Tuesday, November 18th

Twenty-seven years ago today, my life changed dramatically. My father died suddenly that day. I was in college. The memories of that day haven't faded, despite the passage of time. The pain has eased, although it pops up at times. Mostly what I'm left with is loving memories and a hope that he knows we're okay and that he approves of where we've gone with our lives. My dad was a very good man. He was honest. He was loyal. He was smart and quirky. He was driven - a real type A. He was the son of Irish immigrants who lost his own father when he was only nine. He never finished college, having been called into the service during his college years. He was a very hard worker. He didn't cook much, but he would come home at lunchtime even during the winter to cook himself hot dogs on the grill. He tried to be the tough guy, but we knew he came home to check on the dog when he was sick. He cried when my mother's cancer was diagnosed. He was easily manipulated by a pouting daughter. He taught us to drive - maybe not a good thing for other drivers out there! He loved my mother and was proud of what she accomplished in her work life. He never made as much money as my mother, but was never bothered by that. He fixed things around the house and built things around the house. He saved the pumps and engines from every appliance that we tossed. He loved sports - baseball and football especially. He learned to play golf - but was not that good at it. He tried to teach us to dance. He loved Julie Andrews. He had bad taste in furniture and was pretty much color blind when it came to clothes. He loved his old Cadillac. He was particular about food. He liked to tease and was not above being teased himself. He loved us and we loved him. He is missed.