Is it Father's Day Already?

My father is no longer in my life to wish a Happy Father's day.  He died at the age of 90 after living a very fulfilling life. I thought I knew him well, but learned his friends knew another side of him and when they shared with me their experiences, I learned some completely new facets of his life. I'm still learning from my Dad, today, especially this week when I have been writing about him.

I have some other wonderful fathers whom I would like to honor:

Dear Son-in-Law:

I am so happy you are in my daughter's life and are the father of those wonderful kids. You work so hard to provide a good secure life, give them guidance and love and most of all, you do things together that are fun! I know you give your kids enough of yourself that they have a good self esteem. That's so important that they all know how much their Dad loves them and shows it!

Dear #1 Grandson
You have had your share of challenges and still managed to get through them and continue to achieve, but always you have been a good father to the boys. You have taught them good values, given them a strong foundation and openly shared your faith and love. I can hardly wait for them to grow up and see the wonderful young men they will be. I am so proud to see the Dad you have become!

Dear #2 Grandson
You are quite an extraordinary father balancing your very tough work life with your family life and managing to be 100 percent there for both as well as taking care of your other grandmother. It has been amazing to see how you have grown with your delightful little ones and all the effort you make to keep them all happy and well cared for. I just love that they have you in their lives to call "Daddy"!

Dear #1 Brother,

James D Deane

It's surprising how quickly the years have passed by, and here we are, both of us, great grandparents. You, the Great Grand Dad and patriarch of your side of the family. It's hard for me to keep track of all your progeny! I know you have been so instrumental in their upbringing, and well being. I admire how you spread the love throughout 3 generations and still manage to live a good life, especially with all the medical details you have to attend to.


Dear #2 Brother,
It seems so incredible to me that not only are you a father, but also a Grandfather. It seems like it was just yesterday you were my "baby" brother. Does your grandson call you Grandpa? I can't fathom it! Not only do I know how you put your heart into being a Dad, I know your love and talent passes down to your grandson, too.

Dear #2 Nephew,
You grew up so fast and so far away, I hardly know you. Suddenly you were back home and a young man with a son of your own. I was flabbergasted how quickly you grew into fatherhood. And here you are with an almost grown son, who I see is the image of his Dad. I know you work hard, but I suspect you have also taught him how to enjoy playing hard too!

Dear Brother-in-Law, "Ampa",
I can't imagine how hard it might have been for you to step into the role of Grandfather to such a large brood of grandchildren. You have admirably taken on the role like a duck to water. It is obvious all the kids love you dearly. You are such a good influence and stabilizing force in their life, and a man they all can look up to.  I'm so glad you are there for my nieces and nephews.

To the memory of my dear Nephew,
I still love you, will still miss you forever. Your beautiful daughter looks so much like you, it is almost like you are here with her. I delight in seeing the lovely young lady she is growing into. She hasn't forgotten you and everyone in the family watches over her and keeps your memory alive for her. We didn't see what kind of Daddy you would be, but I know for sure, you would have been the best, as you were such a true, open feelings, young man.

Dear Chi Man
I am delighted that you came into T's life and give her the love and support she deserves. I am so grateful that you are a good Dad to the two who needed you so much. What a incredibly strong influence you have had on their lives. And I'm so happy that you've got the youngest to raise up as the special little one she is.

Dear One,
I admire the kind of father I have seen in you and the ongoing relationship you now have with your grown up son. I'm so glad to see you have given him the freedom to spread his wings, supported all his creativity and been both mother and father all those years. You remind me a lot of my own father.

To the missing father,
Oh, how I wish you could see the incredible shining soul your son has become. I would like to think you would be so proud of him and the multi-faceted young man he is. I am glad that he had his Papa in his life for his early years. You were such a loving, doting father. I wish you healing and peace.


To Moses, William, Rick, Mike, Dacia, Jason (RIP),
I never got to know you as fathers. For the one's whose children are my grand nieces and nephews, I hope you all know what an influence you have had on your children. They are all such beautiful souls. You can be so proud of them. They all love you and that speaks a lot.


To all,
I have often thought that wishing someone "Happy father's day" was so inadequate to the message meant to be said behind it. The unspoken is so hard to express in a culture where acknowledging and accepting deep feelings and respect is somewhat taboo. We don't know how to say, "I honor you, my father, this day." I wonder if it will ever catch on.

Letter to a Dead Mother

Genevieve Deane 1953
Niagara Falls, NY

Dear Mom,

I keep having all these little mini conversations with you in my head as I go about my days. I noticed I've been having more and more of them lately. Little things, like "ooh... you would LOVE this new Vermont white cheddar cheese I found!" or "You would be telling me to go sit down and have a cup of tea now."

