If You Were Lucky Enough

The morning I found out that my dad had died, I kept saying "I'm sorry." Out loud, over and over throughout the day and for some reason, it made me feel better.

I'm sorry that the last thing I said to you was "is Mom there?"

I'm sorry I didn't call you while you were in the hospital.

I'm sorry I wasn't a better daughter.

But really, I think the sorry was as much about regret as it was about guilt. That I wasn't there with the family at the hospital when it happened. That I didn't get to put my arms around him and tell him how much he meant to me before he left. If I could have just done that.

So I say it every chance I get, to anyone who didn't know him well. "I wish you could have known him."

Dad was soft-spoken, but very opinionated. He was incredibly patient with his family and friends, but cantankerous over the exorbitant salaries of professional athletes! He was very human and had weaknesses, but was one of the hardest workers I have ever met. He never stopped working to better himself.

One of the many reasons I fell in love with my husband was because he was a lot like my dad: unassuming, scholarly, humble, kind, and careful about the things he chose to say.

Our friends and family have been incredibly comforting and supportive. I have been so grateful. But in the end, no one can provide what would be the greatest comfort of all. No one can make it so he walks through the garage door again, back from an errand for my mom. No one can bring him back to his rocker recliner so I can drink Winder chocolate milk with him.

I will see him again. But I wish it was tomorrow, and not some unknown time in the future.

I love you, Dad.