My dad died six years ago and I still am not that moved by it. I’ve missed him over the years here and there, but his passing seemed appropriate, if I am even able to deem a death appropriate, even my own father’s. My dad and I had our difficulties over the years and I was not a big fan of his until later in life; after he got sober and after years of silence had passed. We spoke about two weeks before he passed away, in fact I was in the very house that I now live in when he and I spoke and we had probably the best conversation we had ever had.
We spoke as friends, he was interested in what I had to say. I was leaving Texas, I was going home to Illinois, the divorce was really final-final and there was nothing more for me to do in Texas, so I was going home. Exhausted. Depleted. Void of ideas.
But my dad and I had a really funny conversation; we laughed about things we had never laughed about and talked about me visiting him in Phoenix later that summer. I considered it.
Ten days later I was driving back to Chicago and received a call from my brother Sean in Rollo, Missouri, Dad had dropped of a heart attack. Not quite dead, but inches from it, and Sean asked if I could just make a left turn and get to Phoenix. “Ummmmm, no, I cannot make a left turn in Albuquerque.” I waited until I got home and then flew out to Phoenix.
Six years later and I still have not cried. Not that I am supposed to be aren’t you supposed to cry when a parent dies?
My dad’s dog Suzy, a fabulous Skipperkee that I truly adored, died this weekend. She was the last of his pets; they are all gone now except for his adoring wife that is so tragically sad about my dad’s departure, it is heart-breaking. I cried rivers of tears for Suzy today.
I did not spend much time thinking of my dad today, I think because he moved out of my life oh so many years ago and this day never really meant many things to me.
My dad was happy with his life. I think.