Today is my first Father's Day without my dad.  It feels strange not to be making that early morning trip to the Bronx to take him out for his favorite meals.  We only went to the diner near his house and he only ordered a short stack of French toast but he insisted on reading the menu every single time and asking me if they served what he wanted.

It has been 9 months since he died, but my fingers still itch to call every night at 6 and first thing every morning.  I miss the strong, confident man he once was, the father who could and did everything and I also miss the needy, dependent man he became. He was my dad and I loved him so much, as much as he loved me.

There are no words to describe the impact a father (or mother) has on a child.  Most children think of their father as being the best father and I know my dad was one of them.  He was always around when I needed him, from the time I was a little girl until the age I was when he got sick.  I knew he was gone when he stopped telling me to call him when I got home or when he stopped telling me to stay home whenever the weather was bad.

I miss the crazy phone calls consisting of weather reports and what he ate (which was always the same thing.)  I miss preparing his favorite meal-meatballs.  I miss him but I am happy he is spending this Father's day with my mom, the love of his life.  He had no quality of life at the end.  I pray there is quality in death.

My dad worked two jobs so my mom could stay at home and make sure his two children were always supervised.  Mondays and Thursdays we never saw him as he didn't arrive home until after 10, way past our bedtime.  I remember lying in bed, trying to stay awake until I heard the door open.  Mostly I remember the trying, not the succeeding.  He worked Saturdays too.  My mom used to dress us up and then take us to Macy's where he worked, selling children's shoes.  I will never forget the light in his eyes as he introduced us around and showed us off.  We loved those trips.  It was a special way to connect to the father we had limited access too.

One thing about my dad was he made all his time with us meaningful.  Sundays were family outing days.  I can still smell the elephants from those trips to the zoo and taste the ice cream from Carvel.  The Friday night fireworks we watched from the outskirts of Freedomland still light up my thoughts.  And, no matter how tired he was, he always managed to take me to the distant library when I needed to go or to carry those prized hula hoops on the subway during rush hour.

My dad retired from his first job right before my son was born.  They have the same birthday.  He always says that boy (man now) is the greatest gift he ever got, even when he was stuck changing dirty diapers during weekly babysitting duty.

When my mom got sick, dad retired from the job he loved to take care of her. He never worried about his own comfort as he ran from doctor to doctor, held her hand while she cried during the innumerable blood transfusion, cleaned her incontinence and everything else.  He cared and took care, never complaining, until the bitter end.

After mom died, dad lost his will to live.  I worried that I would soon be parentless, something I didn't want to deal with and couldn't deal with, but slowly, after years of tears, he regained his will to live.  He is stubborn, set in his ways and a general pain in the ass now, but I cherish every minute I have with him.  Life without him is impossible to imagine.

Over the past few years he has had several health scares.  He beat cancer.  He survived a bad fall, although it did age him many years.  Last week he fell several times (luckily he did not get hurt).  His aide called and we ended up in the emergency room at Einstein Hospital in the Bronx.  I won't go into it here, but the ER treatment left much to be desired.  After many hours he was transferred to the 9th floor (room 938) where he got the most terrific, unbelievably good treatment ever.  I can't say enough good things about Mrs. Hall, the head nurse, Macrina, his nurse, and especially Venetta, the unit secretary and everyone else on the floor.  Dad was delusional and unstable, but they gently cared for him and helped him come back.  It was heartbreaking to see this once strong, vibrant man suffering and psychotic.  Dad is home now, with Effie, his wonderful companion and care giver and doing better.

Sorry for the rambling.  Father's Day is here and I pray my dad will be around for many, many more. He will be 89 in a few weeks.  I know dad doesn't read this blog, but I still want to say it here.  Happy Father's Day to one of the best.  I love you.

(Pictured above is dad with his health aide Effie and Jessie, the man assigned to watch him in the hospital.)

Tribute to the fine people who cared for him in the hope of it getting back to the people in charge at the hospital)

I called at 7:30 this morning.  There was no answer.  I figured he might be asleep (he is usually up by 5:30) or in the bathroom.  I called a few minutes later, got the same, no answer.  I thought he might be throwing out the garbage and chatting with a neighbor. I tried his cell phone, no answer.  I repeated this for 30 minutes, my heart beating a little faster every time there was no answer.

My husband wanted to go for pancakes, it is Father's Day.  I said not until I get him on the phone.  I thought I might have to run over.  Finally, after 45 minutes he picked up.  He was doing laundry and had no cell reception in the basement.  A giant weight was lifted off my chest.

The radiation is working and he is feeling much better so he decided to take care of business.

Happy Father's Day daddy.  I hope I have years ahead with you.  I will never complain about the worrying as long as there is an eventual answer.