Say It Again

I spent the week with my father. He was in the hospital, about half an hour from my home. In 2004 - he would have been 76 then - he needed a pacemaker. In December 2006, he needed a mechanical valve. This time, he needed an ICD, which is a pacemaker and a defibrillator.

Sure, he wasn't happy about being in the hospital. Who is? He was preoccupied with work even though he wasn't feeling good. He wanted to be home with his dog, Tasha. He was angry and frustrated part of the time.

But there were times when we talked to pass the time. He told stories and he laughed and he let the nurses and techs tease him. And there were times when we simply sat and didn't talk at all.

His heart was just too weak, though, and the congestive heart failure too strong. He died last night.

It's cliche, but I wish I could go back to my last conversation with him. He wanted to call his work crew and let them know he wouldn't have any jobs for them this coming week. I told him we could call them Sunday or Monday, but right then he needed to rest. I held his hand and tried to comfort him. But I wish I could have a do-over and say something different.

So I'm going to say it all now:
Thank you for being a loving father. Thank you for setting a good example of how a strong faith in God can help a person find peace and happiness in life and help them gain perspective and a healthy dose of humility. Thank you for telling me you love me, for believing in me and cheering me on, and for being my biggest fan. Thank you for wanting to be a part of my life. It's such a simple thing, to love another person, yet relationships can be complicated. With you, it's easy. Thank you for loving my husband. For loving my children. For admiring me for homeschooling. For allowing me to care for you when you're sick. I admire you, Dad, because you accept your faults and you forgive me for mine. I love your bad jokes. I love how you always sound so happy to see me or to hear my voice on the telephone. I appreciate that you respect me enough not to sugarcoat anything: your honesty shows how much you believe in my strength. I love you, Dad. I'll miss you so very much.