I’m older than my father ever was.
As bizarre as that sounds, it’s even weirder to experience.
Once we become adults, we are always comparing ourselves with our parents.
What were they doing when they were the age I am now?
Am I as successful as they were then?
I think those are all pretty normal things to ask and think.
It’s not a competition but more of a measuring stick.
My Dad died when he was 42.
I’m now 44.
It’s strange to lose that measuring stick.
Nothing makes those kinds of feelings bubble up for me more than Father’s Day.
Not birthdays, Christmas or any other day.
This is my 30th Father’s Day without my Dad and they all have made me pretty sad.
I’m lucky in that other than my father dying, the rest of my family has been healthy.
My Mom is doing great and the rest of my family is as well.
My grandparents are all gone now but they all lived long lives.
We can all celebrate together.
But Father’s Day is exactly that and mine has been gone for a very long time.
The first year is the hardest.
Everything is a reminder that they are gone.
You want to call them and ask for advice or for support.
You’ll wake up from a dream and forget for a couple seconds that they are gone.
When you remember, it hits you like a ton of bricks.
It takes time but one by one, they do go away.
Some take a few years.
Then one day, I never had that dream again and haven’t for 25 years.
Grief hurts but gets replaced.
We moved from New York to New Hampshire when I was 9 years old on June 23, 1989.
It was my last day of fourth grade.
That’s also the same day Batman with Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson came out.
My uncle and I exchanged a worried glance.
My father NEVER asked to take a break.
He spent the last 18 years as a stagehand at Radio City Music Hall and on Broadway.
Moving boxes into a house should have been a cakewalk.
It seemed like we moved to New Hampshire so this guy could just sleep.
He went from being the hardest working guy I ever met to the laziest overnight.
Nothing made any sense.
He saw doctors who thought he was just looking for pain pills.
Then came October 3, 1990.
If you are a Red Sox fan, you might know that day better as the Tom Brunansky Game.
The Red Sox led 3-1 in the 9th with closer Jeff Reardon on the mound.
The White Sox had two runners up with 2 out and Ozzie Guillen up.
If the Sox lost this game, the Blue Jays could win the AL East.
Then this happened:
I was there.
In fact, I was about 10 rows back of Brunansky making that catch.
I never saw the catch.
I saw his focused face seemingly running towards me and then all at once he vanished.
A grown up in front of me lifted his arms in excitement.
I had seen baseball history!
The Red Sox had clinched the AL East.
It was the first time I had been to Fenway Park.
I had already been to Yankee Stadium and Shea Stadium at that point but this was different.
The grass was so green.
The Green Monster was so close but seemed almost mythical.
I felt like I was walking into a movie.
It was one of the best experiences of my childhood.
I also think of it as the last experience of my childhood.
My parents waited until the car ride home from the game to tell me.
The next four years really sucked.
They initially told him he had 6 months to live.
But doctors at Dana-Farber were able to extend his life for a few years.
He did, at the time, unheard of amounts of chemotherapy.
He did a Whipple procedure which removes organs.
He was never the same physically or mentally.
He left part of his soul in that Boston hospital.
He came home but he did so as a very angry man.
He ended up dying at home on December 13, 1994.
We had a great talk for about an hour.
He never woke up again.
He also never walked my sister down the aisle.
I ended up doing that.
He had already been dead for 15 years.
That is a very sad story but it also happened a very long time ago.
If you asked me if I miss my Dad now, it’s not a simple answer.
Of course, I wish he was alive.
I still think about my Dad every day.
I don’t think that every goes away.
Parents have such a huge impact on us.
But I don’t know if I miss him.
To spend a Father’s Day with him makes my eyes well up just thinking about it.
So, in those terms, I miss him dearly.
I don’t think to call him anymore.
He’s been gone so long, he never even owned a cell phone.
Except for Father’s Day, that emptiness that lived in my gut has been gone for decades.
Time does heal these things.
His existence in this world and this time feels so foreign.
Can you miss someone that you’re free to’t imagine being here?
If you just lost a parent, I promise it gets easier.
We are supposed to bury our parents.
It’s the natural order of life.
The good memories also begin to overtake the painful ones.
It’s not the angry sick guy who was slowly dying in front of me.
This was New York City with a million faces walking by.
How did anyone know me?
I asked him how he knew these things.
I looked over at my Dad who sheepishly shrugged.
Of course my Dad would be proud of me.
But the emptiness on Father’s Day?
