Category: Uncategorized

I just caught sight of the date while writing a Link of the Day post.

Ten years ago June 9 was a Friday night. Lakers were also in the finals. I was only a few months into my job at IniTech. My father was in the hospital. And so was I.

My mother had gone home for some rest, and I guess it was my turn to stay. Although, I was already with him for so long while he struggled with the cancer that would eventually take his life. The prior year I had quit my job at Shore Studios to concentrate on getting my second degree in computer science, so my days were somewhat free, and by default I would be helping Dad.

Dad was diabetic, which didn’t contribute to his health. I often had to administer his insulin shot, and I would sometimes be his driver to take him to the dialysis center. Also, I was called upon to bring him to the hospital for any of his doctor’s appointments. I was there for him.

All through the night ten years ago, I sat by his bedside. It was difficult to sleep in the chair, and with the nurse coming in every hour, sleeping would be hard to manage. Sometime in the middle of the night, Dad made me cry. Between his labored breathing, we talk to each other other. He whispers encouragement to me, love for my brothers, and love for Mom. We cry together, and make it through the night.

The morning came and Mom, too.

On that bright, beautiful summer day, a month shy of his 60th birthday, Dad died. Ten years from tomorrow.

I miss him. What would these ten years have been with him around? Playing with his grandkids. Going to ball games. Laughing and enjoying time with his sons. Loving and enjoying time with Mom. Traveling. Conversing. Gallivanting. Smiling. Joking. Surprising. These are the things I know he would have loved doing. These are the things I wish he could have done.

The ten years since his death have come and gone. They at times passed all too quick, and yet, it is quite a long while from that day. The memory of Dad comes and goes. I know him, I remember him, I love him, still, but Dad, my father, is gone.

I miss him. I miss his laugh.