For Dad

My dad passed away 13 years ago from brain cancer. I was five at the time, and am now finishing my first term of university. Not a day has passed since then that I haven't thought of him. I don't dwell on the fact that he's gone--my mother gave me the best life I could have possibly asked for. I never wanted for anything and always had someone to turn to. My mom was my rock, and is. I see why he was so madly in love with her. She is the strongest woman I know, and although we don't talk about my dad very often, he lives vibrantly between us. We will not let him go. I think about him often because of her, and the words she said to me when I was five. She told me when he was dying to look at his face and never forget it. She told me I would have pictures forever but she wanted me to remember his warmth and the twinkle in his eyes. I'd like to think I've retained that image, because I listened to her, and I did think of him every day. At five she was honest with me and told me he was going to die although he himself didn't even know. I wish I had many memories to share but at five most of what I know about him are stories. I've learnt that my dad meant the world to so many people. He stayed at home when I was little while my mom worked. He played the guitar and sang like an angel. He windsurfed whenever he could and rollerbladed through the park pushing me in my stroller. He loved his brother and sisters dearly. He would have given his life for his father. He fought the cancer so hard and so long to be able to see me grow up. Brain surgery, chemo, the works. That summer we went camping, the three of us, and he taught me how to canoe in the canoe he build, which served as a replacement for a coffin at his funeral, as he was cremated. When the back pains started and he learned that the tumor had spread, he took me in his arms to show me his love, rather then tell me. Too soon he left home for the final time, to spend his last week at the hospital. The last conversation I had with him I was desperate to find out answers to questions only he could answer. What were his favourite colours? What were his dreams? Could he sing one last song to me? My mom told me later she had been with him moments before I arrived. He had been screaming and sobbing. She told him he better smarten up, because she didn't want their five year old daughter to remember him like that. He didn't remember that he had a daughter. The end was quick, my mother making the decision to end his life support and his pain. I wish I could talk to him now, and have an adult conversation with him. He sounds like the kind of man I would like to get to know. I vow to never let him be forgotten, because I know that he would have done anything to be here with me. I think of him with much love and respect, and sleep knowing I'll see him in my dreams.
beautifulcity beautifulcity
Dec 6, 2012