In honor of my father on this day.

on FB but I'd like to repost here for journaling's sake.

My impossibly chic, mod parents in Hong Kong, 1967. My dad is no longer with us, and I wish I had photos of him and me, but suffice to say that he was a compassionate, wise, and hardworking man who got me and accepted without question how much of a pain in the ass I was (and in some ways still am). He watched out for me and tried to guide me as best he knew how.

He had great insight into people and situations but wasn't bombastic or didactic about sharing his opinion.

He had a much harder life than he deserved.

I miss him. I regret that he isn't physically here to see all of his grandchildren grow up. But, a bit of him lives in me, in my daughter, and in my son. And, I still ask for his advice every so often.

Happy Father's Day, daddy. I hope you're still checking up on us when you can, in between rooting for the Giants and listening to 33s on your record player.

father's day without the father

Father's Day is inevitably bittersweet because my dad is no longer with us. My kids have no memory of him. He would've really enjoyed them. Gently teasing Z and irritating her on purpose. Joking with O. Showing them his birds. Telling them stories. Watching Giants' games on tv with them. And World Cup.

As much as I'm a logical, thoughtful person, this continues to haunt me.

When O was born in early October 2005, my dad went into his final coma, never really waking up again save for a few feeble gestures. I found out the second day I was in the hospital, recuperating after the birth. My sister called; my mother did not want to tell me. I was such a morass of emotions and hormones at that point that it didn't register. I don't remember feeling anything save for a hollowness that was soon filled with brain-obliterating exhaustion.

He died over Thanksgiving weekend that same year. He knew of O, I was told, and the few photos I had brought to him of O were taped on his last bed in the hospital.

As O is growing up - and turns five this year - I can see my dad in him. The love of life and small pleasures. The genuine care he shows to people in distress. The flashes of temper. Without sounding too new age-y, I'd like to think that the best parts of my dad's spirit have come to reside in O during the birth and death cycle. And maybe that's how we perpetuate our legacies.