My Dad (Response to Hey, Hey Paula's challenge) ~~LadyPhoenix~~

His name was Jack, and in so many ways, he was my best friend.

In my adult years, he'd come visit me for a few hours at my house, and let loose with allll those curse words my mom didn't allow. (lol) I remember it vividly. I remember *him* vividly.

He worked hard in his life, beginning at 15, working in the woods building roads. He was a powder monkey as well, a guy who used dynamite to blast through rocks to make way for a road. Times were different then, and no one had yet heard of Al Qaeda, and I remember on more than one occasion, my mom sending me out to the garage.

"Go out and see what Daddy's doing. If he's making another bomb, come tell me." Relax. They were little bombs, just enough to shake the windows and make neighbors come out of their houses and look for the plane that made the sonic "boom". I laugh now thinking of it. Especially remembering the near mad inventor's gleam in his eye when one of his inventions worked.

When I was young, we fought like cats and dogs. We mixed like the proverbial water and oil. In some ways, we grew up together. You see, the law saw him as my step-father. He was 21 when he married mom. And I was already 5. That took guts for such a young guy. And many would have walked away. So at 5 years old, I got my Daddy. And when I grew up, I reflected on the past, thinking of how we fought. And realized the root of the fights. I laugh softly now with fondness; we were so much alike.

Time passed, as time always does. And at a young age, just two years older than I am now, he had by-pass surgery. He was diabetic, and heart problems are a big risk for diabetics. He lived. He lived much longer than doctors gave hope for. But the doctors didn't know my Dad. They didn't know what a tough guy he was. But a few years later, he had a couple of strokes. And again, the doctors gave their grim prediction.

I remember him lying on the gurney in the emergency room, robbed of most of his speech. I held his hand and saw the fear in his eyes as he repeated, "Die? Die?" And I told him, "No. I'm not ready for you to die."

And being the tough guy he was, he didn't. Not then. But even tough guys get tired. And a couple of years later, his heart finally had enough.

I stood by his hospital bed, holding his hand, and shared his last breath with him. I told him it was okay. I know you're tired Daddy. It's okay to go now. Things seemed to come full circle then. He wasn't there for my birth; but I was there for his death. And I will cherish that in a part of my heart that nothing else touches.

How I do miss him at times. Time passes and gnawing grief is replaced with memories. The good memories make me smile. And memories of his garage mischief make me out-right laugh.

So, in recognition of my Dad, Jack. And every step-parent who steps up, and becomes a Daddy or a Mommy. I dedicate this to you.

:)

LP

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