It’s tough losing my dad, even when I’m a senior citizen myself. I will always be his oldest daughter, his writing collaborator and his biggest fan. I never tired of saying how blessed I felt that at the ripe age of almost 68 I still had both my parents in my life. I could see them helping my husband and I celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary in three years. But that didn’t happen. He checked out two weeks before his 71st anniversary.
As my mom’s caregiver, he was the healthy one. He was adventuresome and would be very active. However, my mom, whose comfort zone is a table in her kitchen, didn’t want him going anywhere. His job was to take care of her. I had big plans for traveling with him after my mom was gone. But life is like that sometimes. He’s gone. She could live to be 100 and she doesn’t like it one bit. But here we are.
Logic says that it was his time. He had a good life. He was almost 92. Logic isn’t worth a crap at a time like this. He’s gone. I miss him and I have this hole in my heart. His four daughters all miss him terribly, but we honor him by doing everything we can to take care of our mother and make sure she is safe, physically and financially.
My dad: the editorial opinion writer, the book publisher, the diehard Republican. I was honored to be his editor for his books and articles, and set up his conservative blog. I disagreed with a lot of things he wrote, but I was thrilled with his determination to keep trying to sway people to his point of view. The last thing I wrote for him was his obituary.
He was cremated and we will hold a party to celebrate his life. My dad had many friends. It should be well attended. We will talk about our favorite memories. My nephew will sing a song he wrote for him. A Quaker minister will deliver a homily. And we will release butterflies so my dad can again soar into the heavens and fly, his greatest joy.