Ten Years Later, It’s Still Hard to Say Goodbye

Ten years. That’s how long it has been since Doug Kershaw and his Cajun fiddle were barely audible in the background on the television. I can still hear his Diggy Diggy Lo in the wee hours of July 9th…ten years ago today. I had never heard Creole music until my dad had convinced the family to see this odd fiddler at a local venue. A show, in which I might add, we were the only people under 90 years old. Ironically, this song is what happened to be playing as my dad took his last breath that night a decade ago.

I’ve never felt bitter that my dad was taken from me too soon. The Lord knows he had beat it into my head enough that he would never live to be 50. I guess that’s why I never took the extra 6 years that I was given with him for granted. He was just shy of 56 when he passed, and in two days from now, he would have been 66.

Over the years, I’ve had plenty of signs that he was still around and here with me. I remember my first birthday without him. My husband was trying to make it a special day by taking me to the mountains. I was feeling a bit heavy-hearted when “I Wished I Could Have Been There” came on the radio. I just knew this was my dad’s way of letting me know he was still here with me in some sense. That was the first time that I felt he was communicating with me, and I’ve always found comfort knowing that in some way, I still shared that special bond, and my dad was going to find a way to let me know. Most of the time I felt this was subtly through music, but once in a while I needed things spelled out. Literally.

I’ll never forget the time I was driving from Atlanta to North Carolina, and heard two songs back to back that made me wonder if my dad was trying to get my attention. This was followed by a third coincidental song, and at this point I started talking myself out of this having any possible influence by my dad. And that’s when an old yellow faded billboard caught my attention. It simply said “Dad’s”. I could have sworn I felt my dad smack me upside the back of my head and say, “You idiot!” Now there’s the man we all know and love. It doesn’t get much more comforting than knowing you can frustrate even a spiritual dad.

This anniversary has been different though. For the past two days, I’ve had this overwhelming feeling. I don’t know why, I didn’t feel particularly sad. It’s been a long time now, and heck, I had even forgotten we were coming up on ten years since he passed. And to be honest, I often feel like my dad understands everything I wish I could say to him, more than when he had a physical embodiment. Yet, there has just been some sense of foreboding and a feeling of anxiousness leading up to today.

After a second restless night without sleep, I was flipping through the TV and at the top of my suggestions was Lynyrd Skynyrd’s One More for the Fans tribute show. I never watch concerts on TV, but my dad and I had seen their show together a summer or two before his cancer diagnosis, and it seemed like a good way to honor my memories of him. We had never done anything together like this before, and doing something that involved being social was a rarity for him. Ultimately, we may have had a bit too much fun that night, and in hindsight should have been more responsible, but that night, he was more of my co-conspirator, not the dad I had grown up with. That night, was when the dynamics changed between us and we bonded as father & “adult” daughter. This is one of my most treasured memories with my dad, and it felt like reliving a little of those memories today was somewhat predestined.

And then Free Bird came on. I’ve never associated this song with my dad, but the various artists paying homage to Ronnie Van Zant, the old fishing footage showing him at such peace, and the emotion Johnny Van Zant showed for his late brother after all these years…it felt like there was a message for me.

While watching the performance of Free Bird, I felt overcome with feelings of mourning and an emptiness, rather than the gratefulness I usually feel for having the time that I did with my dad. This, I believe, was the cause of my unease these past few days. Unbeknownst to me, something in the universe was shifting around me. Today there appears to be some sort of disconnect that I didn’t feel or recognize before. It feels like this was my dad’s way of saying, “It’s time”.

I think that a part of my dad has remained close for the last 10 years, but for whatever the reason, he’s ready to move onto whatever awaits him beyond this life. My daughter is now 21 and heading off to university, my nephew is now a teenager. They both have enough fond memories of their Pap Pap, that I know his family values will always be instilled in them both. My mom has a lot more good days than she used to have, and the rest of the family continues to be moving forward.

This new empty feeling is a little unsettling, but I know I’ll see my dad, as well as the rest of my loved ones that have passed on eventually.