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Five years have passed since my dad died.  The whole experience of his untimely passing, and all of the emotions are as fresh in my mind as when they happened.  What began as an outpatient operation, resulted in my dad’s death roughly four weeks later.

I remember the very last time I spent with my dad.  It was a Tuesday, and I had been to see him at the Cleveland Clinic on Sunday.  I really felt a need to see him – so I took a half day and drove from my workplace in Lisbon to Cleveland.  I got there, and went to the special unit where he was.  My mom was there, as she had been through his whole stay.  My dad had a tube down his throat to assist his breathing – as they were unable to determine why his air passage was being constricted.

I got to spend a great deal of time with him.  Although he had a difficult time speaking, he kept trying to tell me something.  He kept saying over again to me that he was a woodworker.  His abilities to build and refinish furniture was something he was we all were very proud of.  I didn’t know why he was telling me this.  He did.

I made sure I brought an mp3 player of music to my dad that day, loaded up with all of his favorite music from the 50′s and 60′s.  I stayed for quite a while, with my mom and dad.  And I kept giving encouragement to him – telling him he had to get better because he was going to help me remodel my kitchen.  He loved doing those kinds of things, and  I really wanted to learn from him.  In fact, just a few months before, he had taught me how to change my brakes.  The brake pads that we took off that day are still in my office at work.

I remember giving him a kiss, and firmly shaking his hand – which was as strong as ever.  The last thing I told him was that I loved him – fully expecting him to recover and come home.  That didn’t happen.

I remember my phone ringing at about 6am on Thursday morning.  It was my sister, she was crying.  She said my dad had died.  While my mom was staying at the Clinic, my sister, who always got up at 4:30am for work, would call to check on the progress.  I always called a bit later during my drive to Lisbon.  This morning, my sister said she had a hard time getting through, and was eventually put on hold – something that never happened. She knew something was wrong.

When she got to talk to my mom, she found out what none of us wanted  to believe.  She called me immediately.  I just remember crying, and not being able to stop.  Having a very difficult time composing myself to call my publisher to tell him that I wouldn’t be in to work.  I remember the aching sadness.  I called my mom, and finally got ahold of her.  She filled me in on what had happened, and in disbelief, I listened and sobbed.

She was in Cleveland, and I had to get my sister and nephew and drive up there.  The drive was quiet, as all of us were very sad.  It was raining.  I do recall this very large and vivid rainbow  stretching across  422 as we drove.  I said that was Dad telling us he was ok, we all cried.

Getting to the hospital and to where my mom was at  was like a marathon – trekking from the parking deck and criss crossing through the Clinic.  When we got there, there was no one around.  No one even at reception.   Then we saw my mom come from another room.  She looked so small – her eyes filled with deep sorrow and tears.  I remember going up to her and hugging her with my sister and nephew.  She said we could go see my dad for one last time.

Entering the room, and seeing him there – no longer part of this Earth, I broke down and cried uncontrollably.  I have never cried like that.  My dad, who all of my life was strong and such a hard worker, was gone.

Somehow I got my composure back, and got all of us back home.  The following days of making all of the arrangements, and the funeral are like a hazy memory.  All of my friends and family helped us get through.

On that day my life changed.  I had never experienced such deep sadness, and such a great loss.  Nothing can prepare you for it – the loss of a parent.  I miss him deeply today as if it just happened.  The eventual stages of accepting the death give way to a final sense of great loss.   You never get over it.

Now five years later, I miss him just the same.  There are so many things I wish he could have experienced and been part of.  I wish he could be there for my mom and for all of us.  I wish he could have seen my television show finally become a reality.  I wish he could be here to see my niece and nephew graduate and get married.   I wish he could have experienced the great leaps in technology – he would have loved the iPad.  I wish I would have learned woodworking off him.

When we spoke to Father Crumbley at St. James Church to prepare for his mass, I then understood why my dad kept telling me he was a woodworker.  He was proud as a father and a good husband, but he didn’t want us to forget the one skill that he was so proud of.  He knew.  We didn’t  We made sure his message got to Father Crumbley.

I know dad is in a better place, where all of us will one day reunite with him.  I believe in the afterlife, and I believe that those that have passed on can communicate with us on different levels.  I dream of my dad a lot.   And I think that is a way he communicates with us.

If this reflection is read by anyone, take this advice.  Spend time with your parents.  Listen and learn as much as you can from them.  Treasure that time.

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