My first Father’s Day without my dad
This year, I celebrated my first Father’s Day without my dad. It’s been strange seeing the ads for this yearly event since he passed away in December. I remember getting that early morning call from my sister telling me that he passed away in his bed at our family home, surrounded by her and my mom, holding his hands as he took his last breath.
The last time I spoke to my dad was on the phone in November. The throat and lung cancer made it hard for him to speak. We chatted about random stuff, small talk towards the things I know he enjoyed and that we could chat about: the weather in VA, the weather in CA, the games he was watching on TV, my work as well as my teaching.
These six months have gone by fast yet I’m reminded every 11th day of the month, with every reference to a major sports event, and with every sight of a father and son in public.
My dad and I weren’t super close… well, I guess in the communication-kind-of-way. We talked, but very high-level. It was always this way. I think it was just the person he was, very direct and to the point. Perhaps I could have tried to open up more. Perhaps I could have tried to open him up more.
For his birthday (which is on November 29th), I wrote him a letter. A letter of gratitude. It was my first attempt to get some things off my chest, to tell him how much he meant to me.
My mom read it to him aloud as he laid in bed.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
We haven’t been able to have a long conversation in a while, so I thought this was a good opportunity to write you.
I think about you every single day.
I think about what you must be going though, the thoughts you are having, the feelings you are experiencing. I know it’s tough, hard, and uncomfortable right now, and I can see that you’re pulling through.
Ever since I was small, I thought you were the strongest person in the world, able to lift anything, do anything, fix anything. I still think that.
I know things are different now, but deep in my heart, I know you are still fighting, still as strong as how I remember you were when I was a little boy.
As I live my life now, the lessons you’ve taught me growing up randomly enter my mind, remembering the moments where your words of wisdom and guidance instilled in me the knowledge that has shaped me into becoming the man I am today…
+ Finish what your start
+ Keep your word
+ Always arrive 15 minutes early
+ Trust is earned, not given
+ Always read the instructions first
+ Show love through small gestures and actions
+ To not be afraid to voice your opinion
+ And of course, The Golden RuleI’m grateful that you allowed me to grow into the person I wanted to become, not someone you wanted me to become. I’m grateful that you encouraged me to develop my own beliefs, always questioning what’s in front of me. I’m grateful that I grew up in an environment where seeking answers was part of being an informed citizen, something you wanted all of us, your children, to be.
It’s good to know you are home celebrating your birthday. I’m happy you are there with mom and Mr. Belvedere (my parent’s cat). But most of all, I’m happy you are showing us your strength during all of this, something that is not lost in our family.
Celebrate this birthday knowing that you are loved by so many people.
Love, Marc
The week of his passing was hard. I kept going back to that letter I wrote to him just two weeks before he died.
Could I have said more? Was it enough?
When he entered hospice care earlier in November, doctors gave him 9–24 months to live. When I wrote the letter for his birthday, I thought this would have been the first of many opportunities to share with him things I needed to have him hear. That turned out to not be the case.
I shared my dad’s passing to a friend of mine. After he expressed his condolences and the story of his father passing and how hard it was for him, he said this to me,
“Now you must live in honor of him.”
This struck me at my core. This one little sentence started to alleviate my should have, would have, could have regret towards not getting things off my chest sooner, before it was too late.
Perhaps the things listed in my first letter was enough. Perhaps living my life, the actions I’ve taken as an adult and the work I’m doing is enough for him to see his lessons instilled in me. I’m thankful I was able to run my first 50K while he was still with us, sharing with him that he was the motivation behind this.
This first Father’s Day without my dad has made me realize that I’ve been handed a gift… a beautiful gift that he gave me, his legacy. Now, through my actions, words, and love, I’m now sharing his gift with those I have in my life: my friends, my family (especially my four nieces and nephews), my students, my loved ones, the strangers I meet, and most importantly, the family I hope to have one day.
