Free Stuff — The Other Day: Dad's Letter

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By Julie McDonald

This article appeared in The Daily News, This Day section, Wednesday, Sept. 2, 1998

When my father died the afternoon of July 24, I tried to be strong—for my mom, for my four sisters, for my brother.

My dad suffered stomach problems earlier this year and an X-ray showed he had gallstones—and an aortic aneurysm. My dad, quite a worrier, opted for surgery to take care of the aneurysm rather than letting it grow until it burst.

After 13 hours under local anesthetic on July 7, my dad seemed on the mend.

However, infection took root in my dad’s incisions and doctors readmitted him to the hospital July 23rd and put him on antibiotics. It was too late.

The next morning, pneumonia had invaded his right lung. By 11 a.m., his heart failed, but doctors revived him. His heart continued to falter as he struggled desperately to hang onto his precious life.

I visited my dad that Thursday afternoon, and again that evening. I spent an hour feeding him ice chips and trying to cheer him up. I tried to go to my mom’s to sleep but worried too much, so I returned to the hospital and lay on the chairs, my head on my Bible. The next day I held his hand, singing to him, praying for him, crying.

He died at 3:02 p.m. He was 69.

We called a funeral home and the church, then left the hospital. On the walk to the parking lot, Mom told me she felt as though her insides had been ripped out. They had been married more than 42 years.

At my mom’s house, we comforted each other and cried. I started calling relatives and making to-do lists, becoming so intense in the activities that I irritated some of my sisters.

I kept telling myself that Dad knew I loved him. After his surgery, when he was recovering, I had given him a hug and, with a catch in my voice, said: “You know I love you, Dad.” Dad enjoyed making people smile. He looked at me and said: “Well, I’ve gotten kind of fond of you, too.”

The dreadful day of his death wore on and, in the wee hours of the morning, my sister Cathleen and I decided to encourage Mom to sleep. We found her busy emptying my dad’s night stand drawer. She pulled out papers: an Irish blessing, a poem from my brother, and a letter I had written to my father at least 10 years ago.

My sister began to read aloud, and any semblance of composure I had evaporated into a heart-rending wail and a flood of tears.

Dear Dad,

Hi. I don’t usually write to you, but I want to share with you some feelings I have. It’s important for you to know how much I love you. We sometimes clash and sometimes fight, but you are very special to me Dad. You are truly a very special person.

Sometimes, when your kids act up or sass back, you must wonder why you even bothered with us. I don’t know why you did, sometimes. We can all be real pains in the butt. But we’re also very good people, and we have you to thank for that.

Y’know, Dad, you’ve given each of us an appreciation of the lighter side of life. We’ve learned from you how to laugh, even when things seem to be all upside down. You taught us to look ahead when we’re down. I still remember the time I lost my dorm room and called home crying and you said “What were you worried about this time last year?”

Well, at the time I didn’t know or care. But the point was well taken, and I’ve often thought of it since.

We all know we can survive, thanks to you. We all know how to laugh. And we care about people - especially the underdog. I know that I sometimes felt like the underdog growing up (middle child syndrome, I guess) but you often stuck up for me, when it seemed the whole world was against me. I’ve never told you how much I appreciated that. You probably figured I didn’t notice.

But I did. And I love you for it.

And, Dad, you taught us to be honest with others. I never even go a penny over on gas without paying for it. I learned that from you. And I know it’s a good standard to live by. And I try.

So Dad, during those times when you get fed up with us, or just feel blue, please remember the good qualities you have. And know that those wonderful traits that make you the person you are are ingrained in each of your children to varying degrees.

That’s a legacy nobody can match. After all, you’ve got a half dozen of ’em running around!

So, Dad, I want you to know how much and I really do love you. Please don’t forget it, even when it seems like I do (when we fight). Because I never do forget how much I love you.

Julie

I scarcely remember writing the letter. I think my dad had been despondent, or perhaps it was after one of our frequent clashes in my 20s. I’m so glad now that I wrote it. And it warms me to know he kept the letter in his drawer all these years. I hope he read it over and over.

So often we fail to tell the people most important in our lives how much we love them. Sometimes we never get the chance. When we do have time to say goodbye, there’s always so much to say and so little time to say it.

My dad knew I loved him. I told him in the hospital. But more than that, I told him years ago, before I thought of losing him. The best tribute I can think of to my dad would be to have you reach over and give your spouse an I-love-you hug, kiss or cradle your child, call your mom to tell her you care ... or write a heartfelt letter to your dad.

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