Share a story about your Father

On February 26, 2010, my father unexpected passed away. There was a big snowstorm, and he stubbornly refused to wait for help before digging out. He cleared the sidewalks, came inside, took off his coat, and collapsed on his way to his chair. He obviously wasn't in any great discomfort... if he was, he would have taken one of his nitro tablets, or used the cell phone in his pocket. My brother, an EMT, found him no more than 10 minutes later, performed CPR, but it was too late...

The following was the eulogy I gave at his memorial service:

Just about all little girls want to grow up and marry someone like her daddy. That wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to BE my dad. He was my hero. It started when I was young… I was about two years old when I cut my face shaving, imitating Dad. And it continued as I got a little older, and spent just as much time playing in his workshop as I did my Mom’s sewing room. I can’t count the number of times I had my bangs singed while helping him solder or weld something.

It was when I bought my house that Dad and I really bonded… over our mutual love of power tools. He taught me how to lay tile, frame out a wall, put up sheet rock, hook up a sink, run electrical – though it still scares me – and replace light fixtures. Even growing up in a generation when girls didn’t do such things, he never discouraged me from my love of being a handyman. Nor did he think it was odd that I could talk poop and fart jokes like a guy, and have a bizarre fascination with Vikings. In fact, he sometimes joked that I was the son he never had... and I have four older brothers. Well, I guess that’s true. I’m his only son with a double-x chromosome.

I know he was proud of the things I was able to accomplish, thanks to his guidance. Not that he’d tell me in so many words. To my face, he’d say, “Well, your place doesn’t look like the same dump you bought.” But then he’d tell my sister, “Wow, you should see how Lori fixed up her house. It looks great!”

I was the last one to talk to Dad the day he passed. And the conversation couldn’t have been more normal. He bemoaned the weather and hoped there wouldn’t be a flood when it melted. He laughed about how annoying that Octo-mom’s laugh was. He joked about the house being too big for him and he wanted to take in roommates. College girl roommates. He talked about how he missed Sunshine Supermarket now that they closed, and how their bathrooms were always clean. That’s a priority!

But one thing we always talked about was our pets. Dad loved animals. He had a special affinity towards dogs. Every dog we’ve ever owned loved him best. And nobody loved him as much as his old boy Chester, his 17 year old Terrier mix. It didn’t matter that I was the one who trained him, that Mom was the one who fed him and let him outside, or that Cindy was the one who took him for walks, Dad was Chet’s favorite. He’d run up and check on him if Dad so much as sneezed. He’d always sit between Dad’s legs, with his tail thump-thump-thumping if he heard the word “dog” or “cookie.” Dad would often complain that Chet wanted to be where he was at all times. He’d always say, “I’d go outside, and the dog would want to go outside. I’d go inside, and the second I sat down, ‘woof!’ the dog would want to come back in with me.” He even followed Dad into the swimming pool, climbing the ladder, and walking around the edge until he found a raft, then jumping aboard.

Chester died the day after Dad. I think it was a broken heart. He was lost without Dad. And honestly, I can just hear Dad saying, “The dog follows me everywhere. I go outside, the dog wants to go outside. I go to Heaven and no sooner did I sit down, and ‘woof!’ there’s the dog again, following me.”

But one thing we always talked about was our pets. Dad loved animals. He had a special affinity towards dogs. Every dog we’ve ever owned loved him best. And nobody loved him as much as his old boy Chester, his 17 year old Terrier mix. It didn’t matter that I was the one who trained him, that Mom was the one who fed him and let him outside, or that Cindy was the one who took him for walks, Dad was Chet’s favorite. He’d run up and check on him if Dad so much as sneezed. He’d always sit between Dad’s legs, with his tail thump-thump-thumping if he heard the word “dog” or “cookie.” Dad would often complain that Chet wanted to be where he was at all times. He’d always say, “I’d go outside, and the dog would want to go outside. I’d go inside, and the second I sat down, ‘woof!’ the dog would want to come back in with me.” He even followed Dad into the swimming pool, climbing the ladder, and walking around the edge until he found a raft, then jumping aboard.

Chester died the day after Dad. I think it was a broken heart. He was lost without Dad. And honestly, I can just hear Dad saying, “The dog follows me everywhere. I go outside, the dog wants to go outside. I go to Heaven and no sooner did I sit down, and ‘woof!’ there’s the dog again, following me.”