In the fall 2000, I got a phone call from my mom instructing me to go to JFK. She had booked me a flight to Rochester, Minnesota where my dad was undergoing emergency surgery to fix an aorta rupture. It was then that I promised myself that I wouldn't ever move out of state until after both my parents were gone.
I didn't keep that promise. In Winter 2010-2011, Gus and I fled the tundra for the Arizona desert and subsequently Sacramento. After which I took notice of the fact that I only saw my dad once, maybe twice if we were lucky, per year and I realized that it meant that I would probably only see him a handful more times before he was gone. And while we certainly made the best of the times we had together, it just wasn't enough. It was then, however, that I promised that I would ALWAYS answer the phone if Dad or Amy called.
And this is why, on September 23, 2019, while driving my kids to school, I answered the phone. Unlike my brother, who still has the voicemail Amy had to leave notifying him of the news, which to be honest I'm maybe a little jealous about. Whether I answered the phone or not, Dr. B. was gone. I remember breaking down in the car. I remember sending my kids to school and going to work anyway, which in hindsight was a terrible idea. I remember the kids telling me that they had never heard me cry like that before. I remember texting Gus and telling him to call me immediately. I remember telling Gus what happened and wondering why he would immediately get off the train, turn around and catch the next train home. The gravity of the situation had not totally sunk in at that point.
It quickly became obvious that I wouldn't be able to focus on work and I went home and laid on the couch until Gus arrived. After which we worked on the logistics of how I would get home, who would come with me, and what we were going to do about J2's birthday, which was four days later. I remember J2 saying that he didn't want to go to Minnesota because everyone would be sad and he didn't want to be sad anymore.
And ... here we are one year later. Really no less sad than we were before. Dad's death was really the kickoff of many changes that were to come in the following 12 months, e.g., distance learning, mask wearing, staying home.
Even when I struggled to connect with him emotionally, he was my Dad. The best one. I knew that he loved us fiercely and his dedication to his work was a reflection of his dedication to family. I attribute much of my work ethic, desire for success, love for academia, and professional drive to him.
David and I reminisced on the phone tonight about our favorite Dad memories. David was a Dad favorite because he liked things like roofing houses, digging trenches, and power tools. I, on the other hand, was the girl who changed her outfit whenever she got dirty and sat around waiting for Dad to ask me to fetch a nail or hold something (which wasn't often enough to keep me interested).
Despite our dissimilarities, we played endless hours of cribbage and he was always there to support me at every swim meet, band concert, hockey game or football game. He even helped bake the pasties when I was the Job's Daughters Honored Queen. He would truly do anything for me.
He, of course, had high expectations. He would question any A- on my report card like the pseudo-Asian dad he was. While at the same time telling me my report card was boring if I got straight As. When considering colleges, he told me that I could go wherever I wanted and he would figure it out. He hired a plane to fly us to my Carleton interview.
The past 12 months have pretty much been a dumpster fire and all of a sudden I find myself back here, the day my Dad died. Pandemic prevented us from going to Minnesota this summer and more importantly inuring Dad's ashes. I find myself in a love-relationship with autumn, which is really one of my favorite seasons. I don't hate fall. I hate being an orphan (and pumpkin spice *gasp*).
I still haven't quite figured out life without him. Maybe none of us has. In spite of it we keep going. Not missing him any less.
He was one of the good ones. Talented surgeon, dedicated father and grandfather, a good friend to many. He is missed. More than he probably even knows.
Dad, while I would really like to toast you, unlike Dave, I don't think I can choke down anymore Kendall Jackson chardonnay. But Gus opened a Far Niente Chardonnay. So I imagine I am still your favorite child. Love and miss you tremendously. Always.
