I was summoned home.
The telephone call came on a sun-filled April afternoon, just as I was leaving my dorm room to take a test. An uncle would be coming downstate to pick me up and bring me home. It was time.
I took the test. It was what my father would expect me to do. I took the test then returned to my dorm room to pack, not really knowing what to bring. I’d never been to a funeral before. A long-haired coed of 1969, I wore bright colors and short (very short) dresses with granny shoes. We were all so young and inexperienced, especially me, but I somehow got through the packing and waiting for my uncle to arrive.
I loved, love still, my friends, who gave me strength and allowed me to be me through that spring. They gave me a few items of clothing, a cross on a necklace, hugs – and off I went, home, my life to change in ways I never anticipated nor knew how to navigate.
I made it in time to say goodbye, but, Daddy was already in the final throes of death, his vacant eyes looking at me, knowing yet not knowing, the room filled with family.
Dottie and I were brought home, which for me was an apartment I had never lived in before. My mom, dad and sister had moved in a month or so before and I first saw it just a week before when I was home on spring break.
The next phone call came, in the middle of the night. He was gone. I remember it all, so clearly, and I felt Daddy’s presence today, 50 years after he took his last earthly breath.
I’ve never stopped missing my father; his wit, his smile, his integrity, his love. I keep this photo out. One of his friends, Romeo, made copies for my sister and I, not long after Daddy’s death. My father loved fishing and would head up north every spring, around Memorial Day, with a few friends and cousins. He fished for walleye and for the sport of it all. He never learned to swim, though he served in the Navy, and needed a life vest – and always a cigarette in his mouth, which was, in the end, what killed him.
I’ll have a few good cries, visit the cemetery, mark the day – for such things should be marked and loved ones should be honored. So off I go, the only thing calling me today is to make the most of what is before me.
Lifeonthecutoff's Blog 
This is a beautiful post
LikeLike
Thank you so very much.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I lost my parents-in-law to lung cancer. My mother-in-law had stopped smoking at least 20 years before, but she lived with second-hand smoke in the house. They didn’t know the possible harm back then, just thought smoking was cool. Some deaths just stay with us–these are the people who we loved the most or who affected us the most. My best friend Tina died 15 years ago, and her birthday was April 8. i cried on Monday, looking at her picture, and it was a difficult day. She had five young kids and lived 15 miles away, but always invited us to her kids’ birthday parties and other events. She always made time to meet me at Oakbrook Mall, along with a few of our children. And she always cared about my dreams, encouraging me to write. “Just go sit in a cafe’ and write for a couple of hours a week.” I am sorry for your loss, Penny, and have empathy for you.
LikeLike
Oh, Sue, I’m sorry for yours as well.the loss of our parents generation is hard, for certain, but, it is especially hard with our peers/friends. I am sorry for your losses as well, dear one, and that empathy goes both ways. I’m sure you think of Tina when you write. Hugs to you, Sue.
With the generation that preceded us, they didn’t know as much about the long term effects of cigarettes, and during WWII so many troops were given free cigarettes. I remember being a child, probably 10 or so, when the surgeon general of the US came out with a warning about cigarettes. By then, so many were addicted to them and it was some year’s later that second-hand smoke was deemed carcinogenic.
Thank you for taking the time to read this and for commenting, even as it brought sad memories for you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very sweet. Thanks for sharing is and important memories.
LikeLike
Thank YOU, Mike. It was a sad time, but, made me stronger. I am forever grateful for having such a wonderful dad. Thinking of you, Mike.
LikeLike
Guessing, but thinking that had they met, our Dads might have been friends; orneriness, fishing, even smoking being some commonalities. I understand the heart from which this post was born. Wishing you a peaceful day as a tear escapes my eye. ❤️
LikeLike
They very well might have, Karen, especially the fishing and smoking part. My dad wasn’t what I would call ornery, but, he could be quite stubborn, which is a close cousin to orneriness. 🙂 I’ve been told I am stubborn as well, but, I refuse to believe it. Thank you, Karen.
