For My Dad... (and in many ways, for me, too)

I should be working.

My desk is covered with papers that need to be addressed, but I don’t want to face them.

I don’t want to face anything; I talked with my dad this weekend.

Five years ago he was diagnosed with a resurgence of the breast cancer he’d beat in the 1980s. It came back with a vengeance. He was given 6 months to live. That was 2004. He’s been running on borrowed time, the goodness of God, and a positive mental attitude ever since.

But now he’s in a lot of pain – constant pain. He’s lost his appetite and, despite his 6’3” frame, he weighs less than 190 lbs.

My mom is worried that he won’t be well enough to travel at Christmas.

They’re planning on coming to our house.

So….



There are a lot of things I want to say to him. Loudest and longest, I want to tell him I love him.

There are too many things to discuss here and now. As I think about it, that perception is probably why I haven’t made the time to talk about a lot of things with him. And now, I’m looking at a long separation with no opportunity to tell him what I feel, what I’ve felt, and what I want to feel.

When I was a small boy, my dad travelled a lot on business. When he was in town he was often gone, working with the Scouts, or helping at church. I never wanted him to leave, but I don’t think I ever told him that. I’m not sure why.

In my mind’s eye I can see the small me standing in the kitchen, watching my dad saying goodbye and getting ready to head out the door on another trip. He’s wearing his tan leather jacket with the fur collar and lining. He has his cream colored shirt on with a plaid tie. He’s wearing brown slacks and his hair is longer – in the style of the 1970s professional – and parted to one side. His eyes are still too young to need glasses.

I want to run to him and hold him. I want to throw all of my 47 lbs. against him to keep him from walking out the door. I want to beg him to stay. I hate the job and the other things that take him away from me so much of the time. But I stand there, not saying or doing anything.

And he leaves. He leaves because he is a man and men do whatever it takes to provide a living for their children.

But I don’t know that, yet. I won’t learn that until I’m a man.



Today I know that life is finite. We will all leave. We are men, and that's what men do.

But that little boy in me is crying. The pain I feel in anticipation weighs me down. I ache and I want to throw all of my 47 lb. body against the mountain of my dad. I want to stop his momentum and keep him here with me. I don’t want him to go through that door.

I don’t want you to leave, Dad. I love you, and I’m going to miss you so much.