So I am sure you all know by now, that when I disappear into the abyss and am off the grid when it comes to writing, it usually means one of two things. Either A) things are going so well I’m not deep into any thoughts I feel the desire to share; or B) I am really deep into something that I need to work through and am not yet ready to share it. Part of my recent absence has been a little of both, but most recently, it’s been because of the latter.

It’s no secret that my Dad and I have had more of a complicated relationship as opposed to an open and loving one over the years. I mean, he’s always loved me, but he’s showed it on a surface level, neither of us really knowing the other’s thoughts and feelings—vulnerability isn’t really his jam. He’s always kept my brother and I at arm’s length, which I believe now was never intended to be hurtful, but to protect us, in a way.

Back in December, I became a larger part of his day-to-day when a friend that normally takes him to routine doctor’s appointments was going out of town so I had to take him; and that barrier that clearly separated us from knowing what was really going on with him, and his health in particular, came crashing down. I learned a lot that day—I learned he had COPD, congestive heart failure and a plethora of other issues that he had not openly shared.

After he was hospitalized twice, once over Christmas for two weeks and another time in January, his closest family members were brought in at his request to have a conversation—one that brought us to tears that would ultimately change the dynamic of our relationships with him. While we know that there is no way for a doctor to say where and when a patient may meet their maker, we know that the severity of my Dad’s condition strongly suggests that the end of his road is near. As he is just as stubborn and independent as I am, we arranged for in-home hospice care to check on him on the regular so he can continue to be on his own as long as he can—that’s the way he wants it.

The bad news is just what I’ve already said—my brother and I have already lost our Mom, and are now faced with losing our Dad—which brings a feeling of melancholy I can’t quite explain. The better news is that finally, after years of wanting him to show his love, my Dad has taken off his armor and is letting us get close to him.

I always thought if something were to happen with him, that it would somehow be easier than with my Mom, because I was so incredibly close to her. But here were are now, in a similar situation, and now that he is open and vulnerable I love him more than I ever thought I could. He’s sweeter and more thoughtful, doesn’t mind listening to me ramble as I show him the last 20 photos of my dogs on my phone, is more patient, and isn’t as afraid to show his love. He’s really what I’ve needed him to be my whole life, which will it make it that much harder when he’s gone.

I truly believe that the grief one feels when they lose a loved one represents how deeply they loved that person and how great of an impact they’ve had on one’s life. It brings me great joy at the same time as sadness, to learn that it’s never too late to show someone how much you love them. It doesn’t matter all the years of whatever layers of hurt are there, when you let your guards down, miracles can happen. And while the miracle may not be that my Dad’s health is going to turn around, the miracle is that I have a good, loving relationship with my Dad—something I’ve wished for my whole life.

On February 19th, after a long day at work I headed to my Dad’s for a routine weekly dinner with he and my brother, which happened to fall on my 38th birthday that day. Without any expectations and actually thinking he forgot all about it, I walked in and received the best birthday gift ever—he had spent all day preparing my favorite dinner he made, and on the counter was a little lemon bunt cake with candles and a bottle of white wine, which he remembered me saying was my favorite. It brought me to tears, and as he and my brother sang Happy Birthday to me, I felt like a wish was already coming true.

A girl without her Dad is a lost one, or at least for me, many years with an absence of a strong bond between us had affected me and decisions I’ve made. While it may have taken 38 years, and a time stamp on life to get us where we are now, I’m so grateful. My pain has turned into forgiveness, my frustrations have turned into peace and my love for him has become unconditional.

We’re proof that it is never too late to show someone how much you love them, and it’s never too late to accept a love in return.

Every single day with the ones you love is a blessing, and once again, I am reminded how much this is true.

I love you, Dad. I always have.

Song of the Blog:
Against the Wind by Bob Seger | circa 1980