Happy Father’s Day Letter to My Dad

Everyday-
I think of you
I miss you
I Love You ❤️

Remembering Dad on Father’s Day

Father’s Day has always been a special occasion for me, a time to celebrate and honor the incredible man who helped shape my life in countless ways.  This year, as many in the past, as Father’s Day and the anniversary of his passing approach, I reflect on the impact he had on me and so many around him.  This is a letter to my wonderful father, my Dad, a man whose legacy of love, wisdom, and courage continues to inspire me every day.

Dearest Dad:

It’s that time of year to celebrate all the dads in our lives and I observe an extra occasion –    the anniversary of your passing, June 23rd.   This week always brings me a mixture of sadness and comfort, because I can only spend them with your memory and thoughts and feelings that I so wish I could express to you in person.  I miss you more than words could ever convey and I hope this letter can somehow, bridge the space between us.

I reflect so often on my life with you, from childhood to those “grown-up” years.  When I was little, you were a giant.  You were 10 feet tall and while growing up, you were always my pillar of support and an unwavering source of guidance. You celebrated each of us kids and I miss sharing our Taurus birthdays together.  There was nothing I couldn’t ask you, discuss with you, or seek your advice on.   You taught me that true strength is in one’s character and principles and that integrity is valuable and one’s word is priceless.  You fought all the monsters in my childhood and I knew that with you, I was always safe.

I watched you with our family and how you treasured Mom and us kids.  You were a deeply loving and devoted parent and always the quiet force behind Mom.  Yes, you were tough, but you personified that safety net we could always count on.  I knew if I messed up there could be major consequences, but there was never a doubt, they would be fair.  You always had our backs and had the uncanny ability to make each of us kids feel special and valued.  Whether you were attending our school functions, helping us with homework, enjoying the boat, or just simply being there, you made us feel cherished and important.

I miss so many things about you, especially your stories.  From your childhood in Santa Barbara, CA, to your days in the Air Force in World War II, to your years on the police force, your experiences fascinated me.  Your generation is fading out and I hold those memories dear.  You enthralled people with those stories of history, bravery, honor, and duty.  Recollections of times spent in a B17 Bomber and the courage of such young men fighting for our country will always remain in my heart.  Remembering your sense of responsibility to your city and neighborhood while you were a police officer for so many years carved out my respect for law enforcement and first responders.  You accepted the fact that being a police officer naturally meant you were on-call, 24/7, if anyone ever needed your help.  And how many neighbors relied on that – knowing you would respond at any hour to their calls – far too many for me to count.  But that was you.  And we all simply accepted this as Modus Operandi, even though it was far above that.  Your work ethic surpassed the norm of society.  You believed and instilled into us that you always work for more than you are paid and you finish the job.  Work builds character and yours is still so much a part of me.

You believed in all our abilities and encouraged us to try new things and expand our interests.  Whatever we chose to do, you were there to cheer us on in success and console us when we failed.  You were more than a Father; you were a mentor and a guide.  You believed in me, often more than I believed in myself, but that belief pushed me forward to succeed.  Like that first two-wheeled bike ride I took had you holding onto the seat so I wouldn’t fall, despite my continuous rants that I couldn’t do it, I just couldn’t do it, and  VOILA!  I was halfway down the culdesac on my own and you stood there clapping as I came around the curve!  Yea, the realization took hold and I fell over, but you helped me back up and then—I was riding solo!  I suddenly became invincible and thought I could conquer anything, thanks to you.

You cherished family and welcomed newcomers as we grew.  Sons-and daughter-in-laws were made to feel as natural members of the family.  They were considered blood and you loved them as your own.  When grandchildren came, your heart ballooned with pride and devotion.  Each one held a special place in your heart that could never be occupied by anyone else.  The love you showered on them knew no boundaries.  And each one of them, like us, was there to say goodbye to you.

Sadly, I also remember those turbulent last few years; your undeserved and misplaced sense of guilt that you couldn’t protect Mom from dementia, Alzheimer’s, and all the hell that came with them.   In your mind, you fought enemies in war and criminals on the job, but you couldn’t fight off that disease that took her from you in so many ways.  You helped her at home by yourself for so long until it became clear to everyone, even you, that you needed help for HER benefit.  I know how hard it was for you to let a stranger into the home and take such intricate care of your beloved Sweetheart when you felt you should be able to do it all.  As much as you tried, you just couldn’t completely hate our angel caregiver, Rosie, and begrudgingly, you let her care for Mom.  (Oh yea- and you LOVED her cooking as she made meals for you, too.)   You must admit, things got a bit easier for you when you finally spent more time outside the house with Uncle Doyle, your longtime friend from the department, and you actually looked forward to the two of you getting out.  (😉Sidenote you may not be aware of, Dad, but — so did Rosie!)

You willingly accepted my control over her care when we both knew she could no longer care for herself.  God knows you tried with all you had, to be her main caregiver.  I do believe that, in small degrees along the way, you felt better knowing that we kids would take most of that responsibility from your shoulders.

You were the epitome of a devoted husband and partner.  You doted on her every need and stood by her in the absolute worst of times.  From the onset of her illness, to her needing the wheelchair, from the radiation she needed, to the moving from various degrees of alternative housing – you were right by her side.  You were her constant and you did so much more than I thought you could.  Somehow, you found that strength within you to persevere for her.

When she passed, you were devastated.  You shattered into as many pieces as your broken heart.   You sobbed so hard you shook.  I hate remembering that day and your unbearable sorrow at losing the one you so often referred to as “the only one for me”.  For 95 days, you cried for her, you got angry over her and boy, did you tell God a thing or two, on several occasions- and loudly.

I watched you unknowingly progress through those seven stages of grief as we kids tried to manage our own.   Matt stayed with you for a week to ensure you made it through that terrible first stage, concerned about your being truly alone at the house.    Meg came in and took you out to lunch and tidied up as much as you would let her.  I came a few times a week to see you and keep the finances going.

I remember those Thursday afternoon lunches you had with Judy on the phone as she was at work two states away – then, when you finished, she would call me to tell me what kind of mood you were in to prepare me for our Thursday night dinners out.   “Cay,” she would say, “he’s in a terrible state today,” or “he seems pretty good today, a little calmer.”  For the most part, her appraisals were spot-on.

I’ve come to understand that grief is a testament to the depth of our love.   You proved that through the years loving Mom and the incredible bond you two shared and your grief was inconsolable.  Your marriage was the definition of commitment and was a model for all of us in what we searched for in spouses.  Your agony at her passing was insurmountable and you quietly blamed yourself and harbored a sense of helplessness to the point that your only resolution was to let your broken heart reunite you with her.

Losing you was one of the most painful experiences of my life, yet as I celebrate your life this Father’s Day and on your upcoming anniversary, I am reminded of how one person can impact so many.  The pain of losing you is a reflection of that special bond you and I shared.  While the sorrow may never fully fade, I am comforted in knowing that you live on in my heart always and in the hearts of our family and the friends who were lucky to know you.  Your love continues to guide me and your legacy lives on in your children and grandchildren.

So Dad, as I bring this letter to a close, I thank you for being my hero, my friend, my Dad.  I dedicate this letter to you and sure hope you get to read it.  I honor your life, cherish our memories and am so proud to be your daughter.  I hope you can see me from up there and know how much you are loved and missed every day.   Until we meet again, I carry you with me in all that I do.

With all my love, always,

Cay