One Stop Boy Shop

This is a very personal post, one I should probably keep to myself.  I feel like sharing it though and I hope you’ll indulge me in my confession (so to speak).  This isn’t intended as a Father’s Day post but due to Father’s Day quickly approaching this subject is heavy on my mind.

I wonder, do you go through life with regrets?  I usually do not regret my past.  I feel that the things I’ve done, including the mistakes I’ve made have made me into the person that I am today.  I’m pretty proud of this person, I’m loyal, hard-working, I’m honest, law-abiding and loving.   Unerringly, when asked if I have any regrets one thing continually comes to mind.  I know I need to let it go but it haunts me and I assume at this point that this will be the cross I’ll bear for the remainder of my days.  It hurts deep to the core even now 14 years later.  I’ll have to give you a little background before you could understand my “regret”.  I know that all of my family members are aware of my blog but I don’t know if they read it.  I do hope that my post doesn’t hurt anyone’s feelings but these are about my memories. 

I had a “Daddy” that I never doubted for one moment that loved and adored me.  He was a very handsome, dapper, prim and proper man and very much a “gentleman”.  He came from very meager beginnings and managed to work his way up to the top of his trade.  I never knew him to wear anything but business suits, even on weekends there were no jeans, shorts or t-shirts in his wardrobe.  He was a loyal, dedicated man, a hard worker and a loving man. He always made sure that I knew that I was his “princess” or his “pumpkin” and that I was special.  He loved spending time with me and used to take me to work with him to “show me off” and just so I could spend time with him under the guise of needing someone to sharpen his pencils.  I was his last child and with a new wife.  He had several other children that were a lot older than me, many of whom had children of their own, my age.

My parents divorced when I was 8 and he loved me enough to let me go (more on this later).  This was “our song”, I still cry when I hear it.

Through the years following the divorce, he stayed active in my life.  I always knew that he was just a phone call away.  He’d send for me on each of his visitations and always did his best to make up for any time lost between the times and states.

On October 8th, 1995 around 3 am I was awoken by my mother.  She woke me so gently that I knew that something was terribly wrong.  She said I had a phone call.  One of my sisters from my fathers first marriage was on the phone and she informed me that Dad had died of an aneurysm the day before.  I remember falling to the ground and dropping the phone.  I was only 25.  This couldn’t be true.  I looked over at my mom who was watching me with tears on her face.  I remember feeling angry that she was crying when I couldn’t yet.  I yelled “Why are YOU crying, you hated him!”.  Her reply was a hug and she said softly, “I don’t hate your father.  .  He was tall, dark and handsome and could sing and dance.  He was my dream man. He just wasn’t the husband for me”.  I then cried like I’d never cried before.  Whole body tears, my heart feeling as though it were torn apart, my whole world upside down.  I was devastated.

The rest of this post will be some repeats of what I’ve written above (I’ll try to edit some out), but it is a letter that I wrote to no one or I guess to myself days after his death and memorial service in 1995. At the time I never anticipated that I’d share it with anyone or that one day I’d have a blog where I kept no secrets.
Here is the ONE regret in my life. The ONE that will haunt me forever:

I am so angry. My fathers’ death was myriad of feelings, emotions, reality and belief. How could this happen? My father was a vibrant being. Someone who was always there. An everlasting reassurance of love and stability. A constant in my life. My champion, my friend, the person who ALWAYS believed in me. The man who taught me that there was nothing that I couldn’t do. He was also my baritone and used to sing “Sunrise Sunset” to me just as beautifully as the performers in Fiddler on the Roof.

He was always there for me. He instilled good values deep within me. He taught me the meaning of hard work, love and being there for one another. The one time in my life that I could be there for him, I let him down. His funeral.

I was the first and only child of my father and my mother. He was a bit of a work-aholic, so I’m told. I didn’t think of it like that, I saw all of the opportunities to go to work with him on the weekends to sharpen his pencils. It was an adventure and is a fond memory.

