Daddy

The man that you run to when you scrape your knee riding your bike.

The man that scares your boyfriends before you are allowed to go on dates with them.

The man that walks you down the aisle and gives you away in marriage.

Those are just some of the things that a daddy is supposed to do. Notice that list did not include getting cancer and dying before you really even got to know him. No I don't think that is one of the things that a daddy should do, but mine did.

I really don't remember when he got sick. I do remember trips to the hospital in our Easter dresses. The phone calls to tell us gooodnight. That horrible colostomy bag that he had to wear. The funny yellow color of his skin. The final visit at the hospital that Saturday afternoon. The phone call that Sunday morning telling us that he was gone.

I was only 8 at the time and an 8 year old can only comprehend so much. An 8 year old should not have to deal with the death of a parent. The cancer took its toll on all of my family. My mom had married this man when she was 16 and had 4 children with him and now she was facing the rest of her life alone, without this man that she had vowed to love until death do them part. It's funny how when you take those vows, most of us don't take them literally. Here she was facing the death of her husband and raising her kids without a father. My oldest sister had already moved out before daddy got so sick. It was too much for her to handle, watching him die. My 15 year old sister, 11 year old sister and myself were left there, to watch him wither away. A silent killer taking him little by little from our lives. A silent killer taking the strongest member of my family and leaving a huge hole in our family.

Sometimes I think it was easier for me than for my sisters because I could not comprehend a lot of what was going on. I do have some memories of him though. When I try to remember, the images just flash through my mind like a slide show. The memories are fading with the passing of time, I now have new memories to replace the ones of him.

I remember the funeral and how surreal it was. There were so many people there. His own dad did not come though, he could not deal with the death of his only son.

I grieve now because I could not grieve then. I did not know how to grieve then, I was only a child. I have a recurrent dream that I wake up in my old house and walk into the living room and he is there sitting on the sofa, crocheting (something my sister taught him how to do after he got sick and could not work), fire in the fire place. He looks at me and smiles. Then I wake up. I have had this dream for as long as I can remember. It is so real that the first few times that I had it I actually got up and went into the living room only to find the sofa empty, no fire in the fire place, no one smiling at me. I missed so much by not having a father. He was not there to give me away at my weddings, he was not there for my high school graduation, he will not be there for the birth of my children. For those things I grieve.