his? Where was he and what was he doing when I was born? I know he wasn't the first one to see me. It was my Uncle Guy who first held me in all of my gunk and declared me the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Why was it him Dad and not you? What was his favorite sport? What was his favorite color? How did it feel to not be drafted for Vietnam and did he feel guilt when his brother was? Why wasn't his family enough to fill the emptiness in him that he flooded with alcohol? Who did he get his fantastic dry sense of humor from? What did he want to be when he grew up? What were his greatest accomplishments? And his biggest regrets? Did he know that one night when we were driving late at night and I fell asleep in his lap, that I woke up when he was stroking my hair and I heard him say that he loved me? Did he think he had more time? Or was he grateful to have lived 10 years longer than his dad did?

 If he were still here, emboldened by the ice cold beer and the high of beating him at gin rummy, I would tell him all of the things that I swallowed and choked back every time they bubbled up. I would tell him that I thought he was the smartest man I knew; that there wasn't a problem alive that he couldn't come up with a solution for. I would let him know that all of the times that he dropped me off with an aunt because he didn't know what to do with me on his weekends did cause me to feel like he didn't love me but that I loved the time spent with Aunt Jody. I'd tell him that one of my greatest possessions is small porcelain oil lamp that he gave me for my birthday one year. That my first memory was of him leaning against doorway in our house on Brint Rd. I would share that when he found out that I had ran off to California and married Chris and he called and left several voice mails asking if I had been kidnapped, was I pregnant, was I on drugs, etc that those calls told me that he really loved me. That the older I got, the more I loved spending time with him, especially as an adult. I would tell him that one of my few regrets in life is when I blew off spending time with him to go to the movies... the week before he died. I would tell him that I truly believe that he did the best he did with what he had. That I forgave him. For everything. A long long time ago. That I love him. 

Unfortunately, he isn't still here. He's been gone over 11 years now. And I'll never get a chance to ask these questions and say these words. Tomorrow, on Father's Day, I will not allow my sorrow to overwhelm me. I will laugh remembering some of my favorite stories about him and I'll share those with my kids. I will make the most of the day. I will ask the questions and share my heart with those that I am with. Because even though he is not still here, I am. And I plan to make the most of the time I have left.