the day the music died

To borrow lyrics from the song, that's exactly what I felt when my Dad died.  It was like there was this constant familiar tune playing inside me and it stopped playing when his heart stopped beating.  Now there is just silence.   He used to tell me he heard music all the time too, and I remember his fingers were always tapping to the beat he must have had playing inside his soul. 


A year ago today since I heard that song; hard to believe it's been that long.  Once since that day I swear I heard him, perched high on top of the neighbors rooftop; right smack in the middle at the highest point....center stage.  I looked up and heard the most beautiful song, I stood and listened from beginning to end, tears rolling down my cheek before the brightest and most colorful bird I ever saw flew off; his last performance just for me.  He was a musician all of his life. From garage bands to USO tours in Vietnam to making the charts; I was so proud of him, his biggest fan.  But never was I more proud than of his courageous fight to survive in the end.

We were both sick at the same time, and would call each other up and share smoothie recipes and liver cleanses, inspirational CD's and raw food recipes.  I'll never forget what he said when he got the cancer diagnosis, " Thank God it isn't Lyme".  He didn't survive it in the end but it wasn't the cancer that killed him; it was an infection he got that got worse in the hospital.  That's been the hardest part of this.....he was supposed to survive.  I didn't go to his fundraiser....everyone told me to wait until I felt better and he improved so we could both have a better visit.  His doctor promised he was going to make it...I feel so cheated.  Then I think, "how could I ever feel cheated?...I was so fortunate to have him as my Dad".  I just wish I could've been there more for him in the end.  Just one more thing this damned disease robbed me of.

I know he understood.  A few weeks before he died he told me he watched the video of me skydiving...a memoir of the former me....he told me he balled his eyes out during the entire video. "That was you when you were at the top of your game".  Like I was a whole other person.   He knew and he understood.  A tough cowboy on the exterior, he was the sweetest and most sensitive man I have ever known.  I don't know if that's how everyone saw him, but his "baby" as he so proudly introduced me to his fans, always felt safe when he was around, and somehow the world made more sense then.  Even though I was sicker than sick the last two years of his life, there was still something inside of me until that day by his bedside; an empty spot now that can never be replaced.

I have been crying for a week straight;  I won't share some of the thoughts I have had.  But today, for some reason I am at peace and for my Dad, I am going to try to celebrate rather than mourn.  The adventures we shared are in the past for both of us now; I can no longer camp and hike and fish but I can look back and remember every year, first day of fishing season, getting up at the crack of dawn, grabbing our tin can of nightcrawlers we caught the night before and heading down to the hopyard in our race to catch the biggest rainbow.  And I dream of a time when we both were at the top of our game.