Missing You

10 years ago I lost my rock. I lost a man who turned his back on the family he was born into in support of the family he created. I lost a man who supported me unconditionally. A man who pushed me to not see barriers in order to smash through them. When I contemplated nursing school, he asked why not medical school? A man who taught me to always do what is right even when it is the hardest path to take. A man who inspired my love for Harleys. A man who set the example by doing.

If he was interested in something but didn't know enough about it, he read voraciously to learn all he could and then jumped in and tried it himself. He was not afraid to live life. He was afraid of not living life. He was claustrophobic but was still willing to learn how to do an eskimo roll. He had no sense of rythm for which his daughters, both in ballet classes for most of their early lives, teased him horribly but he'd still get on the dance floor. He even took ballroom dancing classes with mom because she loved to dance.

He truly did teach me to appreciate the simple things in life. My best summer memories are of the long walks we would take after dinner as a family. I suppose it didn't hurt that we always managed to end the walk at the Ice Cream Smith. He had us convinced that you could still smell the chocolate from the old Baker's Chocolate factory even though it shut down years before I was born.

He developed a passion for baking. Bread was his specialty. I loved coming into the house on a hot summer night having spent hours running and playing with friends. Applesauce Wheat bread would be fresh from the oven. Forget cookies or cake. A slice of warm bread with ice water was heaven to me.

He taught me there is always a solution. Driving a mountain road in Nova Scotia during a torrential rain storm, the wipers went out. There was no breakdown lane and no guard rail. Not a place you want your car to break down, especially with your kids in the back seat. My dad's solution? To tie string around the wipers and then anchor it to a screw driver and a corkscrew and have my mom manually operate the wipers so he could get us off the mountain. Once safely down, my siblings and I became instantly horrified as the car became the sideshow freak - those crazy Americans and their redneck car. We didn't appreciate our father's quick thinking until we were older and for years, I think we've all had a corkscrew in our glove box at one point or another - well before we were ever wine drinkers.

He convinced my niece the rock in the middle of the creek was a sleeping hippo.

When my sister and I became overdramatic teenage girls, he would set us straight by telling us to go play in traffic or to go kick a cat.

He instilled a love of football and the Patriots in me. I was Daddy's little girl. What he did, I did. Mom asked me one Sunday as I watched the game with Dad why I liked football so much. Both of them expected me to answer "Because daddy likes football". Instead I answered "Oh come on mom, cute guys in tight pants!".  I was three. I'm not sure my father ever truly recovered from that moment.

I know my father would do anything for me. I know from some hard experiences. I know he always had my back and I could go to him for anything. He would never sugarcoat his responses to me. He wouldn't tell me what I wanted to hear. And he was always right.

He was larger than life. I had him on a pedestal so high he conversed daily with Zeus. That pedestal never cracked. He was human which means he was flawed but to my child's eyes, he was perfect. As I entered adulthood, I still looked at him with those child's eyes.

As a family we've not always gotten along. We've had our moments but when the wolves came sniffing at the cookfire, we circled the wagons and had each other's back. A quality learned from him.

I no longer live my life hour-to-hour or day-to-day. I did find a way to continue to live my life but its been hard. Having my brother walk me down the aisle was bittersweet. Up until I met my husband, there were 2 men in the entire world I trusted with my life - Dad and my brother. No one else could come close to the bar they set. I loved that my brother was able and willing to walk me down the aisle but I hate that he had to do it.

I hate that he was not there for the birth of my son. It was painful to have just my mom walk into our house after he was born. It was painful to introduce my son to just his Amah. I wanted his advice and insight as much as I wanted hers.

It hurts as I teach my son that the only true motorcycle is a Harley because I know he will never experience the thrill of a No Destination All Day trip on the back of the bike with Granddad. "I could go East. I could go West. It was all up to me to decide."

To this day I find myself reaching for the phone to call him about something I read or saw. To this day I still have a dream in which my life for the past 10 years has been nothing but a nightmare and he's still alive. I miss his hugs, his sense of humor.

There is a wonderful quote that I unfortuantely have to paraphrase as I don't have it handy: "I know I was my father's favorite but I don't dare mention it to my sisters for fear they will say the same thing." I've never asked my sister if she thinks she was daddy's little girl. Unfortunately I know the answer. We both were. We had very different relationships with him as did my brother. Each of us could claim favorite and each would be right.

I miss him horribly but as my sister said to me 10 years ago - better to have him for 29 years than never at all.

I love you always daddy.