My Father’s Daughter

by Joanne Glasspoole

Although I knew my dad wouldn’t live forever… I never thought he would die.

From left to right: Edward Harr, Joanne Glasspoole, John Raboin

It was the beginning of December, and I was excited about Christmas coming. It was also nearing the end of the millennium, and everyone—especially my father—was excited for the year 2000.

I had seen my parents the week before on Thanksgiving. My father was quiet that day. We were sitting in the living room, and I remember my dad sitting in his chair listening to us talk. Usually he was the one talking and us listening, so I found it a bit strange that he was so quiet, but it wasn’t cause for concern.

That afternoon, we shared a father-daughter gaze that I can’t explain. I remember feeling overcome with love, and I felt my father’s respect. His respect was something I constantly sought, and I always tried to please him. When we gazed into each other’s eyes that day, I felt a connection with him that was strong, special. It was spiritual.

Around 5 o’clock, my husband and I decided to go home. I hugged my mother, and then I walked over to where my father sat at the kitchen table and bent to kiss his forehead. My father reached out to touch my arm, which is something he never did. I noticed.

I couldn’t have known one week later he’d be dead…

I believe my father knew he was dying. About three weeks before that day, he had called my eldest brother, Herman, to discuss his final arrangements. And the day before he died, he commented to my mother that he was ready to die.

The next day, our lives changed forever…

My life without my father has been hard. I always looked forward to seeing him on weekends. And talking to him on the phone. Now I don’t have that anymore, and I miss it. I miss my father’s voice. I miss taking for granted that he’d always be there when I needed him. I miss being my father’s daughter.

I often imagine where he is and what he’s doing. I don’t think of my dad as “asleep” but instead playing cards with his friends, shooting the breeze, laughing. My father was lonely the last six months of his life. He commented to my mother that all of his friends had died. Now, ironically, he’s with them again.

I wonder if he ever thinks about us. Does he know how much he’s missed? Does he know how much he’s still loved? Does he know how much I yearn to see him again?

My dad was a very important person in my life, and he still influences me in his death. I am grateful for all of the things he did for me. I know now how right he was even when I thought I knew everything.

Yes, the day my father died was a momentous event. His absence will always leave an empty hole in my heart. I am not the same person I was before. In many ways, I’m a better person. I’m stronger. And I don’t take things for granted anymore because there are no promises for tomorrow.

About the author: Joanne is a web designer in Minneapolis, Minnesota. www.glasspoole.com

Copyright © 2002 by Joanne Glasspoole. All rights reserved.