At first I wondered how it was after all this time that you are on my mind. Then it dawned on me. Your birthday, in a few more days, you would have been 92 years old this year.

Why your last five birthdays didn't bring you into my daily life, I don't know. But, here we are.

Today, I was standing at the kitchen sink,washing dishes,  looking out the window, remembering how you got to have your sink moved to the front window of your kitchen. You wanted it that way so you could look out into the yard and down the street on Cayuga Island "to keep an eye on the kids".

When was that? I think about 1948. I think. That house is still there, Mom. Did you know that? I bet you wouldn't like what they did to the place. I sure don't. It certainly lost it's charm.

It's funny how the most mundane act can bring on an obscure memory. I wonder if your mother ever stood at the sink and thought of her mother. I wonder if she got along with her mother. You always said how wonderful your mother was, and how well you got along but I never believed it.

You and I got along so poorly, it just didn't seem possible. It was always a mystery to me that mothers and daughters could be friends.  I've been mulling around thoughts about how difficult and painful it must have been for you.

Even after I came to an understanding that you did the very best you knew how in your parenting of me and stopped my blame game, I can understand now why that didn't pull down all the fences between us. The brick wall, yes, but not all the scars were healed. I'm so glad that at least you and Little Sis had such a good connection. Your love for each other was obvious.

I'm not saying you didn't love me. Nor am I saying I didn't love you. It's just clear to me that it was stunted and strained and unfulfilled. I do wish we could have healed that more than we did.

I think about your last years in the nursing home. I picture myself in the same situation. What is to prevent me from ending up there? Nothing I can think of, unless I experience sudden death. Slow deterioration seems to be the most evident cause of nursing home inevitability. Even the most well-meaning, loving kids can intend to see you through your last years in your own home. But, things change. Circumstances change. Stress toleration levels change. And truly, I look at my kids and think as you did... I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to take away a moment of their own chance to enjoy life, to be free to enjoy their later years without being weighted down by an aging incomprehensible parent.

There are things now that I didn't understand in the past, I wish I could tell you. I wish you could have the satisfaction of thinking "I told you so". I know you wouldn't say it out loud. But, I am well aware of the feeling I get when my daughter says something to me and I think, "Ah... there it is. She now knows how it feels. She now understands." She doesn't always acknowledge that she realizes I once went through it myself. Something like that kind of understanding could bind us together, give us that feeling of relief that there no longer is that one thing standing between us. But, that is not always going to happen. The fences are still up. Barbed wire fences, in fact. So sharp and prickly, still after all this time. I just throw up my hands. I no longer reach out and try to smooth it over, no longer try to make it better. Now I understand, Mom, why you did the same thing I am doing now. All that energy just for another stab to come later. Not worth it. Painful, yes. But, less painful than to continue to try to heal something that is scarred over so badly.

I know you know what I'm talking about. Would you want me to say, "I'm sorry" now that I understand some of what you went through with me? Would it have mattered? Or would there be that same hesitation I feel in not believing it will cure anything? Would it only be a band aid hiding the wound? When you pull the band aid away, it may be healed, but still the scar is evidence that the damage has been done. Nothing is erasable. It seems.

Am I being negative? Pragmatic, I think. I look at the facts. On the phone the other day, I was struck by how a subject that would never be considered inflammatory to anyone else was perceived as a possible threat. Being a mom, I don't want to inflict pain upon my child, so I agreed to no longer discuss it. And truly, that's okay. It was not important. I can talk about it with friends instead. The perception that I could be the cause of incredible turmoil and pain because of it makes me hesitate to speak, to say anything unless asked a direct question. And then I wonder what would be the "right answer". How can this not turn into another moment of pain indelibly burned into the heart of my child? So, I've agreed to the suggestions made now, and wonder if I follow through that her fears will come to fruition.

Is that how you felt, Mom? If I say, no.. let it go or yes... let's discuss it, it seems the results might be the same, a woman who is stressed out because she believes she's damned if she does and damned if she doesn't.

I remember one day, when I was going through the family photos you gave me there were many pictures of you and your friends smiling, having a good time. It dawned on me.... somebody LIKES her... lot's of somebodies. It seemed a mystery to me. There were people who liked my mom enough to go places with  her, make quilts with her, have lunch with her, laugh with her, play board games with her have long conversations with her. They were not threatened by what she might say or do. They accepted her for who she was. These were people who sent her loving birthday cards with comments praising her good qualities that I could not see in her. My mom was in reality a likeable, lovable person, non-threatening person. She was not the dangerous half-rabbit half-scorpion who might strike at any second.

Velva, Eva, Al and Gennie Borden

I'm sorry, Mom. I wish I could make it up to you. Of course, it's too late. Or is it? Can you hear my thoughts, feel my feelings, sense my final understanding and regret? Are you in a place where these things are all evident to you? Or does it even matter now that you are gone?

