Remembering Daddy

Daddy died about a month ago. I'm only now just able to sit down and try to figure out what that means to me. It doesn't mean the same to me as it does for my sister, Margaret, who had the privilege of having him in her home before he died.

Daddy always was an elusive figure to me. I remember as a child begging for his attention but having to compete with his job. I am well aware that I have repeated this pattern in my relationships with men and I have more than overanalyzed that.

As a teen, Daddy was more available and more accessible but then I had to deal with his extremely complicated relationship with my mother. I have overanalyzed that too.

One thing was always certain: I knew my Daddy loved me. There was never any question of that. The only thing is that he never loved me more than work or any of the other issues that occupied him. I guess I learned to accomodate that early and not expect anything else from him.

I do miss him. I could always count on him to show up when I really needed someone there. His coming to see my in 1989 with my sisters Jean and Yvonne and my neices and nephews was a major turning point in my life. Who knows what would have happened if they had not shown up? I've been thinking about that a lot lately. That was probably the most important thing he could have done for me.

No doubt I have gotten my work ethic and my desire for independence at work from him. I also have gotten my ability to remain emotionally detached in relationships from him too. Because he never let anyone get to him, I have learned not to let anyone get to me. That ability has saved me a lot of heartache but it has also kept me from some real opportunities.

I know that Daddy is still with me and is still watching over me. Daddy will always be alive as long as his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren exist. We will make sure he is not forgotten.


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