March 6, 1981

I was almost 19 years of age, the same age my oldest son is today, when I was rushed away from the middle of my second year of college chemistry mid-term examination to head to the hospital where my father had just suffered a massive heart attack.  He was only 44 years of age, five years younger than I am today and had already embarked in a very difficult road full of health issues that started when he was only 21 years old and was diagnosed with diabetes, and eventually culminated with his death after already having suffered three previous heart attacks starting at age 33.  By the time I made it to the hospital and as I was walking towards my mother whom was talking to the doctor, all I was able to do was extend my arms and reach for her to break her fall as she fainted from the news that my dad had just passed away and there was nothing else the doctor could do for him.  Up to this day, everything that transpired from the moment I was told to head to the hospital until the moment that I stretched out my arms to hold on to my mother is a total blur.  I have absolutely no recollection on how I got to the hospital, how I knew what floor to go to, and who else was with me during all of that time.  Just a few years back I met with a dear cousin I had not seen since then and as we conversed she filled me in on all of the details of those missing moments of my life since she had been the beautiful soul that took care of me in my day of anguish.  Even as she was telling me everything that had transpired, the fog never lifted to reveal any memories of those events.  In fact, the next thing that I do remember was entering the basement of the funeral home where I was being asked to select the coffin that would be used to bury my dad.  It is as if my mind is only able to recollect moments that required me to think straight, making decisions that had to be done right, and everything else is buried under one single all encompassing emotion, deep sorrow.  I have been told that in order for me to remember the true events as they actually happened, I must probably experience the same emotional distress that was weaved within those moments of pain.  This of course is something that I am not interested or willing to do.  I think I am better off not remembering.

I do know one thing, and it is that after 31 years nothing has been able to replace the emptiness left in my heart from the death of my father.  Even if I tried, I am totally incapable of describing the pain, loneliness, and utter emptiness that I still feel in my heart because he is gone.  After all of these years, all I am able to do in order to make myself feel better is to replace my sadness with the memories I have of so many great and beautiful moments that I shared with him.  I can from this experience testify that only the intensity of the original emotions has decreased, but the emotions in themselves are all still there.  There is truly only one thing that I can say and I full heartily recommend anyone that has lost a loved one in their lives: trying to block, hide, or even understand this indescribable pain is futile.  If you want to get to the other side of your loss you must let go and give yourself the opportunity to feel all of those emotions without judgement.  Eventually and in time most of the pain will at least pretend to vanish and love will prevail among everything else.

I hope that I am able to touch, influence, and make as good an impression as my dad did with me on my own children's minds and hearts.  The man was imperfect in so many ways, yet somehow in the short 19 years that we shared he managed to lock into my being an impressive degree of values, love, and plain and simple goodness.  I have never found myself putting him on a balance and trying to figure out how much of him was on the plus and how much was on the negative side of his attributes.  Inside of me I simply have a sense that he was a good man and a great father regardless of his shortcomings.  Any childhood memories of moments that were not so great are eclipsed by the memories of his compassionate heart, loving demeanor, and dedication as a father.  Will I ever be able to measure up with my own children the way my father did with his or will my own shortcomings tip the scale in the eyes of my sons in the wrong direction?  I hope that my efforts to become a better father are not too little too late.  I would hate to think that what I leave in their hearts and minds might not be enough.  One thing is for sure, I won't give up.  This is my real job, I will always be my children's dad no matter how old they become.

Dad