LikeLike
I remember that day too. I too was young and inexperienced and didn’t know how to help my friend. I always like to find a practical way to help these days, but was at a loss for what to do. It prompted me to call my parents more often and let them know I loved them, but I didn’t know how to help you. I just offered condolences and otherwise tried to make your return to college as normal as it could be after your whole life had changed.
Your Father has been alive all these years in your memories, stories that you have shared, and photos. My prayers are with you these 50 years later as they were 50 years ago.
Sometimes the hippies (us) were right. All you need is peace and love.
LikeLike
You helped me by being you and by being there – more than you will ever know, Janet. I always say, when I look back, that it was the girls from 6th floor Hamilton that made those days after Daddy died bearable and my mom would eagerly greet me that summer whenever I got mail from you.
He has! I am so blessed to have all these family stories and Daddy is always with me. I’m fortunate.
Yep. We hippies were right! 🙂 Thank you, Country Mouse. Love you. Greek
LikeLike
Oh Penny. What a beautiful post. And what a great photo. Thank you for having the courage to share.
LikeLike
What a nice thing to say, L. Marie. Thank you so very much. I am grateful for having this thing called a blog to express myself.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I am so moved by this post Penny. Your dad with his cigarette in his mouth looks like so many men of that time. It sounds like he was too young to go when he did but that he had a really wonderful life where he was surrounded by, and valued, family and friends.
LikeLike
Oh, Janet, thank you for saying that. It wasn’t at all uncommon to see men exactly like that in those days, cigarette hanging on his lips. His death was hard for his family, of course, but, for so many, many more. Well . . . enough. It’s a glorious weekend here, though, we may have snow tomorrow. 😦
LikeLike
Penny you are making his memory eternal … there are beautiful Greek words for this which I cannot remember how to spell. What a lovely tribute.
LikeLike
Oh, Vickie, you state it beautifully in English. I think the words you may remember that are said and chanted in Greek begin with A-o-nee-o-me . . . Thank you, thank you.
LikeLike
What a beautiful tribute, Penny. Your father would be proud. ❤
LikeLike
That means a lot to me, Jill. Thank you so very much.
LikeLike
❤️
LikeLike
I am very touched to think of you as a young college girl navigating so many emotional “firsts.” This is such a beautiful and tender tribute in loving memory of your dear father, Penny. I hope your “day of remembrance” brought you the comfort of feeling your dad close, as I believe he is, and I have a feeling that you brought Dottie into your circle, as well. Thank you for sharing such a tender memory with us, dear friend. I am truly moved. xx
LikeLike
I appreciate your kind words and sensitivity, Debra. For a wee bit, I was that 19 year old girl again, and that’s okay as long as I don’t stay there – and yes, Dottie brought it full circle. She was only 16, still in high school. It’s interesting how much differently we not only treat, but care for the terminally ill. Thanks, Debra.
LikeLike
Penny, this is so touching and beautifully told. Your father looks lovely, and how you must have missed him especially as you were at that age of going out into the world, a time when a father’s guidance is invaluable. What a big loss.
LikeLike
I did miss him, especially on those special moments of becoming a teacher, marriage, babies, and such, but, he was such a good father that his example, wisdom, sense of humor, integrity and more were already a guiding light for me. Your words are, as always, comforting to me. Thank you, Juliet.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Such a lovely tender post, Penny. Your profound love for your father and your enduring sense of loss are in every word. It spoke very strongly to me as it will be 41 years this coming Saturday since I lost my beloved father to the same dreadful disease. Cigarettes have claimed so many lives.
LikeLike
Thank you, Kathy. I appreciate your empathy and know you understand. 41 years is such a long time and it is such a terrible disease that we know cigarettes cause. I am so grateful, however, for those years I had, as I’m sure you must be as well. I believe you recently celebrated an anniversary of your ordination. I wonder if your father was still alive then.
LikeLike
Kathy, I just saw that you were ordained in ’97, so, have answered my own question. I am sure your father was with you in spirit then.
LikeLike
What a touching tribute to your father Penny. It makes me think of my father I lost 25 years ago. I loved him so much and he was such a wonderful man and father.
LikeLike
I think we are the lucky ones, Gerlinde, not in losing our fathers so long ago at much younger ages, but, in having had them in our lives. Thank you so much for stopping by.
LikeLike