My dear friend T. lost her father last week, and being across an ocean from him when he passed was difficult. She is there now, comforting her mother and preparing for her father’s services, but her heart aches and she wants to be able to talk to her father again.

I am hurting for my friend, and thinking about my own father. And of course when I admitted those things out loud a blue jay immediately landed outside my window, as if on cue. I say to my feathered visitor, “Hi, Daddy”. And I hear my Dad’s voice in my head say, “Hiya, Baby!” No, I’m not crazy; a blue jay always gives me an opportunity to think of my dad, say a prayer and remember his voice.

Some say we choose our mates because they are like our fathers. So I guess if astrology is to be believed then I did; my Dad and Steve have March birthdays only one day apart.

Relationships with our parents change as we, and they, age. They took care of us, we looked up to them, we trusted their judgment. We relied on them for everything. If we are lucky enough to have them into their old age the tables turn. We take care of them; they look up to us and trust our judgment. And if we’re really lucky we get to say goodbye.

Some Dads and Daughters have a special bond. I know my Dad and I did. He taught me how to fish, how to drive a boat, how to be a businessperson, how to treat people, and how to do the right thing. But we had a mutual respect and admiration that went far beyond that; he loved me and was proud of me and would do anything for me. As I would for him.

My friends T. and Mary Ellen had that special relationship and my friend Jenifer has it with her Dad. It’s a joy to see Jenifer and Jerry together; she is his child through and through and he means the world to her. They’d hang out even if he were not her Dad. That’s how I felt about mine as well. I remember Mary Ellen and her Dad side by side at the piano, singing show tunes and standards. She and I have spoken about the scar left by losing our dads, it fades but never really goes away. And now T. will grieve and the open wound will eventually leave that same scar.

But some of those closest to me never had the chance to have that relationship. I have several relatives and friends who lost their fathers when they were quite young. But some of these women’s most precious memories are those of their fathers, and their most precious possessions are photographs they have of their fathers holding them. So as difficult as it was to lose my Dad in 2013 I know I was one of the lucky ones. I got to have all of those relationships with my father; the young child, the petulant teenager, the businessperson, the bride who walked down the aisle on her father’s arm (twice!), and finally the trusted confidant, card dealer, and hand holder. And I was lucky enough to be with him when he took his last breath, after we talked together and told each other “I love you”.

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T. is heartbroken she didn’t have that chance. But I assured her, and I know in my heart of hearts that this is true, everything she has said to him silently since his passing he has heard.

The conversation doesn’t have to stop; deep down we know how he’ll answer.

We remember his voice.

Deborah