Dad

Following closely on the heels of my paternal grandmother’s birthday is my father’s birthday. Today my dad would be 82 years old.

Yesterday my acquaintance won reelection to the school committee. Phew! I made some phone calls for her in the morning and held a sign for her for a while in the afternoon. I thought several times that my father probably would be pleased that I am finally getting a little more involved politically, not “just” voting.

My father ran his fair share of campaigns in his life. He lost some, but mostly won. I don’t remember more than one or maybe two. As the youngest child (by almost 10 years), he was a more established and settled by the time I became aware of my surroundings. My brother and sister probably have some pretty good campaign trail stories.

I feel sad that my dad won’t see my kids grow up. He never met S, and only saw M a couple or three times. But he wasn’t doing so well in his final years, and I wouldn’t want him to suffer in any way, either.

Dad died just a month after C was released from the hospital. I had just resumed sending him weekly newsy letters – something I had started in the previous year because communicating with him verbally was difficult due to his failing health. He never saw the last one.

I had a dream about Dad about six months after he died. It was like a visitation from beyond. The cast of family members in the dream was surprising, actually, but most meaningful for me was that in the dream Dad was happy.

Happy Birthday, Dad.