It's been a week. 7 days. Exactly 168 hours at 545. It feels like it was just today. I can still hear his voice, feel his hand in mine, smell his shampoo. I will always honor his choice. I know what it's like to fight to breathe. After all, COPD and asthma work the same way to an extent, an inability to exhale. Except COPD doesn't improve. But fighting to do something as basic as breathing is hard. It's scary, every muscle hurts, and after about 20 minutes you want to stop because working that hard is exhausting. Dad did that for 2 years, with the last 9 months being a constant battle. He won that battle so many times. He defied the odds when most would have never gone home. But even the strongest of men get tired. And even the strongest get lonely.
I knew when he came home after Thanksgiving that we were on borrowed time. Enough so that I wrote him a letter the day before he passed. It said everything I needed to say since he wasn't one for emotional conversations. I knew the night before he passed that he would not make it until Christmas when I learned what his CO2 level was. And I spent that time afraid and hurting. Afraid that he would suffer, afraid that I wouldn't be able to tell him how much he is loved.
You see, my father was always my Superman. From my earliest memories I adored my dad. I wanted to be with him all the time. I thought the fact that he was in the military was amazing and that he was the most important dad ever. I followed him like an irritating pig-tailed shadow. When I was in first grade I had an accident where a kid named Ryan ran into me at full speed, sending me face first into an asphalt ramp. It knocked my teeth into the roof of my mouth, busted up my face, and is still causing issues as far as dental work to this day. And not that I didn't love my mom, but I remember screaming, crying, and begging the nurse to get my Daddy for me. I wanted him because he was my Superman, and he would make me better.
Throughout my whole life my father was an incredible example of what a man should be. Here was a man that came from nothing and worked harder than anyone I have ever known to build a wonderful life for his wife and kids. He traveled regularly with the Air Force, leaving my mother and my sister and I behind, sometimes for months at a time. Leaving your family for any amount of time is a sacrifice, but doing it for weeks or months at a time, missing birthdays and holidays and anniversaries is gut wrenching. Yet he did it, head held high, knowing that he would always come home to us and in the meantime was providing for us then, and for our future.
He never called in sick, he rarely needed a doctor, and refused Novocaine and painkillers for dental work, even for root canals. He could fix anything, even if he did use some colorful language. He could assemble anything - even if there were some spare parts and he didn't read the directions. He taught me to play golf, how to drive, how to drive in snow, how to change a tire and check my oil, how to shine my ROTC shoes and fold the American Flag, and how and who to salute. And he taught me how to tie a pretty mean Windsor knot. He could not, however, manage to teach me the finer points of Sudoku. I still can't manage even one, while dad could tear through them in record time.
He loved to share stories of his time in the military, some of them amazing, many of them hilarious. He loved jokes, but told them badly. Most of all he loved us, his family. He was incredibly proud of my sister when she earned her Doctorate in Pharmacy, he was proud of my Mother and her volunteer work and her amazing heart, and he was even proud of me, despite the fact that I never could decide between human medicine, veterinary medicine, and pharmacy. He was beyond proud of his grandchildren, always boasting of them with a huge smile. He was in awe of how funny and smart his great-granddaughter Kensington is, and how adorable and sweet his great-grandson Windsor has already become.
He had a special relationship with my son, Dexter. Dex idolizes his Papa, right down to having to dress like him, comb his hair like him, and he will tell you he wants to be like his Papa when he grows up. He is my father's mini-me, and I can only hope that he will grow up to be just like him.
My dad taught me so much in life. He taught me that nothing good ever happens after midnight, that sometimes people are not what they seem, and that sometimes you need to forgive and move on. He taught me that it was better to be myself than to pretend, even if he didn't always agree with my choices, especially in hair color.
He taught me that love comes in many forms, and that when you truly love someone, that love can shine through even the worst of times, that quiet support can mean so much more than words, and that pride doesn't hinge on the size of accomplishments. He taught me that you can't really fail if you try your best, and to put your all into everything that you do.
Most of all he taught me how important it is to spend time with and love and nurture your family. I was fortunate enough to spend a lot of time with him over the last 9 months of his life. I learned so much about my father, my mother, both of their lives. I am incredibly lucky to have had that time with him, and I have my husband to thank. But that's another story.
When my mother passed he offered to tell me who my birth parents are, even though I never asked. You see, I was adopted at birth. But in my heart Ken and June Newman are, always have been, and always will be my parents. But offering that information was such a selfless act.
My father is still my Superman. He always will be. He was stronger and braver than anyone I have ever known, and he was always there at the first sign of trouble, even when I didn't deserve it.
Despite the heartache and emptiness that I feel now, I can look up at the heavens and know that he is finally able to breathe. I know he is with my Mother, my Uncle Harold, and all of the friends and family that passed before him. I will carry him in my heart until we meet again.
I love you so very much dad. Thank you for an amazing life. I'll see you on the other side.
Love always,
K.
