August 31, 1990. This is the day my Dad passed away at the young, young age of 47. I had just graduated college. I had been working as a teacher for a total of one week. And I was engaged to be married 11 months later. I was all of 23 years old. I always get sad on this day. It's true that things get easier with time, but that doesn't mean it's ever easy. It's still so hard not having him around. He didn't live to see me in a great marriage. He didn't live to see my kids (his grandchildren). Although I am happy he got to meet Tami and Jessi before he died. He didn't live to see me getting to be a grandpa. He didn't live to see me successful in my career. He didn't live to see me in a wonderful home. He died much too early to see any of this. I know he would have been incredibly proud and I am certain he would have been plum crazy about all his grandchildren. I still get sad when I think of a time when he and I could have sat and chatted as adults and shared a cold beverage. I still get sad when something great happens and I can't call him and tell him about it. I really miss him.
And here's the scary part for me... If I were to live the same amount of time as my dad, I'd have about 17 months to live. That is totally unbelievable.
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