Ten Years - April 16, 2004

I'd been thinking about the date, knew it was coming and knew I was setting myself up for a very difficult day. Nevertheless, when I woke up this morning, the first thing I thought about was that ten years ago today, my dad died.

Ten years. Has it really been that long? Ten years since I last saw his smile. Ten years since he said my name and told me he loved me. Ten years since I said goodbye. Ten years since I last saw his face.

After my dad died, I added the date to my calendar. What a strange feeling - seeing the day recorded amongst holidays, birthdays and anniversaries. The days that people celebrate and plan for. Instead, today is the day my dad died and I can only remember...

I remember how his laugh could light up a room. It was infectious. It was loud. It was just like mine.

I remember the t-shirts he wore with sayings like: Friends don't let friends drive Fords (which is ironic as my husband now owns a Ford truck). And Any man can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a dad (and yes - he was incredibly special).

I remember asking him about the scar on his cheek when I was a little girl. He'd fallen on an piece of glass when he was three years old and the scar was permanent. (My Aunt Thelma confirmed that it was her who dropped him after he was too squirmy during a piggy-back ride).

I remember how loud he snored and how ridiculously loud he blew his nose.

I remember how confused my dad was when I asked if I could start shaving my legs. He didn't have a clue what to say and wanted to call my Grandma for advice. My sister, Jacquie stopped him in his tracks and said that he wasn't allowed to call her as she grew up in a different time and hadn't shaved her legs a day in her life - he needed to ask someone else. The conversation ended with my dad handing over his razor. 

I remember telling ghost stories at night with my friends and scaring ourselves so badly that we came screaming upstairs. My dad did not scare easily, but being woken up at 1am by a slumber party full of pre-teen girls screaming up the stairs?  It was enough to make him carry a bat with him as he searched the house.

I remember how much he read, how he was scared of mice and rats, and how mad he would get when my friends and I got to Blockbuster first and stole his free movie rental (thanks Kelly!!).

I remember jumping on our trampoline in the backyard when I got up to change the song from Steppenwolf's Magic Carpet Ride. My dad came out and complained that it was the first good song he'd heard all day and I turned it off. He made me turn it back on.

I remember that he bought Jacquie and I a car for our 16th birthday. It was an old Mustang (Jac's wish) and he was so excited when he led us into the garage that morning. He taught us both to drive a standard and it's a skill I'm happy to know.

And then I remember bursting with laughter after my dad took my keys one day. I'd been complaining about driving a standard because needing to have one hand on the wheel and the other on the stick meant that I couldn't drive with my arm out the window. So, he took my keys to prove me wrong and I watched as he kept one hand on the stick, the other out the window and drove the wheel with his knees.

I remember politely kicking him out the day he moved me into my dorm room at University. I was so excited to be starting my new life and didn't notice my dad's sadness at losing his little girl. He told me later that he'd find himself stopping in front of my bedroom door at home and feeling sad that I was all grown up and didn't live there anymore. He said he was looking forward to the summer when I would be home again.

I remember surprising my dad at work on my way through town. I walked in the side of the elevator and as I turned the corner I watched in horror as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. I was his anti-smoking daughter and was so genuinely proud of him for quitting. It was his first smoke in over a year and I happened to walk in the door at the exact moment that he finally gave into his weakness. And boy, did I let him have it.

I remember when my sisters and I recovered his kitchen chairs and simply left a note on the table that read: We hope you like your present. He said he was on the phone with my Grandma, telling her how his daughters left a note, but forgot to leave the present when he suddenly shouted, "Holy S***, they did my chairs!" His chairs were torn and coming apart at the seams and we made them look brand new again. It was thoughtful and one of my favourite gifts we ever gave him.

And I remember the day my world changed.

I remember eating at McDonald's before we moved Jacquie to Nanaimo for a work term when my dad started choking on his burger. He'd been having trouble swallowing and I was shaking as I ran up to ask the girl for a glass of water. We mentioned the doctor and he said he'd make an appointment when he got home.

I remember that on Sunday, February 15, 2004, my dad called. He was in the hospital having a shunt put in his throat to help his swallowing issues and asked my sister and I to meet him there. It was the first day we heard the frightening words: Esophagus Cancer. I remember meeting a doctor at the Pasqua Hospital in Regina soon after who told us he was in stage 4, the Cancer was terminal, it had spread and he had only an estimated 6 months to live.

6 months?

I remember the confusion.
I remember the pain.
I remember the anger.
I remember the sadness.
But most of all - I remember him.
His confusion.
His pain.
His anger.
His sadness.

And I remember sobbing on his hospital bed only two months later, on Friday, April 16, 2004, surrounded by our family, as I watched him take his last breath.

It was a life changing experience to sit by my dad's side and although those were devastating days, they were days like all the others - ones I want to remember.

These are a sample of the stories I remember. The good and the bad. The stories I now share with my husband about the father-in-law that he never had the chance to meet. And they are the stories I will share with my kids as I talk about the grandpa they will never know.

But they will know him - because I remember.

How long will I count the years?

Always.

Ten years. Has it really been that long?


*Update - my sisters and I hosted a memorial pot luck with our extended family from my dad's side last Saturday. It was a way to share his memory with those who love us and miss him as much as we do. We had on display a scrapbook I made for Jacquie after he passed away containing cards and letters and pictures that would help us remember, our dad's old cowboy boots and sandals, the quilt from his bed, his UGG cooler and Blue curling bag, a bottle of his cologne, his pin collection, and (to lighten the mood) his old rundown hair brush. This blog was also printed for everyone to read. There were tears and there was laughter and we were surrounded by love. A big thank you to everyone who was able to make it. You all made a difficult day just a little bit better.

Here we are (Melanie, Celina & Jacquie) - 10 years later - and still missing him every day. Today he would have been 58 years old, he would have 3 son-in-laws, and 6 wonderful grandchildren. We love you dad!

 

Melanie