My Father’s Influence

In honor of Father’s Day and of my dad, I have updated a story I wrote last year. Once again, my husband repeated the words you will soon read. This year we have no children at home to celebrate my husband. My eldest lives out of town; my middle child, who resides 10 minutes away, doesn’t recognize many special days; and our youngest went on a spur of the moment trip with a friend and her family. Yesterday, my husband and I went on a fun road trip. Today, we have some activities planned. Perhaps some good quality time, with just the two of us, will be an unspoken celebration.

Fatherless Recently my husband said to me “I do not want YOU to do anything for me for Father’s Day”. His expectation was clear to me. This is Father’s Day.

In the fall of 2021, as my Father-in-law was dying, I watched somewhat with envy, as my husband saw him through those last days. My dad ended his life almost 12 years ago. The weekend before his death my parents came to visit us. I didn’t know this would be the last time we would see him. The chance to say goodbye escaped me. With both my husband and me fatherless, will there be another Father’s Day celebration? That is for our children to decide.

I think about my father often. He truly was a wonderful dad! When he took his life in September of 2010 we were in shock, but that is another story…my father gave me so much over the years. He truly helped shape the woman I have become.

When I was young, putting words on paper and creating a story was joyful for me. Raising  children and living life pushed my creative energy to the back of my mind. The very last gift he gave me was the gift of writing. How did my dad give me this final present? When he passed, feeling compelled to say something at his memorial service, I wrote him a letter to say goodbye. Although reading the letter, while fighting off tears was nearly impossible, the creation of the letter reminded me of how much I loved the art of writing. 

The Goodbye Letter To My Father (This is written in the present tense, as it was written in September 2010, a little rusty from years of not writing. Some names have been omitted for privacy.)

Dear Dad,

Every once in awhile Greg will ask out of the blue: “What do you remember about your parent’s while you were growing up?” This of course takes me by surprise and I mumble a few things. When asked this, I thought of you and mom collectively.

Over the last four days, I have had pictures and memories flood back. I cannot write them all down or put them all into words. These are some of the things that have made me into the person I am and the habits I have formed:

When we were very small you used to tell us stories of the Three Ninnies, who we knew were really us.  My siblings and I would die of laughter.

As I grew older and stopped having bedtime stories, I had a hard time getting to sleep. One night I wandered out of my room and complained that I couldn’t sleep. You sat me down and said: “You should read before you go to sleep because it will take your mind off of the day’s events”.  I followed your lead and for the most part have gotten to sleep without a problem.

In being active yourself, you taught me to be active. As you know, I was a swimmer. When I could not swim after my spinal surgery, I followed your example of staying active by walking. When I was able to slowly start doing more, I cycled and then I swam. Finally, following your lead, I ran and rarely ever stopped.

Dad, I remember cross-country and downhill skiing in the winter, and cookouts in the snow. You said you weren’t a builder,  but you built: a playhouse that we loved, ice skating rinks in our yard in Winnipeg and even an igloo one winter in Muskoka.

You sat with me and cried as you explained the options I had ahead of me when my scoliosis had gone past the point of wearing a brace. You supported me as you allowed me to make my own decision to have the spinal surgery. Then following the surgery, every Sunday, you patiently unscrewed my brace so that I could take a weekly shower.

There were so many trips that gave us our love for travel. You encouraged us to explore the world and never discouraged us when we were heading into dangerous territory. When your eldest daughter, two of our friends, and I were heading to a country on the brink of war, all you said to me was “Don’t go to Sarajevo, there is fighting there”. You never stopped me from going to Mauritania, even though you were were scared to death of the high slave trade in the area. I never knew you felt that way until last year.

When I was pregnant and alone, you helped me turn my house into a home by hanging shelves and  showing me how to do it myself. You held my hand when my first marriage ended and let me go when I met Greg, you knew I was safe and happy. You gave me your blessing when we were married, because you said I was not only marrying a good man, but a good family.

Dad,  when you became a grandfather you wanted to be called grandpa, but my eldest had other plans. First she called you “Gucky”, much to your chagrin. She said to me the other day “I must have called Bop Bop ‘Gucky’ first because I loved ducks so much. Eventually, my child coined the name Bop Bop and that became your name. All the grandchildren loved you, even though Nana was doing all the work. You only had to smile and play the “mousie” game and the kids would laugh and laugh.

There is so so much more I could say. You taught me to always do my best and be strong in whatever I did. I never saw your scars emotionally or physically. I am sorry. I hope you know how much we all loved you. Although you never believed in Heaven, I hope there is one. I hope that you and your sister are looking down upon the day. We have come together to celebrate your life. We will never forget you.

Love, Sarah

My Father’s Continued Effect On My Character This piece of writing was pulled out last year before Father’s Day; it is unpracticed and raw, written on a computer that wasn’t my own. What struck me, when reading the letter for the first time since 2010, is how my dad’s influence still resonates today, in my words and life. I didn’t realize, until now, how so many of my stories have echoes of what is contained in this goodbye. My siblings and I were truly lucky to have such a great dad! Last year, sitting in the Denver Airport, across from an elderly man, I wonder: “Who my father would be now?”. He had a good life, yet full of trauma, perhaps he chose how he wanted to be remembered.