Good night my angel time to close you eyes
And save these questions for another day
I think I know what you’ve been asking me
I think you know what I’ve been trying to say

I promised I would never leave you
And you should always know
Where ever you may go
No matter where you are
I never will be far away

Good night my angel now it’s time to sleep
And still so many things I want to say
Remember all the songs you sang for me
When we went sailing on an emerald bay

And like a boat out on the ocean
I’m rocking you to sleep
The water’s dark and deep
Inside this ancient heart
You’ll always be a part of me

Do do do do…

Goodnight my angel now it’s time to dream
And dream how wondeful your life will be
Someday your child will cry and if you sing this lullaby
Then in your heart there will always be a part of me

Someday we’ll all be gone
But lullabies go on and on
They never die that’s how you and I will be

-Billy Joel.

My Daddy

The above lyrics are from the song that my Daddy and I danced to at my wedding in January. I had no idea then just how much the words would come to mean, or haunt me.

On the 18th of August 2006, I received a call at work from my Mom. I was taken aback because she has never called me at work before (at least not since I moved to England two years ago). I expected some sort of news, but I was nowhere near close to being prepared for the news she delivered;

A few hours earlier, two of my uncles and a friend of my Dad’s had broken down the doors in his condo to find his body on his bed. He had died sometime during the night/morning.

No one expected this, which to me makes it all the worse. He was only 60 years old. He had this past year seen me get married in January, been told in April that my older brother eloped, and then got to see the baby (26 year old baby) of the family get married in July. Some people have said that they believed he was ready to “go” because he knew that we were all happy.

But I know he wasn’t ready.

More than seeing us married, my Daddy longed to be a grandparent. Children meant everything to him. He lived purely to provide for the three of us, and fell in love with any baby that he came into contact with. He even wrote a comment in our wedding card about expecting grandchildren now.

Just over a week before he died, Lee and I discovered that we were expecting. Lee was shocked and I was overjoyed. I couldn’t wait to tell my Daddy that he was finally going to get what he wanted most. I told my Mom and Stepdad and we decided that I should hold on a little while before I told my Dad as the news would travel too fast and it was too early on.

When I was hit with the news of his death, I was eaten alive by guilt. The guilt of keeping from him the one thing that I knew would have made him happy. The little bit of news that would have let me know that when he died, he did not die lonely, but knowing that he had something amazing to look forward to.

Two days after my Dad’s funeral, I ended up in the hospital as I miscarried the baby. Everyone seems to have their beliefs on why it happened. When I was pregnant it was “your father’s reincarnation” or “God gave you this baby to get you through this time”. When I lost the baby even more theories started to fly. All I know is the only thing getting me through the miscarriage right now, is knowing that I mightn’t have told my Dad, but now there is nothing to tell.

To be honest, I am not properly grieving.

I am trying to figure out how to live my life without my father in it.

People who know me well, know that my Dad was the light of my life. I was a Daddy’s Girl from the start and as many times as we bumped heads and yelled at each other for one thing or another, I couldn’t possibly love anyone more than I love him. That is not to take away from my mother. At all. I am really just a Daddy’s Girl. To me he needed protecting, where my mother was a protector.

Anyway, I lived my life to make my father happy. Everything I did was reported back to him and I would wait for affirmation that I had done well, though more often than not I got back criticism. That just made me (angry at the time but..) want to try harder the next time I did something.

Today I have to learn to live my life for myself. It may sound liberating for some, but it is frightening to me. I always knew what I wanted because it was what my Dad wanted for me. Now, I have to actually think of what I want, and I have no idea what that is.

Well I know what I want, it is just that the only thing I want right now I cannot have, so I have to think of something(s) else.

Some of you may have read things about my father in the newspaper or heard about it on television. I just want to say that the man the media “knew” is so far from the man my father was. My father was my hero. He was a hero to all three of us. My younger brother asked me the day before the funeral “When Superman dies, the movie ends.. so what happens now?”

I still don’t know.

And I am not sure I ever really will.