Because He Loved Me.
Seven years ago today, I lost my first love. Less than 48 hours after a catastrophic stroke, I held his hand, and whispered into his ear that he has been the best dad ever. That afternoon, after Mum and I had returned from the hospital, I went for a run (as if that's not the weirdest thing ever - you come home from the hospital without your loved one, and you're expected to just carry on without them...) As I ran, I made up my mind that I would honor Dad, and make him proud by my actions every day for the rest my life.
"Be the things you loved most about the people who are gone..." Dad was a lot of things. He was a sports fan, a decent golfer, and a terrific chef. He enjoyed music of all kinds, from Beethoven to Elton John, to Alan Jackson, to Tina Turner. He loved a good joke and often found his own the funniest of them all. He was well traveled and appreciated everything that another culture had to offer - especially the cuisine, but also landscapes, architecture, and fine arts. He held executive positions at the steel mills, and was also a favorite among the foundry men. Above all, he was a faithful husband, married fifty-seven years, and completely smitten with my mother until his last breath; he was a doting father, proud as punch of all of us, and present in a heartbeat when the stakes were high; he was a loyal and trusted friend, his lessons on true friendship have been stored in my heart and are the foundation on which I've attempted to build all of my own relationships.
I deliberately try to carry on my dad's legacy, but it's the moments that I see him in my kids that leave me breathless... when Willie cracks himself up with a joke that no one else really thinks is funny; a look on the face of one of the girls; Meghan's instinct to nurture; Anna's loyalty to her friends and family. How did Willie, a kid who was raised in Penn State country, come to be a staunch Pitt fan, and committed yinzer? I absolutely love to be able to sit quietly, to watch and to enjoy memories of my dad, as his works and deeds continue on in his grandkids.
"You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same. Nor would you want to." When you've lost part of your soul - and none of us escapes without this experience at some point - You quickly realize that you never "get over it." You get through it. You can rise above it. You'll feel joy again. But you'll be forever changed, and believe me, you want it that way. You end up wanting to be different forever, because to lose a part of your soul and to go back to being your old self, well, it feels like disloyalty. If feels like you're forgetting them. Losing someone you loved that much has to change you permanently, so that you are certain that the loss was not in vain, that the loved person made a profound difference. As for me, I hope that I'm more loving, more forgiving, more compassionate... I hope that I can scan every situation, find the good parts, enjoy and appreciate them, and let the bad parts go ("it is what it is"). If you know me, you know that I work diligently to make sure that my dad is a part of my life every day.
There's something I want you to know about death: It's not the end of your relationship with that person. Many people have heard this story, but about six months after my dad died, I had the breakdown...that moment when you finally accept that the person is gone. I was lying on my bed, sobbing, and Jimmy was next to me attempting to console me. He said, "he's not gone, Kate, your dad will always be with you." I replied, "No, he's not. He's gone. He's not here anymore, he's dead, he's gone." Inconsolable. The truth is, Jimmy was right. My dad has always been with me. I feel his presence in my life, now; there is a tangible connection that eases the pain and allows me to find happiness in the memories. You have to be open to that connection. You have to allow it. When you allow yourself to feel it, you'll know.
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