My Dad

February 1st is another sad anniversary for me. As we get older we collect more and more of those days.

My dad passed away on February 1st, 1983. 33 years have past since then, but that day is forever burnt into my mind. I can recall every moment of it. My dad had been in the hospital for a year after suffering a stroke that left him partially paralyzed. His mind was still not bad, but not great anymore, either.

I visited him in the late afternoon on January 31st. My mom was already there and she called me from the hospital. When I answered the phone, it was my dad who was on it. He said, “Please, come, before it is too late.”

When I got to the hospital, he sat in a wheelchair in the corridor and when he saw me stepping out of the elevator, he waved all excitedly and called my name. I was the only one he still recognized. He didn’t recognize my brother anymore when he came to visit, which wasn’t often. My brother actually lived in Alberta at the time.

My mom and I went home in he early evening, but the hospital called us at 10:00 PM and told us my dad had slipped into a coma. When we got there he lay in his bed with an oxygen mask over his mouth. I called his name a few times and he regained consciousness. My mom said to him, “Jesus will come soon.” He looked at her and said, “No, Jesus isn’t coming.”

He seemed quite lucid and we talked. We stayed with him until 4:00 AM, but I was getting tired and I said to him, “We’ll be going home now, Dad.”

He smiled and said, “I’m going home now, too.”

The hospital called us in the morning and told us that my dad has passed away at 8:00 AM. It was the first day of February, a day I’ll never forget.

I still had so many questions I wanted to ask him, things I wanted to tell him, but in our busy lives we never have time to talk much with our parents. Only after they are gone, we realize all the opportunities we have missed; all the things that were left unsaid.

I am getting to that stage in my life now where I would like to discuss my experiences with my children, tell them about my life before they were born, but they are now where I was when I was their age, busy with their own lives. I’m afraid there are stories that will never be told.

However, I am doing something my dad never did. I am writing about my life and perhaps my children and grandchildren will read about it after I have left this Earth.

Just maybe


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