Today is Day 13 of the March Slice of Life – the daily writing challenge hosted at Two Writing Teachers.
L is for Losing My Dad
- I was twenty that year. I had graduated from high school the year before and tried university. I had felt lost on the U of T campus and so quit after a couple of months. My Dad got me a job at the bank where he worked, although not at the same branch. Many times we drove downtown together, or we took the GO Train.
After working there almost a year, and having a summer of increasingly worst migraines, the stress of my job was deemed the culprit. I quit and within weeks my migraines had greatly lessened, in number and intensity. I looked for a new job, but wasn’t having much success.
So, in November, I was still not working. One Sunday night, I had words with my father and stomped off to my room. That was the last time I saw him – alive.
He went to work the next day – I wasn’t up. He had a bank event that night, so wasn’t home for supper.
The next morning, the police arrived to inform my mother that there had been an accident and my father was gone. Mom called me down and she shared the horrible news. The following days and weeks were a blur. Some memories are still so clear – the closing of the casket by my Mom – that’s not John”; the custodian who shared his praise of my father; my aunt from Scotland; the arrival of the urn – and the only time I saw my Mom cry.
But for me, the overriding emotions were regret and guilt. I would never have a chance to apologize to my father, to take back the awful words I’d said; to tell him I loved him.
45 years later and I still wish I’d had the chance to have at least gone back downstairs, hug him and say “I love you.” Still miss you Dad.