I have to admit that I find it a little distasteful to remember someone more on the day that they died instead of on the day that they were born, but in this instance, I can't help it. Today marks the fifth anniversary of my Dad's death, and I can't help but be caught in a reflective mood today.
While by default, the passage of time has eased the pain of his loss, there is nothing that’s more constantly present in my day-to-day life than his absence. Even having moved 1700 miles away from where he and I lived together hasn’t dulled the persistent pang that’s always felt when he crosses my mind, and he does, still, very often.
I’ll be the first to admit that my Dad was an unusual man, and it’s easy to hold someone in a skewed, rose-colored conception after they’re not around anymore. As a kid, there were times that he made me cry. There were times that I thought him to be callous and cold, and maybe even clinical in his approach to parenting or understanding.
That does little to dampen the other moments, though, where he showed a keen insight into a great many things. Some believe that during our time on this planet, you can only know “a lot about a little, or a little about a lot.” My Dad proved that this isn’t the case, because I have never met anyone more intelligent, more insightful, and more experienced about so many different things than he.
Recognized by his peers as a philosopher as well as unparalleled in his field as a dynamic processor, my recently reaching out to people who knew him well has made the kind of man he was even clearer, and has also taught me just how much living he did during his 65 years on the planet.
I’m not lying or embellishing when I say that I still miss him every day. On some days, there isn’t a single, solitary hour that goes by where he’s not in my head, and that I wish I could ask him for advice in some screwed up aspect of my life. Still, I’m not the person I was five years ago, and it’s a constant worry of mine that the further I get from the point in time where he died, the further I’m getting from the lessons he tried to teach me in his own, unique way.
In any case, today is and always will be a very solemn one for me and members of my family. On this day in 2010, I lost my champion, and I’ve been living a life I couldn’t fathom as a child every day since: one where he’s not around.
Normally as a writer in a few different areas, this is the point where I try to sum things up and end on a positive note. Unfortunately, that’s just not how loss like this works. You continue to live with it, and hope that the next day doesn’t hurt as much as the last one did. That’s just the way it is, and as much as I hate saying it, you get used to it.
I love you, Dad. I still miss you every day.
July 23rd, 1944 - May 5th, 2010
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