Wednesday, June 13, 2012

A Day to Remember

"My father died many years ago, and yet when something special happens to me, I talk to him secretly not really knowing whether he hears, but it makes me feel better to half believe it." Natasha Josefowitz

Today is the 13th of June. A day that will stay etched in my mind forever and actually has nothing whatsoever to do with my dance with cancer. It is the day I lost my father. Five years ago today, I got a call very early in the morning with the shocking news. You learn quickly as you get older that whenever your phone rings in the early hours it is rarely good news. This was no exception. My otherwise healthy father was cruelly taken from us suddenly and unsuspectingly and my heart still aches for him. I have written about him quite a few times on this blog and it is very easy to see through my words and memories how very important he was to me and how much I loved him. He was the best father I could have asked for and I feel so priviledged and lucky that I had him in my life for 27 years. Many dont even have that opportunity.

I often still have an urge to call him when something exciting happens, or something sad or when I just need his advice. This is strange as when I think about the fact that 5 years have gone by, it feels like so much longer then that but in those moments, I sometimes forgot he is even gone. Old habits die hard! Maybe it is the fact I have lived such an enormous amount of life experience in those five years since we lost him that is feels like much more. I think he would be proud of me - of the life I created for myself, for the family I have, for the people who are in my life and for the way I carry myself through every challenge and obstacle. He taught me well. I just wish he could have seen more of my life especially when it comes to my daughter. I often catch myself watching daughters walking down the street with their grey haired fathers pushing their strollers around with their doting grandchildren sitting in them. I envy them and the normality of the entire interaction. I wish I had that too. But I do seek some comfort in the belief that he is somewhere where he can get some glimpse into the life I am living and be proud of the daughter he raised.

I love you Dad.


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