Twenty-five years ago today, my dad died. They pulled the life support in the early afternoon after I signed the papers providing authorization. As it is with most people who suffer the unexpected death of a parent at a young age, 5/10/89 was one of the low points of my life.
For a long time, I allowed that, as well as what came afterwards because of my evil step-mother and her son (far worse than anything Disney could imagine as villains). Life didn't get easier--I even had a professor at the University of Illinois who lowered my grade in a class because I went back to the Quad Cities for a court date. His comment, "Just have them reschedule the date. If it's even true in the first place."
But...this is supposed to be positive. If he lived, I wouldn't have gone to grad school at Illinois, and while I think Illinois sucks rocks as a school now...if I don't go there, I don't meet my wife. No wife, then no Erick, Brigitte, or Mike. I don't go there--then I never go to a volleyball match, and one of the other great passions I've found in my life never happens.
No Illinois, then no Ohio State--no Final Four, no friendships with Linda and Jim Stone, no Yao, no D.C. (rest in peace, sir). No OSU, then I don't find the Guardtower, create my first game and then open my own store and eventually Jolly Roger Games.
No Julie--no central Illinois. And that means St. Anthony would still be sucking at volleyball, probably looking for a 1st Regional title. It means I don't teach for Parkland or EIU, or at St. Anthony--where I know I made a difference in the classroom for kids. Given the other social studies teachers--would anyone have taught those students how to write research papers or efficiently take essay tests (I doubt it)?
No Julie--no Uni. No Uni, no kids being selected to study abroad--so I never see Poland or Colditz in person....and hopefully Hungary in 2015. No Julie, no central Illinois...no adoption of Michael.
My dad didn't share affection easily. It was only at the visitation and service that I realized his love--all because person after person came up and mentioned how often he talked about me and my sister, how proud he was of us, his love for us. His death made me realize that I didn't want that for myself, so I made myself better. I tell my children I love them--even as they roll their eyes. Barring weird accidents, at the end of my life, I want the last words that they (and Julie) hear from to be "I love you" because that's the truth. Without my dad's death--do I ever come to that realization?
If an angel (or devil) were to come to me and say, "All you have to do is say 'please' and you'll have your dad back and it'll be May 11, 1989 to live again"...it sounds tempting, if only to go back and say I was sorry for my last words to him and to let him know I love him, to goad him into admitting he loved me TO ME. Oh, how tempting. But I couldn't. Too many good things have happened to me, triggered by that one unfortunate incident.
I hope that he is at peace, or if the eastern religions are correct, that his karma was good and that he is enjoying his next existence, and hopefully learned that it's ok to say "I love you".
If you're reading this--have you said those magic words to those close to you lately? Do it. Please.
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