Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

I haven't thought about you in a long time. When I came home that day from the Marine Corps, after that shocking phone call, I believed that you would be in my thoughts daily, for the rest of my life, but time has a way of having us get on with our lives and we forget those who meant so much to us. I'm sorry, Dad.

I just got out of the shower and after shaving, I put on an aftershave that was given to me by Mom after Joe died--it was his, but he never got to use it. I know he was your friend and once you were gone, he was Mom's companion and a friend to me, but he was not like the father you were--nobody could be. But Joe also died--he's buried with his sister in Pine Lawn--and I still have that bottle of Sierra, which I rarely use, but I put it on. But instead of thinking of Joe, I thought of you.

I miss you a lot.  I miss the drives we shared when you came to pick me up from our summers "in the country."  We drove back to the city because you had to take care of the apartment and you wanted me to come along for the ride.  I remember the coffee and crumb buns we had together, and even though I was only around six or seven, you taught me to drink coffee like a man, and you taught me about respect because you respected me. My most vivid memory of us  in the car was when we drove along the Belt Parkway on a windy day and I said jokingly, "Look at the lumpy water," and you laughed so hard at my joke that I burst with pride inside. And I will never forget the time upstate, when we drove around the grounds of the summer cabins and the passenger door flew open (because I probably played with it) and the look of panic on your face as you shouted, "Just hang on--I'll stop the car slowly."  And I did hang on for my life, and you did stop the car.

You were my hero. 

I joined the Marines to make you proud of me and I remember how proud you were at my graduation.  My platoon did "Dress Right" and there you were, taking a million photos of me marching along. Mom was there too, but I remember you best.

I was destroyed inside when I got that phone call in Jacksonville that you died suddenly.  No warning. I was in a fog, dazed and miserable, and I spent the entire night at the airport until I finally got a flight home.

Well, the good news is that I'm getting old and I suspect it will not be very long before I will be in the same place as you.  (People have no understanding of how life is so short.) The bad news is that I suspect as well that this place is simply a place we call "eternity" and it simply means that I, like you, will just be part of the universe that we were always united with--forever. That's where you are, that's where Mom is, and Ellen, and Joe, and Crazy Jean, (she was the first death I remember in my childhood, but I don't remember her at all), and everyone who came before us.  Everyone. Isn't that amazing just by itself?

I can't believe how long it is since I saw you last. You don't even know Thasneem or Shabana. You would be blown away with how much the world has changed, for better and for worse, and that I am living in Canada. Can you imagine that--Canada.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could actually read this? Better still, wouldn't it be great if I could see you again? Imagine that--I'm older than you lived to be.

I love you, Dad.

Rob