My Dad

My dad passed away several weeks ago. Just typing those words seems surreal. I hate that he is gone and I hate the way I have been feeling.

Actually, I just lied—I have been feeling pretty low since he was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis in the spring of 2021. Pulmonary fibrosis is, essentially, my dad’s lungs were filling with scar tissue and becoming stiff. Nothing is worse than seeing—and hearing—your father gasping for breath because his lungs were becoming stiff and were filling with liquid—actually not even liquid, some sort of greenish-yellow viscous goo that would get so thick sometimes that we had to hit him on his back so he could—painfully—cough it up.?Towards the end, we didn’t even want to do that because he became so small.

Nothing can prepare you to see your once big, strong dad become this frail little man. My larger-than-life dad, who even though he was only 5’8 on his tallest day (he used to say 5’10, but that’s a bit of a stretch) commanded a room (and demanded it). He retired from being an electrician after 35 years and because he started working so young, he retired at 55, quite a feat for someone working a blue-collar job, all year, every year in Ohio’s fickle climate.

He gave so much of everything to his job in that the last 10 years of his life were dedicated to so many surgeries—2 shoulder replacements, countless visits to the dermatologist to cut out cancers, numerous bulging and herniated discs in his back, and—from twisting wire for so many years—doctors had to take out a bone in his thumb and replaced it with some of his leg muscles and twisted them around a joint. Those are just the ones I can think of on the top of my head, but working in asbestos-filled buildings over the decades is what ultimately destroyed his lungs and took his life. Needless to say, the man lived in constant and relentless pain.

Now, my dad and I had our differences; nevertheless, he was determined that his 2 girls would go to college, and we did. Neither of his parents graduated high school and they didn’t even have plumbing in his house until he was like 12 or something…and this was in the 1950s! Dad graduated high school and dated my mom when she was a freshman and he was a senior. Not to get into too many details, but they got married while she was still in high school (she wasn’t pregnant) and he began an apprenticeship to become an electrician. A couple of years later, I came along, and then my sister.

They were young and working all of the time with 2 little kids doing the best that they could. My dad was a good hardworking man and I really didn’t know how much of a good man he was until he got really bad, about 10 months before he died. I would go up every month or so to visit (they live in Ohio, and I live in Florida) and he and I would talk and not as we did before. Before he got sick, my dad and I had a bit of a tenuous relationship, he didn’t understand me and I didn’t feel understood. However, over the last few months of his life, he softened—as did I—and we really got to know each other. Sadly, with each visit, his ability to talk (and stay awake on the massive amounts of morphine and Ativan he was prescribed) was compromised as he couldn’t breathe in enough air. It was heart-wrenching to watch and hear him; especially since he and I grew very close over those last few visits.

Nonetheless, as a tribute to my fun-loving, “man’s man” dad who loved to hunt and fish and “hold court” in his garage with anyone that would visit, I would like to share with you seven nuggets of wisdom he shared with me during our time together.

1. “Hold your head high, put on your tool belt, and act like you know what you are doing and where you are going.”

This is my favorite quote from my dad, actually, at this point, it’s my mantra. Whenever I would tell him I was nervous about doing something, he would take me aside and tell me that NO ONE really knew what they were doing. He told me that because I was so sensitive and honest people knew that I was mortified. He would keep assuring me that everyone else was just as nervous as I was, but they just hid it much better than I did. Thus, I just metaphorically needed to “put on my tool belt,” or act confidently and pretend that I knew what I was doing. He also used to remind me that I did know what I was doing I just needed to “get out of my own way.” This leads me to my next quote:

2. “Don’t be your own worst enemy.”

Like so many people today, I suffer from extreme anxiety. I didn’t even know it was a “thing” until COVID hit the streets. Now, everyone suffers from it. Well, I have had it My. Entire. Life. Before TikTok, social media, the Internet, cell phones, and beepers. Hard to believe, right? No, answering machines were my trigger. Wow, can you believe it? I got FOMO from answering machines! I was constantly worried and obsessed about what I said, how I said it, and if people liked me; then I didn’t think anyone liked me because of my extreme, undiagnosed, anxiety, coupled with low self-esteem. I had a lot of trouble fitting in and speaking up when I should have.

3. “Ok, prove me wrong.”?????????????????????????

My dad raised me unlike how kids are raised today. Parents today seem to tell their kids how special they are and how they can do anything that they want to do. I was not raised that way. My dad ALWAYS told me, “You can’t do that.” I would retort back, “Oh really? Watch me.” And my dad would always say, “Ok, prove me wrong.” He knew what he was doing. Because of him, I ran a marathon (because he said I couldn’t do it). Same with going to graduate school, teaching high school dropouts, and so many other things in my life. He wisely knew that telling me that I couldn’t do something was all the motivation I needed to accomplish whatever I said I was going to do.

4. “Life doesn’t come with a how-to manual; you have to write your own.”

I really can’t remember when my dad first said this to me, but whenever I was unsure of what I wanted to do with my life and would ask him for advice, he would always say it to me.

5. “Love is a choice.”

I remember my dad saying this to me like it was last week. When I was in my late 20s, my choice of men wasn’t the greatest. Many years ago, I was dating—let’s just say—not the right guy for me (I am sure he is for someone else). My dad and I were out in his garden picking tomatoes, making small talk about this guy, and he just stopped picking and stood up. Across the rows of tomatoes, he looked directly at me and said, “Angie, love is a choice.” He surprised me a little bit by saying that as I never thought my mom and dad ever fought and had a perfect relationship. After being in a relationship myself for over 20 years now (with a different guy...an amazing man)—I totally understand what he meant. Being in a long-term relationship is marvelous and wonderful and all that, but for those of you that are in a long-term relationship, you get it. Love is a choice—a choice and commitment you and your partner make every day.

6. “My happy brush is always here with me.”

During one of my last visits with my dad, he was not in a good place. He was extremely angry at everyone and everything and was quite “snippy;” it was heartbreaking (and, let’s face it, a little annoying, too). He was grumbling at the television, about the neighbors, how he couldn’t do anything anymore, and pretty much everything else. While it was understandable, he still didn’t make it very fun to hang out with him. One afternoon, after listening to him bitching about everything, I had had enough and looked directly at him and asked, “What does make you happy, Dad?” Of course, he responded, “Nothing.” And without missing a beat, I replied back, “That’s not true, you just told me that you love to have your hair brushed.” I remembered he gave me a side-eyed look and a crooked grin, grabbed his brush, and gushed, “You’re right, my happy brush is always here with me,” and started to brush his hair (he was so proud he still had his hair to the very end).

7. “Always remember the moment you are in.”

Every time I went home, I was prepared to not see my father alive again. When I went home, right before Thanksgiving ?2021, everyone (including my dad) thought it was just a matter of days until he would pass (little did we know, he would suffer for an additional 9 months and I came home 6 more times). The night before I left for an early morning flight, I sat next to him on his hospital bed and he sat up and laid his head on his bedside table. With his head down, he grabbed my hand, stroked it a little bit, and told me to never forget this and “always remember the moment you are in.”