Fathers and Daughters

It’s Father’s Day today.

In honour of my dad, on a day that fills my heart with thoughts and love for him and all he gave me, I’m sharing a short version of a piece that I wrote shortly after his passing.

Writing this helped me heal immensely, yet I’m feeling some vulnerability surface even now as I put it to this paper. Some wounds never heal.

I’m sharing it, not expecting you to be in the same position as I was, but because there is such value in getting to know our fathers.

Fathers have a huge impact on us and the women we have become, even if it’s been a rocky relationship. It’s easier when we are close to our fathers but getting to know them, even if they weren’t the best dads, is important because it lets us better understand ourselves.

If you still have the opportunity to talk to your dad, ask him questions about his life and his beliefs, his relationship with his family and your mother, your family circumstances, your upbringing and his hopes for you as you grew up. Ask him anything you need to know. You won’t be disappointed. And write that shit down so you can give it the careful thought it deserves.

If you don’t have the chance or the desire to talk to your dad directly, do some digging with other relatives or even ancestry research to learn more about him and your family. Ask the same questions, just through other people. Ps If he has passed on, you can also sit quietly, think about his spirit, and ask him to tell you what you need to know. It may not be immediate, but you’ll be surprised at what you can learn that way. I do it often. Hit reply if you want to learn more about connecting with our passed loved ones and I’ll share my experiences.

Ask questions and learn about yourself through the answers you get. Use them to understand some of your beliefs, your habits and routines, and your triggers. Journaling and meditation are 2 good ways you can process how to apply your new learning in ways that support you. Your life, your understanding, your call.

Me? I’ve been processing for some time and today, I’m raising a glass to my dad, a man who gave me more than I ever expected.

February, 2019
My dad, just shy of his 93rd birthday, passed from this world.

I had always thought that his passing would be easy, on him and on me. I was wrong on both counts. He was caught between living on earth and moving on to heaven.

Dad was a strong, independent man. I never questioned his love for us growing up, but openly sharing feelings just wasn’t his thing.

My mom passed away 25 years ago. Quietly devastated, Dad tucked his feelings into his pocket, and took his healing on the road.

During that time he took a job close to me, spending lots of time at my home and bringing us closer than ever before. We began to talk.

About my mother “I’ll never marry again, I’ve already had the best.” About his mother “I didn’t know she was adopted until we buried her.” About his preferences “It’s no fun flying, I like the open road.”

About our spirituality, and Dad returning to his Christian roots “I know your mom is in heaven and if I want to see her again I need to be worthy of getting into heaven too.”

We had readings with a life-long friend and medium who saw my dad simply not waking up from his sleep one day as my mother and his mother guided him to them. Dad made a promise then that he would whistle when he was gone to tell me he was ok.

Every talk strengthened the bond between us, as father and daughter, and as humans. We listened, accepted and supported our different spiritual beliefs. I’m not religious, but I feel spirit and believe we are watched over, guided to be the best version of ourselves. In the end, our spiritual understanding brought us together when we needed each other the most.

Dad moved into a retirement home at 91. That was where he said he was ready to die. “I’ve had a full life and I miss your mother terribly, it’s time to be with her again.” Praying nightly for God to take him, he was disappointed when he woke in the morning.

Heightened needs soon meant moving him into long-term care. Dad began to fall repeatedly, each one further decreasing his cognition. Then the final fall happened that left his brain shaken, speech impaired, and left him in a state of almost constant sleep. It took him over 5 minutes to tell me “I feel misplaced”.

I knew what he meant. He had already told me he was ready to die, now he was saying he was stuck somewhere he didn’t want to be and was asking for help.

The care home’s job was to keep Dad alive, not let him die, and they continued to treat him by constantly waking him for routine care. Without a medical diagnosis that Dad’s death was imminent, we were told that his care plan would only change if his organs began failing. His spirit was ready to go, but his body was not.

Loyalty and determination in the face of adversity were things Dad was well known for. He called it doing the right thing. This wasn’t the first time that he had shown me that the right thing is not always the easiest thing.

I took his need for help, and the road we travelled together to get there, as his trust in me. This was the time to put aside emotions and show up for him. To set the stage that would allow Dad to cross over to where my mother waited. I wanted to give him that gift, but a battle was going on inside me, between keeping Dad and losing him. Never hearing his voice again, never sharing time, him never watching my grand-babies grow. The immense loss threatened to take over my doing what I too knew was right.

From the onset of the meeting with doctors and caregivers at the foot of Dad’s bed, I held a sense of strength that I had never felt before. An unwavering feeling of knowing him almost more than I knew myself, and knowing that I wasn’t leaving without his spiritual needs being met.

My energy pumped and seemed to multiply as I spoke about what had to happen for Dad to die in peace. Absent was the fear of being challenged or disregarded for an opinion that put spirituality ahead of medicine. Absent too, for the moment, was the overwhelming sadness I felt over losing my dad. I stood my ground for him.

In a moment alone later that day, I told my dad that now it would be quiet enough for him to hear Mom calling. I left him with a kiss and a reminder of how much I loved him.

My dad passed the following day, in his sleep with none of us with him. But I knew he wasn’t alone.

As I sat beside him after, I received a text from my friend the medium.

“He is at peace and happy, dancing with your mom and being embraced by his folks. He is forever grateful for your love and is so thankful for the support and guidance on his journey to reach your mom’s arms. You are his legacy.”

And it wasn’t many days later that my 4-year-old granddaughter suddenly, and on her own, learned to whistle.