
It's been just over seven years since my Dad died. It was July 2003, and our oldest son, Luke, was just one. We still lived in the city, and I had just left my full time job to stay home with him.
It had been so hard for me to tell him I was quitting, or as I put it then, "taking a sabbatical." He had always been the parent who encouraged my career goals. When I quit a corporate job to return to my first love, newspaper reporting, even though it meant a serious change to my income and lifestyle, he was the parent who told me I was right to pursue my dream. When my dreams changed and I decided to return to corporate work and to pursue my MBA, it was Dad who gave me a copy of economist Diane Swonk's autobiography and told me, "You will enjoy this."
So of course when I told him I was leaving my job to mother Luke full time, he was genuinely thrilled and told me I'd accomplish great things in life, that I didn't need a six-figure income to do that.
It took me a long time to figure out it didn't matter what I did in life, my Dad would encourage me and be proud of me.
So I'll never forget what one friend wrote in a note to me after he'd suddenly left us all behind, wondering what exactly his dreams had been. She'd written, "You made your father very proud."
I hadn't known until that moment that making him proud mattered so much to me.
My dad was not a perfect father. I was not a perfect daughter. But his love for me, my brothers, my cousins, his God and his country (82nd Airborne!), was perfect.
Today, Sunday, October 17th, would have been his 76th birthday. I thought I'd share this photo of four of my seven cousins, my brothers and me (that's me in the red top and green shorts, always a fashion icon), at my aunt & uncle's home one Memorial Day weekend, where we all gathered yearly for the Indianapolis 500.
Your family, and many others, miss you, Dad. Happy birthday.
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