Deep Surface

I don’t talk about it much, but I was with my father when he died in 1984. We were on a beach in Waikiki, enjoying a vacation together. He had been feeling ill toward the end of a boat trip to the Pearl Harbor memorial. After getting off the boat, we walked across the beach together and he collapsed, fell into my arms, back on to the sidewalk, and died.

After going to a nearby concession stand to ask for someone to get help, I sat on a rock wall and cried. I remember seeing the scene from above, perhaps imagined, and looking down at all the people milling around the man on the ground and the boy crying. Once the paramedics came, they tried to revive him, and in the process took the bridge out of his mouth and gave it to me. He was only 43, but had bad teeth.

An ambulance came after what seemed like ages and I rode in the front seat imagining how things would be be when I visited him in the hospital room. I prayed to God, for the first time with any seriousness, promising to believe in Him if he brought my father back.

I sat in the doctors office with one of my dad’s long-time friends. The doctor came in and said, “We did all we could.” I took that to mean my father was going to be fine, it had just been hard work to bring him back. I was mistaken.

Someone thought it would help me understand and believe what had happened if I saw his body. So they took me in to look at it, but I didn’t make it through the door. He was lying there on a table with part of his face purple and blue, where the blood had settled.

My father’s friend Pam bit into my shoulder, weeping and hugging me.

That evening, I didn’t sleep well. I kept waking up thinking the day’s events had been a dream, then realizing he really was gone. As horrible as it was, I remember thinking that it should feel worse. There was pain and a feeling of heaviness, but the basic elements of life kept moving on as before.

In the following weeks, people kept commenting on how well I was taking it. Almost certainly some of my feelings were buried, and came out gradually over the years in various forms. Today those feelings are coming in tears of grief and thankfulness.

I miss him and the relationship that would have developed between us. I miss having a Dad. However, remembering my father and thinking about what I’ve lost been brings feelings of deep gratitude for those still in my life.

I have a small, amazing family and several life-long friends with enough intelligence, generosity, kindness and love to more than make up for what might have been. I was so lucky to grow up surrounded by open minds and hearts, and to still have these people in my life today.

So Happy Father’s Day to the guys in my life who helped me become the man I am today - and to my Mom, who did a great job occasionally filling in for the Dad role.