USA Today and IndieBound Bestselling Author
June 19, 2015
Adoration, Wishful Thinking, Sad, Wishful Thinking, Writerly Writes
dark, death, haunted, Life, love, mood, My Life, North Carolina, Personal, sleeplessness, words
Low key, easy going, never cussed, rarely drank, steadfast, resilient, calm, even tempered, loving, compassionate, loyal, understanding, mechanically inclined, hard working, quiet, dog lover, reclusive, missed.
May 24th, 1934 – March 3, 2015
It looks to me like you have already mounted the stairs that will eventually lead you to level ground. I can not tell you how many more steps there are or how long it will take. Grief is a very personal thing and you must cope with it on your own. I would help if I could but I know that all I can do is listen if you wish to talk.
I say you are on the right path because you are cherishing the one you lost. I lost my father way back in time. I was young, arrogant and even more foolish than I am today. He ended up lost in that passage of time. Don’t let that happen because you lose some of your humanity when that happens.
When my world completely collapsed I had learned some. Though many might say it is maudlin I made a memory box to remember the good points. You have headed there with this post. I wish you the best.
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Thank you for that, Craig.
Today I’m going to his grave to place flowers and even saying it sounds strange. Grief is a very personal thing, you are so right.
The one thing I can say I did right, when it comes to being young and arrogant – because I was certainly that too – was to shift my way of thinking, and to make sure he knew I loved him, particularly in the past twenty years. I didn’t want to think back one day and say, “I wished I’d told him I loved him.” I said it – only once – because my father was never a very demonstrative sort and it would have seemed out of character for me to repeat it ad nauseum every time I saw him. He only needed it the once. I understood that. He said it back and it was the first time EVER the both of us said it. Profound memory for me.
I hugged him every time though and I could tell he got to where he expected it, and returned it.
I love that you have a memory box. It’s not maudlin. Actually, I have one too.
…and deeply loved
The perfect man to call Daddy ♡♡♡
Exactly, and he was…
Thinking of you and your family, Donna. I hope you won’t find this out of place, but your dad’s photo from youth reminds me a little of Josh Charles (Sports Night, Dead Poets Society, Good Wife), but handsomer, more refined.
A toast to those fathers we miss, but still love.
Not out of place at all…matter of fact, we were looking at some other photos of him (the one above is his high school grad photo) and I kid you not, he looks like – of all people – TOM HANKS. Hubby pointed it out first.
Thank you for your thoughts…, and I’m with you on previous comments re: anger. I get it.
I can imagine Tom Hanks! 🙂
THis weekend has been a bust for me. Just waiting for Father’s Day to be over with.
Girl, you and me both. And amen to that.
You know Donna, it doesn’t matter how long they live, and it looks like your dad had many years, they are always gone too soon.
My love to you and your mom.
He did 2N’s, almost 81, but if he’d made other choices in his life which expedited his leaving, i.e. smoking, some health products I found questionable. Like if it was supposed to be good for you, then more of this and that. He took a lot of herbs. He did some crazy chelation thing. We can’t say for sure it contributed, but who knows.
Despite that, I think he lived a good life, and so, that’s all that matters.
So very sorry Donna. I I understand.
Like you, I hate the card aisle now.
What a lovely tribute to your Dad.
Thank you, Susan…it’s been a tough few months.
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