The most obviously thing I can think of is that the healing is one sided. I feel better because I can now relate to what you may have been feeling. I understand more of how it was for you. But, sadly, it is only like having half a blanket when you are cold. I need the other half a blanket. Then, we could sew the blanket back together and wrap our arms around each other with the blanket snuggled 'round.

Saying Good-Bye

I've noticed that even with those who have round the clock family members to sit with the dying, it occasionally occurs that the person dies when someone has momentarily stepped out of the room. I think the patient knows when it is time to go. Some psychologists say there are those who seem to hang on until no one is around as if they want to leave freely, without famly clinging to them, perhaps holding them back. They also say that a person will hang on for much longer than expected as though they have one last thing to do, one last person to kiss goodbye.


This is how it was with my father. All the family came in to see him. Dad's sons and daughters, the adult grandchildren, the great grandchildren, even the great great grandchildren. Dear friends came and some called.

My brothers and sister, my daughter and I had all taken turns being with him. That last night we all had said good night at different times. I was the last to leave. Except my sister, who stayed in the room in case Dad needed anything. She sat in the lazy boy chair right next to his bed with her feet up. Among all the family members, my sister was the one who had spent the most time tirelessly attending to Dad's needs. She was the most likely one to spend her nights there beside him. All he had to do was whisper and she was asking what he might want, even if she was in deep sleep she would hear him. Truly, a devoted daughter.

They say just before someone dies, their breathing changes and some unusual noises are produced, perhaps a snore or two. But, somehow, with my sister right there beside him,  Daddy quietly slipped away. To this day she wonders why she didn't hear him have those breath sounds. Maybe he just didn't want to disturb her and let her rest.

Daddy to the Rescue

I found my Dad’s stubbornness particularly irksome one Friday night after partying with friends until the wee hours.

Because of the bitter cold, my rattle-trap car was acting up worse than usual. and left me stranded on the icy expressway.

Eventually a car came along. I flagged it down and got a ride to a 24 hour coffee shop where I called home awakening my father from the only sleep he had received between two overtime shifts.

When Dad arrived I just wanted him to take me directly home. But, he informed me we were going back to get my car.

“It’s a piece of junk.” I said. “They can tow it away to the impound and keep it!”

“No. It is the principle of the thing. That automobile has served you and you have a responsibility to at least save it and.......”

“But, Dad,” I interrupted, “ We’re not talking about a living creature, here....”

“And...” He continued, “no daughter of mine is going to abandon a vehicle on the highway like trash, where somebody could get in an accident on account of it. Besides, it is against the law.  Where is your personal integrity?”

“My personal integrity?”  I sputtered  “It abandoned me about three hours ago when that stupid car abandoned me!”

But, I knew Dad was right. This time, I was the one being hard-headed.  He stood there grinning at me, already knowing I would give in.

“Keep your chin up. You can do this.” he reminded me.

Dad opened the hood and began troubleshooting.  I stood there shivering with the flashlight in my gloved hands as my father’s bare fingers worked over the carburetor.  Each time the wind howled, I whined.  “Just leave it, Dad.  I really don’t care!”  But, Dad cared very much and kept at it.

I wondered how he could tolerate the weather. I was bundled up. He wore his work jacket, no scarf for his neck, no hat to warm his bald head. As his face and ears turned red, tears formed in his eyes from the sting of the snow. He grabbed the hood of the car and pulled it down, grazing his forehead. He reached up with his chapped hands and wiped the blood on his sleeve.

He shouted, “Get in the car!”  I thought, finally, he is listening to reason, as I sauntered back toward his car.

“No, I mean your car! Get inside and turn the key!”

“Don’t you ever give up?” I shot back at him.

He looked directly at me. “Not on your life!”

I got in my car and turned the key. Lo and behold, that piece of junk started right up and purred.

Driving home I felt ashamed of myself and filled with love and a new found respect for my father’s determination and sacrifice.

I realized, I can succeed no matter what the odds because I inherited determination, not stubbornness, from my father.

And looking in the rear view mirror, I held my chin up, and was secure in the knowledge that Dad was right behind me in more ways than I had ever imagined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: Photos are from family albums. The photo of my father wearing a goatee is one I took.

My Daddy

He comes home

from work wearing

his gray striped overalls

covered with Vanadium dust.

I think he is the

President of the United States

I'm close. He is

the President of his Union

"Carry me. Carry me."

I whine and beg.

He's so tall,

when he lifts me up,

I can touch the sky.

Well, the ceiling, I mean.

And I can feel the place

where he fell through

one day, from the attic

as I sat in my high chair

just a moment before.

They tell me

I wasn't there,

That it happened

to my brother.

Perhaps I was there,

Waiting to be born.