This is a tough one for me to write. My father has succumbed to vascular dementia. What a cruel way for someone so smart to leave this world. I got to see him the day before he left. I got to tell him how much I loved him. I got to see his beautiful blue eyes for a second here and there while I just sat holding on to his hand. I got to smooth his still gorgeous hair back and kiss his forehead one last time before I left him. It was brutally painful and crushingly sad, but I am grateful for it nonetheless.

I want to tell you all a little bit about my father…

My father was a good man. The best kind of man. Loyal and true. Strong and so wise. Faithful and quietly loving. A perpetual learner, he watched the most boring shows when we were kids. Shows that I’d probably be so interested in now, as an adult. Well, maybe.

My father carried himself with class. He was a true gentleman who at the same time could create his own profanity filled sentences, with curse words strung together in the most interesting ways, when anger overtook him. I am oddly proud to say that I inherited that talent from him. I remember one time he was changing the oil in his car in the garage. He put the pan under the car but, unfortunately, the pan was not underneath the right area and the oil was all over the garage floor. My siblings took off like a shot, knowing what would come next. Me? Nope. I waited until the words stopped and he slid out from under the car and then I said to him, “well, THAT wasn’t very smart.” Those blue eyes burned through me for a split second and then he started to laugh. That was my dad. As mad as he could get, he could laugh just as much.

My father taught me how to drive a stick shift. It wasn’t easy. Our neighborhood was all hills so my stress level was always super high during those lessons. I even traded my cute blue 4-speed for his big ugly station wagon for a bit because I kept rolling backwards down the hills. I remember finally making it to Stony Brook for my classes one day and literally flinging my car keys across the parking lot because the drive had been a nightmare. After a few days, he took me out again and I finally got it. To this day, I can get into any vehicle and drive it. A few years ago, at Christmas, I’m not sure my father knew my name right away, but what he said to me was just as good. He said, “you’re my only kid who can drive a stick”.. True, Dad. Thank you.

When I had 3 job offers to choose from, he helped me pick which one would be best for me. I met my husband there. Thanks Dad.

He taught me how to check my oil, because everyone should know how to do that…as long as I don’t have to change it myself because I know how messy that could be, don’t I Dad? (see above lol)

My father cried when he found out I was having a boy. I’m not sure why he cried, but it touched me deeply.

He bought me an ornament for my Christmas tree years ago with Tweety Bird, my all-time favorite cartoon character. I still love it.

My father was a man of few words. Unless he was mad. Strangely, I did not need many words from him most times.

One story goes that when I was born, he brought my mother a dozen red roses, but not when my other siblings were born. Why? I don’t know. The running joke for many years was that I was his favorite. Sometimes, I let myself believe it. Most times, I wanted to but didn’t.

When I saw my father for the last time, I hadn’t seen him in months. I think I talked myself out of going because he didn’t know who I was anymore, and I think that hurt me more than I was willing or able to admit. The nurse who took me to him cried as she talked about him. She told me that in her experience with dementia patients, many times they are waiting for a specific person to come before they let go. I left him that afternoon knowing I wouldn’t see him again in this world. He passed the next day. Was he waiting for me? I would never believe I meant that much to him, or to anyone, that I would ever be worthy of that kind of honor, but what a healing salve for my broken and tortured heart that would be. I will never know.

I love you Daddy. Forever and Always. Thank you for being you. Quiet, strong, brilliant, handsome you.

Until we can see each other again,

Donna