Dad would have been in his late eighties for this pandemic, so in one sense I'm glad he never lived to see it. For once Alzheimer's probably would have spared him a lot if he had lived this long. He had so many friends in NYC, and odds are some of them didn't survive the first wave. He would have had to see the idiot ways it's become politicized, and how much all the squabbling has cost our country.
That said, part of me still wishes he was here and lucid so I could talk to him about the dread and despair and unhappiness that has been most of 2020, and how poorly I've dealt with it along with all my personal issues and losing both dogs in just a few weeks. He was the one person I could say anything to, no matter how upsetting it was. Since he died sometimes I feel like I've been abandoned.
What I would say to him if he was still here: we've all felt so scared at various times in our lives that we want to hide out under the bed permnanently, but that feeling has been 2020 for me. There's so much hatred, so much wrong, so much death. It's turned too many people into monsters. I feel horribly guilty for being so depressed about losing my pups when families are losing people they love, but Cole and Skye were my loves. I've got a loop running in my head: With all everyone is coping with, how do we hold onto hope? What if next year is worse? What if it never gets any better? How do we go on with so much darkness blanketing America and the rest of the world? Is this the beginning of the end, and do I really have to live to see that?
Dad wouldn't be angry with me for how I feel. He understood me like no one else ever has. He might not know what I need to do in order to get through the rest of the year, but he would listen, and then he would tell me a story about something he went through in the past. Dad never had an easy life. It was something that we bonded over, I think.
Knowing him, I think he would remind me first of the years that we did have together. I never think about that -- how much time we actually had. He came into my life when I was 15 and stayed until I was 50. For 35 years that man loved me unconditionally, always supported me no matter what, and made me a much better person. He was always, always happy to see me. If you have someone like that in your life then you know what a difference it makes. I think he'd also tell me to go out and get another dog because life is too short not to have at least one more to love. Two would even be better.
Dad showed me the type of person I want to be, by being just who he was. He had to deal with a lot of health issues for the last 10 years of his life, but he didn't let them shadow his life. He ignored politics and hate for his faith and love. He always brought people who were alone during the holidays to share our family dinners. He didn't just go to church and pray, although he did that every Sunday. He mowed the church lawns and did carpentry work and anything else the pastor needed fixing. Even after he retired he went out on weekends to feed the homeless and ran the church's thrift store.
The last time I talked with Dad when he was lucid, which was about six months before he died, we were sitting on the porch with the dogs. It was April, and he was just basking in the sun. He didn't complain about his disease, or whine about how hard it had been on him. He looked out at my big back yard and said to me, "It's beautiful here. It's just where you should be."
It's still beautiful here, Dad. I'm still here, too. For hope I will hold onto the love that you taught me means more than anything else, and that you always gave me no matter what. I will be grateful for all the time we had, and the light you left behind in my heart. No darkness can take that from me.
If the memory of you could help me out with the rest, Dad, I'd love that, too.
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