Today marks one year since my father passed away at age 74. The last year has been different, to say the least. As if losing the family patriarch wasn’t enough, there’s been a pandemic, protests and a bubbling culture of hate.
In the months leading up to Dad’s death, I often thought about what life would be like without him. Several people said there would be life before and after your father, and it’ll be, well, different.
There have been many moments of sadness, of course. Our family has laughed about some of the things he did. We’ve cried because he’s not here. One thing that has surprised me is that it hasn’t been as demoralizing as I thought it might be. We all grieved so much as cancer ravaged his body for several months that it softened the blow.
Among the many things I read before Dad passed were dozens of articles and blogs about the things you realize when you lose a parent. In hopes of it helping others experiencing loss, here’s my list:
You’ll reach for the phone to call or text them: Dozens of times in the past year, I’ve grabbed my phone to text Dad about something, usually good news or a sporting event (back when we had sporting events). As soon as I do, I realize he isn’t going to answer. It hurts every time.
You’ll miss their voice: Those of us who knew him remember Dad’s hearty laugh. We didn’t hear that much in the last eight months of his life, but there were a few moments. Dad always said “Hey, babe” when he spoke to my brother and I.
Fortunately, I’d seen the videos on social media of people receiving stuffed animals with the voice of their late mother or father. In the months leading up to his death, I’d sometimes let my dad’s call go to voicemail so that I’d have it when he was gone. I play those messages when I want to hear him.
Holidays and birthdays won’t be the same: Thanksgiving and Christmas were difficult. Dad loved those days, especially Christmas. As my wife wrote, it just wasn’t the same.
On my birthday, I could count on receiving a phone call far too early from my old man, who was almost always on a business trip during the July 4 holiday. I really missed waking up to him singing “Happy Birthday” this year.
You’ll realize how much they meant to people you didn’t know: My brother and I worked a couple of craft shows Dad had done for years two months after he passed, one in Mound City, Kansas, and the other in Hannibal, Missouri.
Countless times, folks asked how he was doing. Countless times, folks were visibly upset when they heard he’d passed. Several even cried. We knew Dad as a hermit. I had no idea how much of an impact he’d had on people through the years.
You’ll see them in your dreams: I do anyway, though it’s not all that often. A few days after Dad died, I dreamed that he was back to his normal, healthy self. I knew during the dream that he was gone, but he was also there. After talking to my wife about his visit, I came to the conclusion that he was dropping by to let me know he was OK.
You’ll talk about them all the time: I can’t help myself. The old man left so many wonderful memories and lived such a fascinating life that I just love talking about him. One day, I’ll pass along a pearl of his wisdom to my daughter, who’s about to leave for college at Mizzou. The next, I’ll write a blog about his time as the jailhouse bookie.
You’ll realize how smart they were: Dad received his GED in prison. He only finished a semester of college at San Diego State. His grades were poor throughout his academic career. But he’s still one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, partially because of his street savvy. He once said he took an IQ test in prison and got a 129.
He owned a successful small business for 40 years, swung several beneficial real estate deals and survived more than a decade incarcerated without killing anybody. He also remodeled virtually every house he lived in as an adult, including plumbing and electricity.
That said, I didn’t think about how much he knew until I realized I use something he taught me every single day.
You’ll feel their presence: A week before the show in Mound City, my brother and I spent several hours in Dad’s old shop trying to figure out how to make belts to ensure we had enough stock. If was a clown show. It took us three hours to figure out one belt, even though we’d made them years ago while working for our father.
One evening in his shop, after my brother left, I was dyeing a belt when I felt something next to me, as if somebody was standing there. I was so startled that I walked outside and looked around before walking back in. To this day, I think it was my father standing next to me, laughing at my incompetence, but proud we were carrying on the family business.
You’ll miss them like crazy: No kidding, right? The thing is, you don’t realize just how much you miss them until they’re gone. I think of my dad several times a day. I miss his hugs. I miss his laugh. I miss his kind words. I miss his blunt, yet gentle, advice. I miss him saying, “Son, I’m proud of you.” I miss him calling me “son.” I miss him saying “You big dummy,” lovingly, of course, to his boys and grandkids. I miss him calling me during Missouri, Royals and Chiefs games.
I just miss him. I’m sure he knows that. And I expect to see him in another dream soon, just to let me know he’s OK.
