But Never Forgets What I Lost
After the sparkle and glow of New Year fades, we begin the process all over again. In the Pacific Northwest, that means more wind, more rain and maybe a sighting of the sun. Well, maybe. This January is a little different for me. On the fourth, I had an anniversary of sorts. On that day back in 2000, my dad passed away.
He was diagnosed many years earlier with Parkinson’s disease. I remember that night like it was yesterday. He had been sick with pneumonia while in a care facility. My mom, brother, his wife and I all visited him that night. The care center had him on an oxygen tank. That giant green tank. I knew he was very sick and battling his disease on top of that. I didn’t know I wouldn’t see him again.
The four of us left to have dinner together. Why we stopped at Denny’s I will never know. Normally at certain restaurants, you might have a standard go-to meal. I didn’t really have one for Denny’s and ordered Chicken Fried Steak. I had never had it before and thought I would give it a try, something new. In the fifteen years since that night, I haven’t had it again. After making, it home and trying to rest, the phone rang a little before midnight. My mom answered and even though I was down the hall, I knew he was gone. Whether accidental, tragic or after a long illness you’re never ready when that call comes in. I wasn’t. That memory will stay with me for the rest of my life.
I started to think this month about all that has happened in the last decade and a half. How my life has changed and what my dad would think if he was still here today. That first year my brother and I started something we never got to do with my dad. In May of that first year, we flew to Indianapolis for what would be our first Indy 500. My dad had been many times before we were born and took my mom to time trials just after they were married. He loved the sound of the cars as they roared past on the two and a half mile oval. He would buy a copy of the local paper which printed up the driver’s information. He would keep track of lap times and record the details down, in pencil. That love of racing he passed to us. 2015 will mark my fifteenth year going to the track. I love it so much the logo is tattooed on my leg. In a way, my dad is with me every day. Some people regret getting a tattoo. Not me.
In the early 2000s, I moved into my own place and started to establish a life for myself on my own. I had a decent job. Car completely paid for and a fondness for a band that would take me all the way to NYC. Life was moving on but I missed my dad. I missed my dad before he was sick, before he had Parkinson’s. He first developed symptoms when I was a teenager. I never really got to know him as a man. It was hard to understand what was happening to him. It’s hard to watch someone you love physically and emotionally change right before your eyes. Something I don’t wish for anyone. Shortly before he passed, I sat with him and talked about what was going on in my life. I sat and just talked. I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried. In hindsight, I’m glad I went to visit him that day. I told him I loved him. I still do.
A few short years later, I met a girl. We would fall in love and get married. On that spring day when I took her hand in mine, he was there. There in spirit. Looking down on us, no longer burdened with disease. I wish my dad could have met my wife. I believe he would have really loved her. She is a special woman and truly a gift from God. I’m thankful for her each and every day. Early on in our relationship she came with me they day I bought my first Corvette. My love of the Corvette also stems from my dad. Before I was born, and just before he met my mom, he purchased a brand new 1968 Vette in British Racing Green. I would grow up only hearing stories and seeing pictures of this beautiful car. You see, after they married and my mom became pregnant it was decided a car like that wouldn’t be suitable when raising a family. So, as I was about to enter the world my parents opted to drive me home from the hospital in a Volkswagen Square Back. My parents loved me, and I them. I never remember them ever raising their voice with one another. I recall hand holding and my dad treated her with upmost respect. I try to do the same for my wife.
As time continues to move on the memories of my dad live with me. Everything from the way I walk, to how I spend money to my love of American sports cars my dad lives on. Not only in me, not only in my brother but now in my five year old niece. He would have loved to be a Grandfather. I don’t know if I said it enough, or appreciate you enough but I love you dad. I miss you. I’m proud to be your son. Your spirit carries on.
