I think it was today. I'm not exactly sure any more. I think I feel a little guilty about the fact that I don't remember the exact day...but not really. The details of the thing aren't all that important. It happened around this time or within a day or so in either direction.
On or about this day, my senior year of high school, my father died. The hows and whys aren't important...it's enough that he died. For those of you keeping track, that was 18 years ago. It had just occurred to me that I've lived half my life without my father.
Now, before we all get horrified and upset and such, my purpose isn't to generate sympathy or evoke feelings of sadness or pain or whatever. Frankly, I believe I made peace with what happened years ago. Won't say it was easy, or pleasant, and I certainly won't say it happened quickly...but I'm pretty OK right now.
The point of mentioning this has more to do with the concept of Yahrzeit. If you don't know what that is, it's basically a rememberance of a departed loved one done annually. I stopped lighting the candles a long time ago, although there have been a few years when I did it because I felt the need to.
In any case, this is my new version of Yahrzeit.
I carry a picture of my father wherever I go. It's actually his former Teacher's Identification card. The ring on my finger is actually made by my father...he originally intended it to be my mother's engagement ring...but just like me, there was a lot he never finished. My mother thought I would like it, and I've worn it since she gave it to me about 2 weeks after my father died.
My father taught me how to scuba dive, how to swim, how to run phone cable, how to fix swimming pools, how to respect people, how to work hard, how to take care of family and friends, to care about people, that the little things you do for people are important...often more important than the big things. Lots of good things about my father.
It's true that I was young, and as such, I probably never really got to know him as a person...but everyone I've met who knew him told me all the things I think I knew...that everyone liked him. That he was a wonderful person. That there was a lot of good in my father.
Sometimes I miss him...mainly when there's something I want to tell someone, when I want a pat on the head, when I want to hear a well-done. The whole concept of approval of a missing parent is not unusual, and I think it explains a lot about my mindset about a lot of things. But today isn't about my autopsychoanalysis.
The Jews, as a rule, are about remembering things. They say that the best way to keep a memory alive is through telling stories, poems, movies, plays, music, shows...continue to introduce new people to something, and the memory of that thing will continue.
This is my way of remembering my father this year...and now other people who didn't know him will remember him too.
I love you, dad.