< by Sandy >

I’ve thought about Jill’s blog all week. It’s about Dads. I felt I should write something but it’s painful to write about him. Not because he was bad, but because he was so good. I was 22 when he died of lung cancer and totally unprepared for my life without him. My grief was immense. He was diagnosed in early June and died September 7th of the same year. It was an awful year. First my grandfather died, then my Dad, then my favorite aunt and finally my Dad’s youngest brother. I was embarrassed to tell my boss I needed time off to go to another funeral – I thought he wouldn’t believe me so I always brought the obituaries to show him.

I was born at 5:00 a.m. on July 10th, 1946. I nearly died because I was unable to breathe through my nose. Because I didn’t get oxygen right away the nurse told my mother I’d be “retarded” and left the hospital room. Meanwhile, my Dad was praying like crazy (he told me later) that if I lived and was OK, then he’d be the best Dad there could possibly be.

The Lord granted that plea and Dad kept his side of the bargain. He was a big, strong, loving, funny, adventurous Swede who loved the Lord and loved my mom with a big love. He made me feel like I was the most important person in the world to him. I miss him still. He would have been an incredible grandfather too.

Life does go on when someone you love dies, that’s true. However, there’s always that moment when you just wish things could have been different and you could go back and ask questions that didn’t get asked and tell them once again how much they mean to you. I miss him still …