Today is Father’s Day and it marks the first Father’s Day without my dad. It also reminds me that I have now lost both of my parents and at a much younger age than I had expected. As an only child, this past 10 months since my dad’s passing has been difficult. When my mom died four years ago, I really didn’t go through very much of the grieving process, I had to pick up the pieces and take care of my dad. That’s what I promised my mom in her final hours of life that she didn’t need to worry about daddy, I would take care of him. I really had no idea what a job that would be, but I knew my mother well enough to know she needed to hear that, even if it was sub-consciously. Now that they are both gone, I have been grieving for the loss of both of them.

I had very different relationships with each of them. As a child, I was a daddy’s girl. My father could do no wrong and I always wanted to be with him wherever he was. I followed along behind him at work at the bowling alley for many years. He picked me up every day after school and it was off to Mac’s for a cherry icee and an Archie comic book. When I couldn’t spend the night away from home without crying, he was the one who would pick me up at 10 p.m. and bring me home. When he went to a football game, I went to a football game.  When he went to a Golden Gloves boxing match, I went to a boxing match. Sometimes, I even went fishing with him, although I always felt bad for the fish and was worried about snakes. When he took up golf, I went with him many times and drove the golf cart and I always unloaded the golf cart from the trailer when he returned home.  Of course he would let me take the olf cart for a spin around the block, with all the neighborhood kids on board. When I was in the 4th grade, he would put me on his lap and let me drive the car down the country roads on the way to my grandparents.  By the time I was in the sixth grade, he would just move over and let me drive.  The man never said no to me and he never disciplined me. He didn’t have to. All he had to do was say, “well I guess you don’t want to … the next time I go”. That always straightened me right up because I never wanted him to leave me behind. When it was time for him to come home from work, I always knew the route he took home. I would walk down to the end of the block and sit on the corner just to ride in the car with him that half a block to our house. I still remember the time I was in second grade and we had a tornado scare at school. The sirens were blowing and we all had to get in the hall and assume the position. When it was over, all the parents had to come into the school and get us. I still remember seeing him come through my classroom door and just falling apart. My hero had come to get me. In the summer, he would come pick me and my friend up at and take us to the community pool for an afternoon of swimming, he would take me and friends to Lake Murray to ride horses and he would buy me whatever I wanted, within reason. I never got a pony (ha ha ha), but I did go through two mini bikes and three cars. As a teenager, I spent most of my weekends with him at the bowling alley. I always regarded my father as a handsome man and I can remember vividly getting so upset when other women were a little too friendly and flirty with him. How dare them, don’t they know he is married and to my mom? I remember asking my mom about it once. She wasn’t worried, my dad was devoted to her.

They were great role models to have. They never fought and really never argued. I don’t know if that never happened or just not in front of me. In daddy’s much later years after mom was gone, he took great pride in that and would always say, “How many times did you ever see me and your mom argue?” Growing up with them, that is what I expected a marriage to look like. I found out pretty quickly that not all marriages looked that way and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make mine look that way. In 1981 my dad and I were waiting to walk down the isle and he decided he needed to give me some advice. “Always keep your house neat and clean.” Really dad?

My parents were wonderful people and I had a great childhood. They were with me through a difficult divorce and subsequent difficult marriage. When I moved back to Oklahoma in 1991 a broken woman with two small children, there they were with open arms. They never asked questions, they were just there to support me. I am very grateful that they didn’t ask too many questions, because quite frankly, it was just too embarrassing to talk in depth about some of the things I had allowed to happen. You see, I didn’t want to worry them. I didn’t want them to know just how bad things were at times.   Secretly, I think they may have known.

Now my dad had three of us to spoil, me and my two children. My daughter was nine when we moved back and she slipped right into my old role with him and he loved it and she loved it. He was more of a dad to her than she had ever had and I was thrilled. My son, not quite three, got to grow up spending lots of time with his grandparents.

As my dad got older, I began to notice that some of his jokes that used to be funny to me, were just not that funny anymore. He would say things that quite frankly were terribly embarrassing and would infuriate me. Before my mom died, she said to me one day, “I’m worried about your dad. He seems to not be able to remember things very well.” My response to her was that he was fine, just stressed worrying about her. Truthfully, I think maybe she was right and he was in the early stages of dementia.

After my mom passed in 2009, I really began to see the difficulty he was having. Even though I knew this was an illness and something that he could not help, I could not accept it. Why was my dad acting this way, why was he saying these things and did I really know him at all? It’s hard when your hero is falling apart and you can’t fix it. I tried and tried. I answered the same questions over and over and over, each time getting so mad because he kept asking me the same thing. His embarrassing and hurtful comments about people he would see in restaurants got so bad that I stopped going out to eat with him. I felt bad for him, for me and I certainly didn’t want those around him to be hurt.

About two years ago, I began to notice that he was either having very vivid dreams or he was hallucinating. He would tell me that he had seen mom that she had been there in the house with him. People were also visiting him right out of the TV. He could no longer remember if he had taken his medicines or what they were for, even with home healthcare coming in. Even though I lived right next door, he let me know how lonely he was, but he would never take the initiative to do anything about it. He was just closing up in a shell. We finally talked him into moving into an assisted living and that helped for a while, but his dementia continued to spiral. His hallucinations were getting much worse and he no longer understood why my mom had left him. I would get call after call asking where his wife was. He no longer referred to her as “mom”, but his “wife”. Sometimes, I wasn’t even sure he understood who I was. I found myself being so angry every day. I was ashamed of how I felt but didn’t know what to do. I felt like I was trapped in a bubble and couldn’t get out. A couple of wonderful people gave me a copy of a book on Alzheimer’s to read with some great insights and tips on how to deal with a loved one who is suffering with losing their minds. It was eye opening and it allowed me to put on my big girl panties and respond differently. I began to feel my anger diminish and just be replaced with acceptance and heartbreak. A few short months later, his confusion ended and he was reunited with his beloved wife in a place where there is no more confusion, just love.

So today, as I work through my first father’s day without my father, I am flooded with all the wonderful memories of a man who stole my heart and showed me unconditional love; a man who taught me many things and the man who made me who I am today. Thanks Daddy, I love you.