Losing a parent has to be one of the hardest things to experience. As a kid, you think that your parents are going to live forever. As an adult, you just hope that they live forever. Unfortunately, life just doesn’t work that way. I’ve had two friends lose their father in the last several months. The most recent hit me a bit harder for a variety of reasons, but I realized, while most of the tears were for my friend and what I knew would be a difficult time, there were some in there for me and some regret that I had never experienced that kind of relationship with my own father. And as death has a way of doing, it made me examine my past association with my father.

My father died almost 3 years ago. Getting the call was just as shocking as I had always thought it would be and I was upset, but not in the way most would expect. I hadn’t seen my dad since I was about 14 years old and in the intervening 30 years, I think there might have been a total of 2 phone calls. The first being when his mother passed away. And the second when my maternal grandfather passed away. Silence in between until the coroner’s office called me because they had discovered that I was the oldest living child and therefore legally responsible for him. Technically I could have declined and left him in the hands of the state of Illinois, but I couldn’t do that. Not only did I have to do right by my father for my sister and brother, I also had to honor the man of my childhood regardless of how things went as I got older.

My father was the best when I was a young child. I was the typical Daddy’s girl and a lot of my personality characteristics come from him. Not all of them good, but a part of who I am.  I adored my dad and all I ever wanted was to make him proud.  I remember watching NFL football games with Dad. There were crazy family camping trips and fireworks in the desert outside of town. I played in sports for the YMCA youth programs and he willingly coached the co-ed soccer and girls’ basketball teams. My mom was the stay at home mom who was involved in Scouting, the PTA, baking cookies and sewing our clothes. My parents made our house party central for the kids in the neighborhood. It was the idyllic, middle-class upbringing. Until it wasn’t.

Our parents divorced when I was 14 which was a surprise to everyone except us kids. For my part, it was a relief. My father’s drinking and womanizing had finally taken its toll. I was just as happy to not have to deal with it any more.  And while my father was great when the kids were small, he wasn’t as great when they started having their own thoughts and opinions. I suspect that he subscribed to the theory that children were to be seen and not heard. And certainly, that children should dutifully obey without question. After the divorce, my father moved in with his current girlfriend and future ex-wife. We did the “daddy” visits for a while, but they eventually petered out. My last real conversation with my father was an argument over whether I was “enough” of a girl. I was an outspoken tomboy, and he didn’t think that was appropriate for a girl. He even implied that being too smart was not an attractive trait in girls. Suffice it to say, that didn’t go over too well with me. My mom had instilled in me a strong sense of independence and had encouraged me to always speak up, so when I deigned to have an opinion and dispute his characterization, that was the end of the relationship. That was the moment I lost my dad.  Once he moved away, I was able (for the most part) to forget about him. Not that you completely forget a parent, but he wasn’t a part of my life and I didn’t waste a lot of time lamenting that fact.

Then came the call.  It’s a strange thing to get a call from a coroner’s office asking if you are the eldest offspring of the deceased.  It’s like a bad episode of a network television show.  Even stranger to know that they had to do a search to find you because there was no noticeable next of kin among his personal affects.  My father died alone without anyone noticing, as is usual for an addict.  He made his choices and had multiple opportunities to choose a different path.  I didn’t and still don’t feel sorry for him.  Unfortunately he chose alcohol above all else.  Consequently, I received the news that I needed to make arrangements for my father.  Sad as it is, once the initial shock wore off, my only concern was on the practical matters of dealing with death.  My biggest wish was to not have to fly to Illinois in order to deal with the situation in person.  There’s a metaphor somewhere in there about dealing with his death at a distance much like the distance in our relationship.  It would have been nice to have the perfect father, but that’s not how it worked out. I’m blessed in that I had the family that I did and a mom who was more than capable at serving both roles.

Fast forward to last week when I received the news regarding my friend’s father. I knew they had shared a close relationship and I could only imagine how difficult the loss had to be.  And unless I am so lucky that my mom does live forever, I know that I will eventually experience that same sense of loss when the time comes.  And I will again shed copious tears and think how life is unfair.  I also am equally sure that when the time comes my friends will feel the same sense of helplessness that I feel now.

To my friends, there are no words that anyone can say that make it any easier. I hate the platitudes that are always thrown around when someone dies. It never seems to be sincere but are just the appropriate words to say.  However, I will say this – in you I can see the legacy left by the father. (And what an incredible legacy it is!) While you may not understand, know that you are lucky to be able to feel the grief that you do. It’s a testament to your relationship with your dad – a dad who was so much more than a father.  The greater the hurt, the greater the love.  I can only regret that I wasn’t lucky enough to be able to feel that way about my father – a father who was once a dad.

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I’ve taken to coloring on my iPad.  Not sure why since coloring isn’t an activity I particularly remember enjoying as a kid.  I think I like it now because it helps to clear the mind of the events of the day.  And it’s surprisingly absorbing.  I lose track of time.  I highly recommend it.  Though don’t do the color by numbers.  That just seems a bit pointless to me.  Choosing the colors is what makes it unique to the person doing the coloring.