My Dad Died Today

My dad died today. Not today, but on this day 43 years ago. It was a beautiful bright September day and I was reveling in my first week of senior year in college. There were friends to see, parties to be seen at and the euphoria that comes from seeing the finish line in sight. College was nearly over and the world seemed like a big adventure with my name on it. It all abruptly changed with a simple phone call, “your dad is ill, you have to go home now”. When I say changed, it was immediate. It was dark and it was life changing. I adored my father. He got me. He loved me. He wanted only the best the world could offer for me. He died that night. He had a massive heart attack at work. There was no time for proper good byes. I saw him in the ICU. His leg that was never seen due to a war wound was all I remember seeing. It was a grotesque reminder of his sacrifice. We never hugged or said anything to each other. It was the first time I remember feeling pain. I heard someone crying and recognized it was me. I felt alone, cold and frightfully afraid. I looked at my mother, who was in shock and we went home. Arrangements, religious protocols, notices and phone calls filled the next several days. It was a blurr, complete with well wishers, concerned neighbors, priests and vocal family. People want to help. They are never quite sure what to do. It is awkward and raw.  

Back to Reality

In my world, I returned to school post funeral. My mother wanted me to quit school and get a job. Imagine making it to your senior year and your parent wants you to drop out of school? I visited with the college chaplain, school dean and my favorite history professor to let them know that my mother wanted me to leave school. I was heartbroken twice. I was a good student, I loved learning and I wanted to get my degree. I am not sure what transpired between the school and my mother, but the topic never came up again and I did finish school. I was markedly different when I returned, the weather and I were in season flux. We were drifting off into winter and I felt the bleakness, cold and yes, despair. I had a hard time focusing. I wanted to be alone more. I was no longer hopeful. I had no direction. Miraculously, the college chaplain became my new best friend. In the prior summer, his daughter suddenly died of what I still do not know. He told me we could talk to each other. And we did. One day, I decided I wasn’t going to go to History class; I just skipped. Well when you go to a small school and have small classes, your absence is felt. My history professor stopped by my sorority house on his way home from the class to see if I was feeling OK. He brought me the lesson. That was the time I knew, I had angels. I believe that these gentlemen willed me finish school as if they were behind me pushing me every step. I remember walking to get my diploma and the chaplain giving me a ‘thumbs up’. I could have been lost in my grief, indifference and naiveté , however they would not have any of that and I did it. This was the first time I realized that I was resilient. I had the grit my dad instilled in me. This was the main lesson my father taught me. You fall down, you get up, no questions asked.

I Get Knocked Down, I Get Up Again…

This would not be the first time I would take a tumble. I was my first real step out into the world. It was frightening. I was afraid, I had no one to give me advice. I was as if I was an unsure colt getting her footing. I knew that I had the base tools to tackle life, I had no idea how to use them. I kept relying on my dad’s words: you can only eat an elephant one bite at a time. I came to discover that although he was not physically with me, he would always be with me. He taught me how to synthesize a problem. It’s all in the pause. He imparted his faith in the Blessed Mother. There are no atheist in combat. He taught me courage. There is no harm in asking why or why not for that matter, just be prepared for the response. He instilled his passion for learning and ideas. I have always had 5 books in simultaneous review, never miss an evening newscast and consider myself informed. He taught me to love America. I always vote and have since I turned 18. He was an engineer by profession and showed me that there is always a better or different way to view a problem and that life is a series of problems that need to be solved. It’s as simple as that!

The Halo Effect

My beautiful father never met my daughter, never shared in all my adult life milestones, never saw me do well in business, but he has been with me every day I’ve been alive. The gratitude I have knowing that I was loved and the remaining halo effect is enormous. My grief subsided over the years and was replaced with a confidence of being his daughter. I am a warrior. I am and I hold that to be my truth.  I hold a certain softness for women who have lost their fathers young. We have a special painful bond we share. As the years go by, more of my acquaintances lose their fathers, mothers, both of their parents. It is not unusual for someone 64 to no longer have either of their parents alive. It is an eerie distinction to be parent less. I never experienced the sadness of my father’s declining health or his joy in being a grandfather. In my world, he will always be vibrant, until the day he was not. That day was today in 1977.

End Notes:

I went to Susquehanna University, a small liberal arts college located in Selinsgrove, PA. I am forever indebted to Dr. Edwin Brown, Mr. Edward Mallory and Dr. John Longacre for taking personal interest in my well being. They were my angels. I will always be grateful.

My dad was a decorated WW2 Army veteran. He was wounded in the Battle of the Bulge. He carried shrapnel in his left leg that caused him pain and left him with a partial limp. He always wore long pants. People would comment on how formal he was. His leg was never exposed, he never went to the beach or wore shorts. Yet, he remained an avid scratch golfer and taught me that most of real business happens out of the office (maybe on a golf course) and in the church parking lot.

Sending love to everyone who’s trying their best to heal from things that they don’t discuss.

Be kind.