Today is the anniversary of my father's death, and I want to speak of it even if only on this blog, because I value memory and the special place in our hearts for our parents. He's been gone exactly 30 years today. So much has happened that he "missed", both good and bad. He was a powerful presence for my kids, and I regret the youngest doesn't remember him. She grew up without grandparents, since my mother died 10 months before my dad. At 40 I was an orphan, and "on my own". It felt terrifying and liberating. I grieved heavily for a year, then gradually life took over, as it does, and though I still thought of them frequently, the pain subsided. The pain was partly feeling they were cheated by dying so young. The pain was also how badly they cared for themselves and how their deaths were attributable to that lifestyle. They both smoked from the time they were kids. They drank too much. They ate poorly at times, and with too much fat and sugar in their diets. They did exercise regularly, and had friends and support systems and financial security and travel and all things that make life interesting. With my mother, the smoking and drinking caused a fatal heart attack. With my dad, the smoking and working in the textile industry and breathing all that air in factories filled with fibers eventually killed him.
I've passed the ages they both died, which feels very strange. I see them both in my kids and in myself. Their love for me was never in doubt. We didn't agree on a lot of things, but they had my back regardless. That is my legacy to my kids. I'm there for them. No matter what. My mother used to say even if my brother and I were in prison she'd love us. It annoyed me at the time, but I get it now. Love doesn't judge, it just is. And I still feel my father's love and appreciate his spirit being with me. Hi, Dad.
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