Father’s Day is coming, and I am looking forward to it. That was not always the case. In fact, I ignored Father’s Day for over six years.
My father died in 1997. He had been going back and forth to doctors for a few months. They couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him, so he continued to work. That’s what he knew, and that was his way.
He was readying to go work on a Saturday. He had some things he wanted to take care of at the office. He probably would have ended up doing more puttering than anything else. Anyway, he received a call instructing him to go to the hospital. So, he did.
Our family still was not informed of the seriousness of his condition. On Tuesday afternoon, the day after his 65th birthday, I received a phone call. Things had become bleak. I rushed in to Philadelphia from New York. I didn’t get to see my father till it was too late. That still upsets me to this day. I think it always will.