There was once this little girl who went to sleep. Tucked in by her loving father and mother. She had a nightmare about vampires, rolled out of bed and awoke, terrified, trapped underneath the bed. Her superman saved her. He was Daddy.

I remember the divorce proceedings at the age of 8 years old. The judge taking me back into his chambers and asking me, “who do you want to live with, your mommy or your daddy?”. I cried and sobbed “both”. I was later told that there was a horrible custody battle at this time and that my father seeing how distraught I was, withdrew. He did not want to put me through the choice that the court was demanding. I admire him for his decision.  Obviously I didn’t know what it cost him at the time. It’s nice to know now that he wanted me and loved me enough to let me go.

Growing up, I never once doubted that this man loved me. Above all else and all things, I was important to him and he let me know it in words and deeds. He’d call me out of the blue. Picked me up for dinner as his date on important business meetings when my step mother couldn’t go. On a couple of occasions he even brought me a corsage to wear. I was thrilled! I was someone he was proud to be with. He sent for me on all holidays, just wanting to be with me. I remember missing him when we were states apart and he filled voids with visits, phones calls and consistent “ as promised” visitations.

One night when I was about 11 years old I watched a TV show that I wasn’t supposed to. I was living with my mother. The movie was “The Day After”. I was  disturbed by the movie; the human race was erased by a nuclear holocaust. This is my memory of the movie, it may not have been that bad. As an adult, I would like to see it again and make a new impression. That night I dreamed my father died of a heart attack. I awoke crying hysterically. My mother dialed my fathers phone number for me, never minding that it was 3 o’clock in the morning his time. I remember NO complaint at the late hour. I remember his assurances that he was fine and that he loved me beyond all else and that nothing would happen to him. That he would never leave me. I felt so relieved. The man, the hero in my life was as he should be, alive, there for me.

His Death:

I flew to Phoenix and then drove to Lake Havasu with my sister on my moms side Jill…. My champion. My sisters (on my fathers side) stood up at his Memorial (those who deemed it important enough to show up). They looked at these people who called my father friend and belittled him. They didn’t know these people. They were strangers to them. These same people had taken our father and me, into their lives, their table and their hearts…. Told stories, laughed and enjoyed good times. My “so-called” FAMILY told stories of neglect, of how their father was never there when they needed him. One sister read a poem of need and want, unrequited. I sat in my hard metal chair and sobbed. What a wimp I was. I remember looking around tearfully at my fathers friends and thinking “how can I let this happen?” I witnessed the embarrassment crossing the faces of the audience and wondering why No One was stopping this atrocity. And I did nothing. I was frozen in time and space, feeling as though I were an outsider, unable to respond.

My Regret:

What I should have done, was allow my siblings to stand and say their peace and then stand and say in a proud, strong voice……

The reason you are here. The man who was my father. The man who stood beside me through thick and thin. I have a different story to tell. It’s about a man who was there for his daughter. Who loved her unconditionally.  His consistency, his determination, his hard work, his dedication NEVER strayed. He was the epitome of DADDY. He taught me to dance the lindy even when arthritis plagued his body.  We loved to go do kareoke together.  He was handsome, he was strong and he had the manners of a prince.  Know now, that this man will be missed for decades to come and will live on in the stories that I share with my children. Those who knew him will relate when I say, this earth is a sadder place with his leaving it. His passions were family, work, friends, golf and music (and got to throw horse racing in there!).  His theme song if he could pick it, I believe would be Frank Sinatras “I did it my way”.

My regrets are that my father will not live long enough to see me grow. To see me begin a family. To see me have a home of my own and a career to be proud of. To see that I learned by his example that hard work, dedication and devotion DO pay off. To see that people love me as he did. That he would continue to do if he were alive today. I know he would be proud of me as he was of his other children.  I recognize that pride and embrace it. Some people look to their past and search for flaws to account for their short-comings. I only look to my past for guidance and where I went right. My biggest asset was my upbringing. My parents taught me right from wrong and what unconditional love was all about. My Daddy was my foundation…. I am my future. I am proud to be his daughter and will tell my children and their children all about “my hero”.