Wednesday marks the 8th year since I hugged my Ma before she changed her residence to Heaven.
Eight freaking years.
In the days leading up to and in the days after her passing, I spent time writing a eulogy to send her off in the most appropriate way possible: one filled with laughter, tears and hope. I read what I had prepared for her memorial around the kitchen table to my Dad, my Aunty Cookie and my Uncle Don. I commented afterward that I had hoped I had captured everything I had ever wanted to say to her and that it was a shame that Time often steals the opportunities for sharing what is on your heart.
In that spirit, and knowing that Father's Day is upon us, I felt it appropriate to share with the world some thoughts on the other person who made me, well, me. Dad.
~
Because... Dad
My earliest memories of my Dad begin with the sound of the riding lawnmower and the smell of fresh-cut grass on an early June day. Some of the most precious memories of time with my Dad for "C the G," which, in Dan the Hammer speak was: "Cut the Grass." He held me on his lap for the quarter acre ride from the first peaks of green grass until the last leaves had fallen - Saturday after Saturday, year after year, for the first decade of my life. One day, I was big enough to "C the G" on my own, which lasted about two Saturdays after Dad discovered I couldn't drive in a straight line. More on that later. Nevertheless, our Saturday tradition taught me consistency. Consistency. Because... Dad.
Wherever Dad went, Dana went. I think our strong bond began (with an oft-told story, lovingly shared by Ma) on the day I was born. Back in those days, fathers didn't go into the delivery room, and once Ma was ready to introduce me to Dad, she said, "I hope you're not disappointed she is a girl!" followed by: "Oh my God she has your nose!" If Dad was sad he never had a son, he certainly didn't ever act like it. I went with him everywhere. Handy Andy. Luke's Hot Dogs. I even asked once if I could go to the Library with him, not knowing he was referring to going to the potty. My sense of belonging? The courage to rock the nose? Belonging. Nose. Because... Dad.
Some of my most treasured memories are held in the back of 406 E. Waverly. I loved watching Dad shotgun a beer and jump into the pool, or try to balance on one of those crazy inflatable horses. Or the one time he was playing softball with me and decided to slide into home plate during the drought of 1989 and the rock-hard earth caused bruises down his entire leg. My love of home? Memories. Because... Dad.
Being Dad's Girl meant watching sports my whole life. Sundays were for the Bears and summers were for the Cubs. I loved going to games with my Dad and one of my fave memories was a "Ball or the Beer" moment in section 107 of Wrigley - prime foul ball territory. A full beer was balanced atop five empty cups and Dad had to make a choice - grab the ball for his 12 year old or preserve the full cup of Old Style. "Sorry, Da" - I think you know how that one ended. Cubbies. Beer. Because... Dad.
In 1995, when I got into my car accident, he never made me feel bad about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. On February 12th, one week to the day and the time that it happened, we cried together knowing that I was going to make it. On the days I didn't want to go on, I did so because he told me I had no other choice. He read me my cards and mail every night once he got home from work and he made me smile when I didn't want to. The drive to persevere? Strength. Because... Dad.
My Dad is the hardest working person I have ever met. One year, he had 52 work trips to take. 52! He never once complained because he was always grateful to have the jobs he has had and always grateful that he could provide for his family. Then, get this, on the weekends, he would be up at the crack of dawn to work around the house or on a project. He never stopped! That drive? That gratitude? Because... Dad.
Back in the day, you didn't have to go to college or have to get your MBA to be successful in the business world. Dad rose in ranks because he had the smarts, the drive, and a work ethic that college simply could not teach. So, when it came time for me to go to college, it was important to Dad that he sent me there without me having loans to repay or worry. My job was to graduate with honors. After I crossed the stage, I handed my honor cords to my Dad because he was the reason I earned them. This incredibly over-priced brain I have? Because... Dad.
When it was time for Ma to cross the Rainbow Bridge, we held on to her together. Although we had always been close, Ma's passing brought us even closer. As we forged on to find our "new normal," we had each other to lean on and figure it out. "We'll get through this," he would say. And we did. And we learned to live without her. And some days that sucks harder than others, but we go on. Because... Dad.
A few years after Ma was gone, Dad was ready to open his heart to someone else. It was hard at first but Dad's happiness means more to me than anything. After meeting Cheryl, I quickly got over any reservations I had because as Aunty Cookie says, "Life is for the living," and because... Dad.
Dad takes care of all of us. He was the one who fed my babies their first bottles, the one who let me cry to him when life got tough, and the one who bailed us out of countless jams. He loves us when we are down and he loves us when we are up. Dad shares in our heartbreaks and in our happiness. Dad is every part of us. We are so very grateful for who he is and for what he stands for. We are the lucky ones.
And with that, we are who we are because... Dad.
