Canadian Mom: Father's Day

My Dad; let me think. When I was a little girl, my Dad was Superman. He was larger than life, commander of all who came in his presence, ready to put you on the straight and narrow even if he wasn't and I swear he could melt your defiant self esteem with one look from his steel blue eyes. He grew up in Coleman, a tough coal mining town set in the Rocky Mountains of southern Alberta. His mother was from Scotland and his brother was ten years older, too old to hang around with yet old enough to be worshipped. His father left them when my Dad was only four; leaving my grandma a single mother in an age when it was not acceptable. Both churches abandoned her. My Dad spent his days chasing cougars and hunting grizzly bears. He spent a year in bed from a bout with rheumatic fever and returned to school a little overweight and the subject of bullying beyond belief, yes this went on even in the 50's. He learned to box and drink and mixed the two with anger and resentment and became one badass guy no one wanted to mess with. He played drums and sang, had a tryout with the Stampeders football team in Calgary and lived a life of the stereo-typical greaser; leather jacket, slicked back hair, cigarette tucked behind the ear. Yes, this was my Dad, the nerd that became the cool guy. The lonely, hurt little boy that became the lonely, angry man.

He joined the Airforce, met my Mom and had a family, never really knowing what he was doing. He tried hard but always his lack of self love reached out, out of control and encompassing everything around him. There were times during my teenage years when I hated my Dad so much. I wanted to be anywhere else in the world rather than in the same room with him. I never saw the scared little boy nor did I have the ability to help him. But there were times in his cloud filled life that he said things that made sense to me and I tucked them away in my heart to call on later. I remember he told me once that I was like a swimmer in the huge ocean of life and it was his job to tell me when there were sharks in the water and help me swim away from them. Now that I have kids of my own, this is my rule for their teenage years; I can't drive the boat but I can be thier lookout and hopefully they listen to me.

In 1992, one month before I got married, my Dad had an accident. We will never know what happened but I suspect a car hit him. He wound up in the hospital in a coma, his brain swelling and close to death. When he woke up, he was a different man. He didn't know what year it was, or where he was or even who we all were. He had a severe brain injury and had to learn how to walk, and eat, and drink like a baby having to develope all his skills once more. My Mom stayed by his side, my oldest sister took on the task of caring for both of them and I got married and started a family of my own. During the next 18 years the little boy that my Dad was never able to be, came out. He was always happy now, he wondered at everything from the airplane flying overhead to my daughter fitting in a puzzle piece. He made a point of saying good morning to everyone and smiling a smile that let you know everything was going to be okay. He had no prejudices, no hatred, no idea what self esteem was. He was alive and full of wonder and joy; every breath he took was a gift from himself. I learned more about my Dad in those 18 years than I ever had before. His soul had become pure and I bathed in its glow and I became a better person. I finally knew the love inside of him and was grateful he no longer hid it. This is the person he was always meant to be.

In 2010 my Dad, now with dimentia, lost a brief battle with cancer and on June 22 left this world to go to another. I remember the last time I saw him, he lay in the hospital bed and I held his hand. He wanted to speak to me so I leaned down to look in his steel blue eyes.

"You know I've loved you for so long," he said and I smiled and said, "Me too."

My Mom phoned me in the morning to let me know that he had passed and I had to hurry to pack up to drive the 200 kilometers to Edmonton. On my way to the store to grab some last minute things a new song came over the radio and tears came to my eyes as I listened to VV Brown sing 'Sharks in the Water'.

My Dad was a very talented man who could draw beautifully and write with passion and wisdom. Below is a poem that he wrote many years ago. As my Father's Day gift to him I wanted to share it. Back then it was the only way he could express his love of this world.

Prayer

by Nelson Bernard

Right now I go on bended knee

So I can speak to thee

I’ve heard the ocean roar

Kiddies footsteps on the floor

I’ve heard the raindrops in the spring

Heard the itty bitty birdies sing

Heard the hum of the busy little bees

Heard the wind rustling in the trees

I’ve heard the warble of a hidden grouse

Interrupted by the sigh of a tired old house