Day 260: My Father's Daughter

I am grateful that I am my father's daughter.  Four years ago today my Dad passed away, suddenly and without a chance to say "goodbye."  There is not a single day that I don't think of him, nor is there a second a don't miss him.      

While my dad’s death has impacted me in a tremendous way, with little words to describe it, his life shaped me in ways I never realized until I didn’t have him anymore.  My father was, in a word, awesome.  He was tough and laid down the rules of the house, and my brothers and I knew it would not be smart to cross him.  He hardly ever raised his voice to me, although my brothers may know a different story. But looking back, I respected him more than anyone else I’ve known in my lifetime.  My dad had his routines and traditions, that have since become points of humor – reading his newspaper each night, waking up at 3am every Sunday morning to deliver newspapers, his "other" family.  Now, I am beginning to realize that these routines created a sense of stability, a sense of safety that every child deserves to know.  

He and I had a special relationship.  Whether it was because I was his youngest, his only daughter, I will never know – but I am incredibly thankful for our relationship.  We could disagree in a way my brothers never could, and I could convince him to take me to the mall. He always had time to listen to me. I don't recall a time I didn't love to listen to his stories. My father and I were alike in many ways - our temper and stubbornness, our sense of humor and our dimples.  

I remember feeling like I had lost an entire part of myself when my brother called to tell me the news. My father and mother are so much of who I am as an adult; without one of them here how could I ever feel whole again? Time has helped me start to feel whole again, but I disagree with the saying "time heals all wounds."  Losing a parent is a wound that never heals.  Instead I agree with Rose Kennedy,

"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”

I'm learning to be okay with that. I'm learning to live my life with the scar of losing a parent. On days like today I listen to his music, smile at the pictures, remember the stories people told about him, and hold all the memories I have of him close to my heart.  These things help lessen the hurt, and remind me how proud I am to be Jack Fahey's daughter.

"It's past your bedtime."