Yesterday was a sad day.
Father’s Day (and the Monday after it) are always a bittersweet time for me.
Twenty-eight years ago, my dad was once again in the hospital following yet another incident with his heart. Since I was far away on a different continent, I sent a Father’s Day gift well in advance, and my mom baked a cake for him according to my instructions… She spent that Sunday’s visiting hours with him in the hospital. I always spoke with him on Father’s Day – they tried to phone me from the hospital, but lines were so busy that day and international reception was not good, and they couldn’t get through (phones in the 80s weren’t quite as sophisticated as they are now). They decided to try again the next day as soon as my mom got there.
It wasn’t to be.
When my mom arrived at the hospital on Monday, it was to Code Blue. Dad’s heart had stopped. She phoned me, told me to get on a plane and come. A couple of hours later she phoned again to tell me he was gone.
I never got to talk to him for Father’s Day that year.
I got there 48 hours later. Three flights, one overnight stopover in Germany – at the time, it was the quickest connection. It was my mother’s birthday. For years after that, she refused to celebrate it. It was a week before their wedding anniversary.
This year – 2015 – was only the 4th time since then that the actual dates correspond to the year he died. For some reason that’s harder, no idea why. I read all the tributes to fathers online on Sunday, but didn’t add one myself. I thought about him all day yesterday.
Here’s to you, dad.
Tags: Father's Day