It was late summer in 2020 and I sat with my father in his hospital room, my brain mush.
Covid was in full effect, and we were only allowed to visit him one at a time.
My wife and kids were in the car in the parking lot, hoping to wave to him through his third-floor window. I read him a letter I'd written him.
I remember him saying, “I can’t believe it happened so fast.”
He went into surgery and died shortly after. We'd headed home after they wheeled him to recovery in ICU, thinking we'd see him in the morning. But the hospital called just as we turned into our cul-de-sac, just as a thunder and lightening storm lit the night sky ablaze and trembling. We drove straight back to him.
If you’ve ever gotten that call, you know the drill. It sucks.
I can’t believe it happened so fast.
Now here we are, 2023.
The first year after he died, I was still mostly stunned. The next year, it began to sink in.
One of my closest friends, who has lost more than most, warned me: It's the second year after that's the real bastard.
And it was.
I remember hearing my dad’s voice in the house.
Friends sent me a beautiful wind chime to remember him, and it rings in a perfect C chord.
Every fucking day.
And every day I miss him.
Countless things about him are burned in my mind and on my heart. Myths. Gnarled knuckles. Diatribes. Laughter. And reality has set in: He was a hard man to love, and I loved him dearly.
I am now a hard man to love and have been for decades.
I hope by the time my kids have to write a letter like this, I will have softened for decades.
I'm holding it together, Pop. Happy birthday.
You will not disappear.
Yours,
JR
Photo: Gregg Greenwood
Never met my father but I lost my grandad which was my father on July 10 2010 and it's still hard on some days
Beautiful!