Father’s Day is always a bittersweet holiday for me since I lost my dad 13 years ago. For some reason, this Father’s Day seemed a little harder-maybe because as I create my annual post on Facebook, I realize each year the pictures are starting to become more repetitive. Repetitive because fresh photos and recent smiles no longer exist. Thoughts like that have been spinning around in my head these last few weeks and I have finally decided to put them down in writing.

It’s hard being an only child and loosing parents. You are the only one to remember all the “fun times” at home, the jokes amongst the three of you, the trips taken. When that person, or persons, are no longer around, who does one have to share laughs of times past? It is a lonely and disheartening experience to handle, especially given how close I was to my father and how much I want his memory to be talked about regularly. Thankfully I still have my mom in my life, but sharing memories can be a bit heartbreaking for her and sometimes it’s easier just to keep the conversations simple.

I realized in my weeks of mental meditation that my biggest difference with many people around me is my Dad’s legacy is different than most. He was a physician in the community for a long time, built up a pre-existing practice, and loved every minute he was able to spend caring for patients. But with physicians, interactions with people are considered a private relationship, and you can’t necessarily talk about it without violating personal privacies. Juxtapose this with other people in my life whose fathers owned and ran local businesses in the community, and now these individuals are involved or somehow connected to those businesses. These legacies are running strongly to this day, with portraits on the walls of their founders, and plaques commemorating successes over the years. Those fathers are constantly remembered and talked about openly in the community, so their memories, stories and accomplishments live vivaciously each and every day.

I have to seek out certain groups in the community who knew my Dad, either socially or through the medical field, in order to talk memories or express how much he is missed. And days, even weeks, go by before I get the chance to have that bone thrown my direction. So it makes it a sorrowful, yet unique, situation. Don’t get me wrong, I am not resentful in any manner towards my Dad for my own situation. It’s the card I was drawn from the deck of life. I just know that as I grow older and my kids become more involved in their own lives, I feel this need to keep his legacy going so they know what an amazing human being their grandfather was this side of Heaven. Their other grandfather was incredible too, but it is easier for them to know the stories, the history of his businesses, and how their father’s family has increased that presence in our hometown and beyond.

Part of the responsibility in remembering my Dad is on me, and I have to make a noted effort to bring up stories about my Dad, stories about my childhood (which means talking about myself some), and pulling out more photos from the old albums I have saved. It has been a bit easier since I recently went through all of my parents belongings and found boxes upon boxes of items telling situations about my Dad’s life, such as when he was in medical school, Vietnam, when he met my mom, his transition from general practice to radiology, and even his service during Desert Storm. Pictures, letters, and documents have helped me show my kids just how amazing my Dad was as a person, a doctor, and a father. The bond we had was unique, and I think I was placed in my father’s life at just the right time when he needed a daughter.

Legacies and memories go hand in hand, and how they are displayed, remembered, and carried forward are unique to each family. I want my Dad to have the best legacy by letting my kids know how I see parts of him in each of their personalities. How, even though he did not get to see them grow and prosper, he would be so very proud of how they are turning out. I want him to know, as his daughter, I strive every day to keep him alive in our household, and to make sure those who are special in my life know just how lucky I was to have this man as my Dad. It’s not always like that for daughters, and I know that more often than I care to say. It breaks my heart to hear of broken relationships between a father and a daughter because they are so unique. I wish I could change them all for the better.

As I sit and finish this piece, overlooking calming waters and thinking about my sweet Dad, I know he is with me always. If I could just get one more of his awesome bear hugs, life would be a bit sweeter.

Until next time,

Cheers