I miss him. I miss him everyday. He lived 100 miles away, but I miss him more now than I ever did. It's so permanent. The only way he lives on now is in my memories.
My dad and I had a way about us. We could talk about things one minute and be screaming mad the next. When we got mad, we knew how to push each other's buttons and usually did. But I know, if I ever needed something, not wanted, but NEEDED something, I could count on him. I remember when he was at my house a few years ago and said he had a conversation with my grandpa regarding a family situation. My grandpa said "If Dana called you and said she needed help, wouldn't you help her?" My dad's response was (paraphrasing) "yes, because I know if Dana ever called and asked for help it was because she truly needed it, but Dana doesn't need my help. She has been taking care of herself for a long time and would only ask if she had tried every other way." I knew it was his way of telling me he was proud of me for being strong, independent and not taking advantage of others. He didn't have to say it.
The details surrounding my dad's death still haunt me. (see New Life if you aren't familiar). I have a hard time with milestone days: his birthday, my birthday (the day he and my grandpa died), Father's Day, Christmas. With every passing year, I pray for understanding and acceptance that he's gone. I still want to call him. I still want his advice. And now that his wife is gone, I feel like I've lost the one person in this world who kept his memory alive the most. She loved him so much and was so strong the past year and a half.
I know it's natural to wish someone who is gone was still here, but it is tenfold for me. With all of the changes this past year (divorce, moving, financial problems related to the divorce, kidney stones, etc), I wish he was here to help me, but he wasn't. I had to rely on myself, my friends, what little family I have left and most importantly, God. Maybe the lesson in all of this was to teach me that I am in control of nothing and I need to learn how to let go and let God. That's great, tell that to the control freak who tries to keep everything from falling apart to avoid the chaos, conflict and complications. Guess what? I have control over NOTHING. I can't control what happened. I can't control my situation. These things have happened and are happening and I can't stop it. I can't make my ex-husband do what he said he was going to do. I couldn't make the problems in our marriage go away. I can't stop my financial situation. I couldn't stop my dad from dying. I couldn't stop Mary from dying. I couldn't control the day my grandpa died or the day my dad died. I have to throw my hands in the air and pray for peace, guidance and understanding. What's that saying? The night is darkest before the dawn. Well, dawn better be pretty darn bright considering how dark it's been.
At this point, all I can do is look back and be thankful for all the things my dad did. He was my dad. He made me a birthday cake one year. HE made me a birthday cake. It was a 2 layer chocolate cake. He frosted it and wrote on the top in white icing "Happy Birthday Dana", but that wasn't enough. That wasn't my dad. On the side of the cake, he wrote "Babbs", his nickname for me. He later bought me a shirt that said "Babb's shirt". Here's me with it the Christmas after he died (only 11 days after) with Grams. We all wore camo in his honor.
He taught me to fish. Even the last time I went fishing with him (which was probably 10 years ago), he still baited my line. Why? Because he knew how much I DESPISED touching worms and putting them on a hook. He fixed my 1985 Dodge Daytona exhaust more times that I could count (sorry for those of you that had to experience that car). He also taught me how to pull off a good practical joke.
I'll never forget the time we went fishing (I think I was about 20-21 at the time), just me and him. We were out in the boat and I was casting my line and kept getting hooked on rocks. He was already getting irritated with me. He told me to cast near this pier. Well, I did...ON the pier. My treble hook got caught in between the boards of the deck of the pier. He was not about to cut a line so pissing and moaning, he trolled over to the pier and leaned over the side of the boat trying to unhook my hook. Then it started raining. Big Dave was not one to enjoy the shitty part of nature. He eventually got it unhooked and we went back to shore...him swearing the entire way. During this same camping trip, when my brother and I drove into the campground, there stood our dad and two uncles at the RV one of my uncles rented. They were emptying the chemical toilet. There stood 3 idiots, drinking beer, yelling "shitter's full!" at my brother and me.
As much as I miss him, I will always be glad he was my daddy. There were good times and there were bad times, but he was my dad and I was his baby girl, his Babbs. For all of you whose fathers are still around, be grateful. Hug them tighter on Father's Day. Tell him how much you love him and that you're glad he's your dad. For those of you that have lost your fathers, whether to death, illness, mental illness, addiction or whatever the reason may be, be grateful for him, even if you think it wasn't good. His involvement, or lack thereof, in your life is the reason you are who you are and if you're reading this, you're one of my friends and last I checked, you're amazing because I've been lucky to have awesome people supporting me. For all of you that are fathers, hug your kids a little tighter. Think about the father you want to be. Think about the father you should be. Are you living up to that standard? If not, time to do what you need to do. Help them, but don't enable. Love them, but don't smother them. Teach them, but don't do it for them. Be their rock, whether they need it or not. Show your kids what a real man is and teach them what you want them to be.
Happy Father's Day
Love,
Dave's baby girl
