28 September 2024 is a day of remembrance. A day where I slow down and reflect on the man that was my dad. It's hard to imagine two decades have passed, but today is the 20th anniversary of his death. A day that marked a change in my life like no other, because I’d lost the one man who had always loved me unconditionally. My rock. The man who always stood beside me, no matter what. I could count on my dad, and 20 years on I still miss him dearly, because I’m a Daddy’s Girl and proud to admit that.
I miss him because, he gave the BEST bear hugs. I felt safe in his arms as they wrapped me up completely.
I miss him because, as I’ve got older, I have SO MANY questions I want to ask him and now I can’t. Like; 'What was Your childhood like?' 'What did your parents do for work?' 'What was it like as a boy during the Great Depression?' 'What were your dreams?' 'What are your regrets?' So many questions, left unanswered.
I miss him because I didn’t get his story of being a Prisoner of War for four years in WWII. I was always told, “Don’t ask Dad about the war.” So, I never did. I know he survived the Death March across Poland, starvation and all manner of unimaginable atrocities. His stories have now gone to the grave with him.
For those of you who have read my book Silent Warrior - Transformation, this is the little album I made for Dad that he never got to see because he was too sick to open it (Chapter 12).
20 years on, the grief is gone, but there is still a wound in my heart that will never heal from his loss. I know he’s damn proud of me. His little warrior. Just like the battles he fought through his life; I’ve fought to be here too. And it’s because of the legacy he imbued in myself and my siblings, he lives on in all of us.
I know that his legacy lives on in Yogi too, even though he is not from our bloodline. Because I’ve taught Yogi what my dad taught me: Have integrity. Be strong. Keep going. Be humble. Be compassionate. Work hard. Help your fellow man. Laugh and have fun when you can.
Our family has had more than our fair share of adversity. But it’s because we were born to the parents we were, who were such incredible role models, that we have been able to endure those hardships.
On this day of remembrance for a GREAT man, who absolutely stamped his mark on this earth, I give thanks. I give thanks he was my dad. There was a reason I was born into his family, and that reason was I needed to be strong for what was ahead… my parents were my training wheels.
This morning, I remembered a song I haven’t heard in decades, that used to be played on the family record player when I was a child. This song came out a year before I was born, in 1963, My Dad by Paul Petersen. I dedicate this song to Dad. And I dedicate this song to my brothers, my brother-in-law (brother from another), and to their sons. Because they too embody all his qualities of a good man, the living legacy of our dad...
I love you, Dad. Always.
So, the moral of the story is this: When you die, your stories do too. But the written word lives on. Don't die with your stories still in you, because one day your children and grand children will want to know more.
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