It’s one week since my dad left this earth.
And in this moment I am reminded that he has not left my heart for even one second.
This past week was a tough one. The weeks and months prior were even tougher. It is so very hard to watch someone you love struggle with chronic illness. And to then have to finally say goodbye. It’s more than heartbreaking.
Yet — as hard as all of this is — and was — I am at peace knowing my dad is now at peace.
Without question my dad was loved. And he loved us. He has left a legacy — in me, with us and for many. It’s a legacy that can’t ever be taken away from any of us.
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As I think about my dad tonight I realize that he gave me so much. You see — he taught me the value of relationships, of generosity and of believing in others.
Of course — guess what? My dad was human. There were many moments that he made me frustrated and crazy too. Times that I felt he was a little too critical of me or more than tricky to communicate with.
Yet — I know this: My dad loved me.
Some of you may recall my being adopted. More than a few times I have written about this part of my life. I’ve been pretty open about it here in the online space. And like all stories — there’s also a back story.
This one is mine.
From the earliest of days my dad told me a “story” about how “I chose” he and my mom to be my adoptive parents. Of course — there was no truth to this in reality. But for me — growing up — this was very much the truth I understood about my life.
The story he told me went something like this —
One day, he and my mom got a call from the adoption agency to go and choose a new baby. So off they went to the hospital. When they got there they were allowed into a room that was full of tiny babies who were in cribs. As they looked at all the babies in that room they were thinking which baby they would choose to take home. Of course it was a hard choice. Suddenly my dad saw me looking right at him. And I winked.
The story goes that my wink — in that exact moment — told my dad that I was the baby for them. That I had chosen he and my mom to be my parents. And so he knew that I was THE baby that was to go home with them.
We were a family from that moment forward.
I grew up believing that story for a great many years. That my wink to my dad was what made them decide to bring me home and make me their little girl — that they were honouring my choice.
Really — when you think about it — it’s quite the story for an adopted child to grow up with.
Over the years I have experienced many mixed emotions about my adoption. I’ve never really been able to explain why this is so. And then tonight — as I’ve reflected and thought about this simple story I have realized something . . .
My dad gave me a true gift in making that story the very first narrative of my life.
You see — from the get go my dad empowered me to believe that I was in total control of MY life. That I was the one in charge of my choices and decisions.
Now if you ask me — there really is no better gift that could be given to a child who had just been given up for adoption. Something they had absolutely NO control over.
Hindsight is 20/20.
It took my dad leaving this world for me to understand how important this story was and is. And what a role it has played in my life.
It’s a story that has made me stronger, more grounded and actually in complete control of my life.
I haven’t always understood this. And yet now I see it as clear as day.
My dad gave me this control of my life — from the very beginning. And he gave it to me at a time when he could have made it all about he and my mom. Instead — he made it all about me. And the choice I made.
He made my life my story.
Wow — was I ever fortunate.
My dad was a very intelligent man and he constantly encouraged me to think about things more broadly. To believe that people are here to help others. That everyone deserves a chance. And that giving to others is always good and right.
My dad also taught me a love of the written word. To this day I still have memories of reading my very first book. It was early one morning and I was stretched out on the floor on his side of the bed. It was long before he and my mom were awake. I vividly remember the magic of the moment when I realized I could actually READ the words on the page. I just could’t wait to wake him up so that I could read to him — my dad.
Over the years my dad often told me that he didn’t care what I read — a book, the newspaper or the back of cereal box — so long as I was reading he was happy. And so I read. Anything and everything.
As a grew up my dad encouraged me to expand from reading to writing. He saved many of my earliest stories. Tiny pages of messy words written in faint HB pencil. My stories mattered to him because they were my words and thoughts. And — because my dad saw value in my words and thoughts — I saw value in continuing to write.
As I worked to get better at writing, my dad was always available to edit my work. Even when he would be traveling for work, I would fax my writing to him. From wherever he was, my dad would edit my words and then fax them back to me. It was our version of google docs — just in fax format. This kind of support of my writing went on into my mid twenties. And then one day, quite suddenly, my dad told me I no longer needed to send him my work. He said simply “You are a better writer than I could ever hope to be. You don’t need me to edit your work anymore.”
From that day forward, I never sent my dad any more of my words. Of course, he told many people the story of my writing in the years that followed. My being a better writer than he was indeed something he was very proud of.
Yes — hindsight is very much 20/20.
My dad telling me that he no longer needed to edit my words actually had very little to do with my writing skills. The reality is that he was actually telling me how much he believed in me. That I was ready to go fourth and put my words and the person I had become out into the world.
I didn’t see this then — but I see it now — with more clarity than I ever have before.
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A week ago, my dad was looking at me and winking. He did this over and over — right up until twelve hours before died.
We had come full circle.
I used to think that I write because of how much I love writing. Of course this is true — but — there’s more. . .
I write because I grew up with a father who not only believed in the brilliance of the words I put on the page — but who unequivocally believed in me from the very moment we first met.
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Did I ever make the right choice when I winked at my dad on that day way back when. Because of that choice — he became my dad and my mom became my mom. And we became a family.
What a lucky girl I am.
At least that’s the story I’m going to keep on telling myself — because it’s the truth. And it’s my story.
Thanks dad. I love you.
