13-Years

It’s been 13-years since my dad passed. One might say he ‘peaced out.’ He was really tired. Tired of being ill. Tired of not being able to pursue the activities he loved. Tired of caring for/managing my mom, though he loved her very much. Tired of bi-monthly blood transfusions. Tired of being talked over. Tired of being tired. It takes time to get next to this realization. And while I still struggle with the fact that my mom’s dementia hastened his death, short changed his time here, and our time with him, he was still really tired.

I’m working on dad’s obituary. It’s lovely to write about him. My mom and his first wife attempted this for their alma mater’s publication, but it fell wildly short. No judgement at all. By the time this came to pass, mom was not up to the task, and dad’s first wife didn’t have much to add after the late 60’s. I loved that they worked on this together.

I think about the things that dad missed or only briefly crossed paths with… He only knew our, then, kitten for 8-months, and really enjoyed Panther Boy 🐈‍⬛. He missed meeting his great-grandson by nine months, and never met two of our son-in-laws. He never got to celebrate my DH’s daughter’s graduation from college. So many years of family gatherings, 1000’s of noon coffee dates with his pals, and gallery openings. On the other hand he did get to miss the 45th and 47th presidential administrations, which would have driven his batshit crazy, to coin a phrase of his 😏.