See you on the other side

It seems we were wrong, or you were very good at putting on a brave face so we wouldn't be worried. Typical of you.

Even some of the nurses cried when you left us. You had captured the hearts of all the hospital staff caring for you by making them laugh, showing humor and cooperation through painful and difficult circumstances and events, and generally relating to them as human beings and individuals instead of professionals at your beck and call 24/7 and subject to the demands of a sick person. Your fears and frustrations you saved for expressing to your daughters, which is fitting, and we wouldn't have had it any other way.

I am so thankful for so many things....the nurses and their compassion, not just for you but for Sis and me, during the 2 weeks you were there and the aftermath of your passing; for the strength to do what we had to do and for what we now have to do; for the close proximity of the hospital so that we could be there in 5 minutes time.

I am most thankful that we had you for 81 years, Daddy...81 good years. Years that were full of ups and downs, arguments, hurt feelings, estrangement for a short time...but years also full of love, caring, laughter, good times, and times when you were there for me, showing up at the most unexpected times with an offer to take me to supper, a $20 bill just when I needed it most, and most memorably, during that first difficult Christmas after my marriage broke up, when I was broke, depressed and most definitely not in the holiday spirit. You were my Santa that year, showing up at my doorstep with a Christmas tree, decorations from your attic and money to buy Christmas gifts with. That was you Daddy. Doing things for your family without fanfare and fuss, quietly and matter-of-factly.

I'm carrying your glasses around with me, either in my purse or holding them in my hands. For some reason these simple, ordinary and slightly homely plastic glasses are a comfort to me, I don't know why. It's the small ordinary mundane things that bring on the most tears - a pair of socks lying on the floor of your bedroom, the sight of your razor in the bathroom, your handwriting in your checkbook, your watch on the kitchen counter, the clothes you were wearing when you were admitted to the hospital. I hold those clothes up to my nose and breathe deeply, because they still bear your scent. I've cried rivers of tears since your passing and I'm sure to shed many more.

I'll miss you. I'll miss hearing you tell the Mexican Bandit joke, our suppers together, hearing your laugh, hugging you, seeing you drive up in your red and white 1984 Ford pickup truck - you loved that truck so much and called it "my baby" (it's now mine, a part of you I'll keep with me as long as I live), hearing you say "Let me get my tools" whenever I'd call you with a request to come fix something (you could fix anything), the calls on my birthday and hearing you say "Happy Birthday to yeeewww" in that unique way of yours no one will ever be able to duplicate...the security of knowing you were there for us, whatever we needed.

I love you Daddy. Guess I'll have to wait until I get to heaven to take you for that hamburger and Bud Light.