I buried my dad last week. He acquired a skin disease that nearly killed him 2 1/2 years ago and never made a full recovery. He spent 8 weeks in the hospital and aftercare facility. Though he recovered physically, he never recovered mentally. He was delirious. And that delirium basically took his life.

The last time I saw him was in March. My daughter and I flew in and had 5 great days with him. He still had his faculties and he mentally knew who we were. But you could tell he was declining. My heart knew that when I left, that would be the last time I would see him alive.

After my hubby and I got home from our 2 week anniversary vacation in Europe, his wife called to let me know she had put him in the nursing home a week prior. She didn’t want to call me and tell me why I was overseas. Knowing there was nothing I could do, so why ruin my vacation.

I was home barely a week, when my sister called and said he had started to take a turn for the worse. My dad’s health had been faltering for years prior to this…and whenever he was really sick, he always bounced back. But this time I knew he wouldn’t. I called the nursing home, talked with a nurse, and asked her for her personal opinion on his status. I was told that I should make travel arrangements as soon as possible.

I was packed and on the road within 2 hours of that conversation. My daughter met me in Dayton, OH and we drove on to Missouri. My sister kept me posted by text messages. She even called me so I could speak to him. He hadn’t been responsive for days, but she put the phone by his ear and I told him I loved him, that I was on my way, and I would see him in the morning. About 4 hours later and 15 minutes before picking up Amber, he died.

He was a planner and had his funeral arrangements made years ago. So sitting at the funeral home Saturday afternoon was a breeze. I wrote his obituary on the drive down that morning so the only thing left was to finish his eulogy. No one asked me to do it, I just did. It seemed like the right thing to do.

I hit most of the highlights of his life, those that mattered the most. It was humorous with a bit of sarcasm. Just like him. Many people complimented of how well it read and was touched by what was said. I left out the part of how my dad was a son of a bitch when I was younger.

He was an only child and according to my grandmother- was “the perfect child and never did anything wrong”. He was controlling of my mom and began resenting her for standing up to him. My sister and I grew up thinking we were poor. Don’t get me wrong, we had a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs and food in our bellies. But according to my dad, he was always broke. Just asking for lunch money was always a roulette game with him. We never knew if he would get mad and not speak to us for days or just give us lunch money without any questions. We later learned that my dad saved all his money and made my mom pay all the bills. So if we needed something, my sister and I always asked mom.

I knew when I was 8 years old that my parents needed to get divorced. He was never physical to me or my sister. And I don’t believe he was ever physical toward my mom. But the emotional abuse that occurred would haunt me for years. He was always angry. Silence was deafening in my house growing up.

My sister got pregnant when she was 15, married, and moved out that summer. I was left to a house all to my own. Dad worked days and mom worked 2nd shift. I was fine with that. I found myself spending most of my time in town at a girlfriends house and hanging out with friends. We weren’t a family anymore. Just 3 people who lived in the same house.

I couldn’t handle it anymore, so at 16 I married a guy 8 years older than me and moved away. I don’t think I really loved him, just the idea of leaving that hell behind. Living away from home lasted a mere 4 months. So I moved back for my senior year of high school. My then husband moved back with me 2 months later. That’s when I got pregnant with Amber.

Amber was born in February of 1989. I graduated in May, and one week before their 25th wedding anniversary, my parents divorced. Finally! My mom moved to the next town over and closer to her work and Amber and I moved in with her. My dad bought my mom out and stayed at the farm. That was the first time I remember my dad looking somewhat happy and not angry anymore.

My dad would remarry that October. He married a local gal who was actually my 6th grade teacher. Her kids and my sister and I went to school together. You would think that being a blended family would be easy since we all knew each other. Not so much. She was adamant that she has her kids and my dad has his girls. We were never allowed to have family holidays together. As far as we were concerned, my sister and I were a black eye to her. I know we would never have socialized if it wasn’t for her being married to my dad. But when it came to the grandkids-they belonged to both of them. To this day, I still don’t get it.

In October 1994, my grandmother, dad’s mom passed away. Being an only child, he was crushed. He also internalized his grief, and shortly after her funeral, he auctioned her house and all of her belongings and everything I knew that belonged to her were now gone. I was pissed! When I learned that I was not given a chance to take anything that maybe my kids would want, I let him have it! How dare he! My sister lived in town and was given large antique pieces of furniture and I was offered nothing! His response was “I didn’t want to bother you with it”. I was furious! I went out and purchased family items that he sold! I had to put a dollar sign on a memory! I think I stayed mad at him for a couple of years after that.

About 2 summers later, the kids and I were visiting and staying with he and his wife on the farm. Not sure how it started, but around 2 a.m., my dad and I were sitting on the back of his pick up truck and talking. That was the day I told my dad how I felt and how I blamed him for a lot of things that happened when I was younger. He and I had words and he finally told me his reasonings for doing what he did. We cried, and from that moment forward we made amends and started repairing our broken relationship.

Living away from home with my own family made things easier. At least for me. We weren’t involved in each others day to day lives and I was ok with that. As the kids grew older, making trips back to my hometown and seeing him became fewer and fewer. So he and his wife would come and visit me and my family. I truly enjoyed those visits. And as he got older and with his health issues, I made as many trips as needed to make sure that he was doing ok.

It is said that if you ask each child of a family about memories or situations that are remembered, each sibling will give you a different memory or different recollection of events that occurred. The same is true for us. My sister has her own reasons for being angry with our dad. Those are hers, not mine. She has always lived within 20 minutes from my dad. I didn’t live there, so I wasn’t involved in those day to day events that happened. Eventually I would get both sides of the story and somewhere in the middle was the truth. Not saying that either one was wrong, but that wasn’t my argument to have.

The day after we buried my dad, I finally had to tell my sister that whatever was between them was theirs and theirs alone. That he and I had already made our peace and we repaired our relationship along time ago. She seemed ok with that. I’m just sorry that she was never able to find her peace with him before he died. I hope one day she does.

My dad was always full of advise, whether you asked for it or not. His grandchildren would call them “Melvinism’s”. Along the way, he has given me a great deal of advise as well. And as I look back, each one has made an impact on my life. 23 of my 46 pairs of chromosomes came from him. I am my father’s daughter. I get my love for baseball and dogs, my ability to strike up a conversation with anyone, my boisterous laugh, my blonde hair and blue eyes, and many more attributes too numerous to list, all from him.

He also taught me many life lessons along the way. The biggest one is the circle of life. Living on the farm, raising pets and butchering animals was a daily part of our life. Also having a large extended family, deaths were just as common as marriage and births. As a kid we spent many an afternoon walking the family cemetery and him telling me of my heritage.

Today would have been his 75th birthday. Next week his second great-grandson will be born. Tomorrow is a new day. And as he always said, life goes on.

My dad, Melvin Ware, and I, July 2015.