My Dad died 27 years ago today. Like many father/son relationships, we had times when there was smooth sailing, and times when rocky shoals would batter us. I was a teenager through most of the 60s and Dad was approaching 60. The times were changing indeed. I was a handful; brash, independent, uncompromising. All without cause. Dad was...tired. Ill skip boring you with details, and just fast-forward to the end. I had matured some by my mid 30s, and when it became apparent that Dads days were numbered, I was lucky enough to tell him that I loved him. And mean it. He, in turn, said he loved me too. And meant it. A small thing, perhaps, in the larger picture. But not everyone is afforded the opportunity to exchange their feelings in such a timely way. Ive always felt lucky in that respect. And despite his illness, I think he felt relieved. Perhaps he even felt that he was casting off the unbearable lightness of being, in Milan Kunduras beautiful phrase. Im sorry, Dad, for making things hard for you. But we were given just enough time to smooth the rough edges and enough sense, finally, to reach out to one another and grasp a bit of truth. RIP. Forever.
Posted on: Sat, 15 Nov 2014 02:38:11 +0000
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