“I love you, Dad. I’ll see you tonight.”
“I love you too, Kate.”
Six years. But it feels like a lifetime. Engagements, weddings, babies, more engagements, more weddings, more babies. Happy times, sad times, milestones, big moments and small ones. Today especially, I remind myself: It’s not about the moments he’s missed since he’s been gone. It’s about the moments he never missed when he was here.
He’d take me on walks through our neighbor’s woods to collect acorns, apples and big, pretty leaves. He remained calm after I called him from my high school’s pay phone to tell him I caused a car accident … for the third time that week. He’d ride his bike next to me as I went on my daily run around the country block. (“Kate, I think you need a break … let’s stop by the river for a minute.” I’m pretty certain he was the one who needed the break.) He drank coffee in the bleachers as I warmed the softball bench for yet another game. He waited for me in his lawn chair at the finish line of my half-marathon. He gave me his first homegrown strawberry every summer. He attended my college graduation, IV’s attached and all.
Six years ago today, I kissed my dad goodbye as I grabbed my cameras and headed off to work. When I returned home that evening, he had slipped into a coma. Eleven months of cancer was all his body was meant to battle — God was ready to fill his seat in heaven. My mom, my brothers and I said our last goodbyes, and from that moment on, I learned what it’s like to truly miss someone.
My dad was the man who showed me what it feels like to be adored. Although he never had the chance to meet Tommy, my younger brother’s wife, or my older brother’s children, I have no doubt the love both he and my mother showed us as kids led us all to our life partners.
Shortly after our wedding ceremony a couple months back, Tommy and I had a quiet moment in the place my dad was laid to rest. Our photographer and friend, John Maniaci, hung back and took a few shots. It’s a bittersweet memory, to be honest. Everyone has their struggles. Everyone has their own personal heartaches. I’m thankful for the 22 years I had with him, and I know some people have had much less time with their parents. But there are days when I still miss him. There are days when I wish for just one more hug.
At our reception, my two brothers gave an incredibly heartfelt Father of the Bride speech. If you’ve met my brothers, you’ve basically met my father. My older brother, Andy, read an e-mail I wrote him years back, shortly before his daughter, Hannah, was born. In the e-mail, I gave Andy a few pieces of advice I had learned about father-daughter relationships. Long after I had forgotten the e-mail even existed, Andy read it at our reception …
Allow her to wrap you around her little finger. I honestly cannot think of one moment in time where I didn’t feel as though Dad was my number 1 man. He loved me and spoiled me. He left no void. I felt like the prettiest, smartest, most-loved girl in the world.
Love God, and love your wife.
Tell your little girl that watching girls play softball is like watching paint dry. This means that your father is an honest man.
Make your little girl work.
Embarass her just enough. The times she sees you laugh will be the times she remembers most.
Pray with her, on your knees.
Everything you do, do in love.
See that little girl in the middle? That’s me. Photos © Mom, circa The 80’s. And the little guy on the far right is Andy. A few months back, I photographed Andy’s children at their house, which also happens to be our childhood home. Some people say Hannah and I have a thing or two in common. 🙂 The photo of me above was taken in the same spot as the photo of Hannah below. Same grass, same field, same love … just 25 years later.
I’d like to think Dad can see our happiness. I know we all still feel his love.
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