My dad died on February 29, 1980. He must have planned it somehow, thinking since the actual day comes once every four years it might hurt less. Not really. Besides, it’s not like you can plan a heart attack.
Anyways, the last week of February, his birthday, and Father’s Day really mess with me. It’s not like I can’t function or anything like that. I just feel lost. It’s been so long that you would think it wouldn’t feel like this, but it does. I just miss him. I hate that he’s missed seeing my kids and niece grow up. I hate that he isn’t going to see wrestling next month with my brother and husband. Daddy loved wrestling and would be tickled to see Rick Flair still doing his thing. I hate that I can’t call him.
I should put this on my other blog since getting these feelings out is healthy. But I’m working and had to take a break of sorts because I really wish I could see dad. I remember what he looked like and can see him in the mirror, my brothers, and my kids. It’s awesome, but not the same. My workaholic nature comes from both him and mom. The desire to stand up for what I believe is right comes from him. He was very active in the community. And loved fishing. I’m not sure how well that and my veggie life would get along, but I’m sure we would have found a way.
Here is to you, dad. Henry, you were awesome. And your awesomeness lives on in all who loved you.