My dad died in August this year from skin cancer.
My dad died in August this year from skin cancer.
First I missed being able to go for runs with him and throw Frisbee on the field in front of our house with him. I missed taking the catamaran out and sailing with him.
Then I missed taking him to museums and nice restaurants and sharing eachothers company as we explored the world. I missed seeing his joy in discovering new beautiful places, how he would say “this is happiness” when he found something he loved.
Then I missed being able to watch movie and good TV shows with him. I missed sharing experiences with him that I thought he would like and I missed seeing his reaction.
Then I missed having debates with him about current political and philosophical issues. I missed his inputs into our frequent family debates around the dinner table.
Then I missed eating food with him. I missed getting annoyed and disgusted with the strange food combinations that he would insist on trying.
Then I missed hearing him walk down the hallway by himself without tripping. I missed walking beside him without holding him up and supporting him.
Then I missed him being able to tell me what he wanted and how I could help him. I missed being able to know that I was doing what he wanted and needed without hurting him.
Then I missed him answering me when I told him I loved him. I missed him saying that he knew or that he loved me too.
Then I missed seeing him smile when he saw me walk into his room to say good morning. I missed him answering ”good” when I asked him how he was feeling even though we both knew that he wasn’t.
Then I missed him sleeping through an entire night without worry. I missed knowing that at least he was getting rest.
Then I missed him being able to take care of his own basic needs.
Then I missed him looking me in the eyes when I talked to him. I missed knowing that at least he was present with me and could hear and understand me.
Now I just miss you, dad. I miss your conciousness.
I miss taking for granted that my eventual life partner will have met and known you, and that you would have approved of them.
I miss being blissfully ignorant of the value of you being there to give me advice when I eventually have children, on how to be a father, what to name them, how to show them I love them. I miss not even questioning that you would be one of the first people that they would ever meet.
I miss knowing that I could call you if, like now, I woke up in the middle of the night and felt sad, even though I never did.
Now I never will.