Remembering my dad
I don’t think anyone can tell you what it’s like to lose a parent. By the time you reach 30 years old, you have some experience with death whether it’s grandparents or friends gone too soon. You figure these experiences teach you what it’s like to eventually lose a parent but it’s not quite the same. It’s a unique sadness and even emptiness that I didn’t imagine.
My dad passed away on Monday, May 6, at age 62. He had battled health issues for the better part of the last decade and had worsened over the last few months. Despite his recurring health issues, I don’t think any of us but him expected he could be taken this suddenly.
What I know about my dad is that he loved being a dad. When I told him that I had no interest in being a father myself, he talked about how being a dad was the highlight of his life.
Yet, like many familial relationships, our relationship wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t perfect. I don’t know if he ever told me he loved me when he was sober but I know that he loved both me and my sister.
My parents separated at a young age and my earliest memories of him are happy ones. I remember him coming home from work in the early 90s after a work celebration with a bag of balloons and dumping them on me and my sister. There are few better surprises for a child than dozens of balloons.
However, my parents separated at a young age and my dad and I didn’t get to know each other until I became a teenager.
Finding a common bond
I remember my dad calling me at around 14 years old and asking if I wanted one of his old guitars to learn how to play. I’m not sure exactly why I said yes, but I did and am glad I did. He then traded in his keyboard to get me a small VOX practice amplifier to play the guitar through. I remember thinking that I really had to stick with it because he gave up his keyboard for me. And I did.
The guitar led to us bonding over music. Music was our common ground and led us to talk about life and to get to know each other. He showed me The Beatles, Pink Floyd, AC/DC and other bands that he enjoyed. I showed him the latest bands of the early and mid-00s, as well as 90’s grunge bands.
He would pick me up after school and we would go to music stores where I’d pick up a new album or two and play it in the car. Likewise, he would let me borrow albums like Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here that I still love to this day. I also remember the Beatles’ While My Guitar Gently Weeps was the first song he learned to play on the guitar.
Looking back, it was always the music. I was always fascinated by his musical instruments and recording equipment as a child. My dad himself had recorded an album in the mid-90s and hearing him talk about writing music made me want to do the same. By the time I was 22 years old, I had written and recorded an EP of my own. I even got to use his 12-string guitar for one recording. He would always tell me that he listened to it again years later and it held up.
We had talked about getting together to cover a few songs together in the year before he passed but we could never make that happen. It was our way of bonding and him reaching out. For me, I was happy to carry on our tradition and didn’t matter what he wanted to play, even if it was old Bob Dylan stuff that I didn’t care about.
One song that he always dreamed of playing together was Cat Stevens’ Father and Son. I thought the song was kind of cheesy, but again, I wasn’t going to say no. He asked if I could sing the “son” part and I told him I thought I could. I eventually sent him a clip of me singing it and it was the first time he said that I could sing. He was there when I failed to sing the lyrics to the songs I recorded, so this was great validation for me.
One of my first thoughts after learning of his passing was that I should follow through with writing music again. It could be cathartic.
Music gave us a foundation for relating to each other when we didn’t always. For instance, he was never into sports but supported my sports journalism. I also don’t think my dad understood me joining a gym and later becoming a personal trainer.
He was never much into exercise always teased me that it was a macho thing. In reality, I had lost 100 pounds and was driven to help others do the same. He saw that working out and eating right wasn’t about being macho when he began experiencing his own health issues. I was happy to teach him the things that I had learned to help him get healthier. Exercising together became another way to bond until the last year when his health declined again.
You don’t always know when it’s the end
Between working and finishing my degree, I didn’t see him much in the last year. It seemed like every time that we made plans, something would come up. We talked on the phone every week or every other week but hadn’t seen each other in months.
I’ve realized that you don’t always get to say goodbye in life. My dad and I hadn’t spoken in the week before he passed but our last conversation went well. Sometimes you know the end is near and you can prepare your last goodbyes. Other times, you never know when you’re hanging up the phone for the last time.
There are going to be a lot of firsts this year — first birthday and holidays without my dad. He won’t be there when I eventually get married and I know I’ll have to deal with these things as they come.
My dad wasn’t perfect but I know that he did his best and loved both of his kids. While we missed a lot of years early in my life, I’m fortunate to have gotten to know him over the last 17 years.
I miss you dad and hope you’re happy again.
