My dad taught me to be tough. Really tough. Being raised on a farm, we didn’t really have much of a choice. Our chores were physically demanding, shoveling shit and grain, hauling water, stacking bales. We did it all. The work certainly helped us become physically strong. But we were expected to be emotionally and mentally tough too. I believe my dad did the best he could in raising us, often using “tough love” to push us to be better, to be the best we could possibly be. He would say things like, “there’s always someone smarter” and “there’s always someone stronger” and “someone has to win and someone has to lose”. He was full of wisdom and advice!

Life was busy on the farm. We raised cattle, pigs, and chickens, in addition to grain farming. That meant there was never a quiet “season”. Sure, some times of the year were busier than others, but there were always chores to do. And I loved to be a part of it. When I was little, I would follow my dad around the yard, asking him a million questions. Sometimes he would answer me, sometimes he would not. He was simple and straightforward. If there was an answer to give me, he would not mince words. I learned a lot about life (and death) from a very early age. We raised animals that fed our family. We had pets that had to be put down for various reasons. It was the life of being a farm kid.

As I got older, I was able to help Dad even more. I would help him fix equipment (often because my small fingers could get into crevices easier than his). Later, I would drive the grain truck, shuttle parts, or do whatever he needed. Through it all, I was always daddy’s little girl.

We didn’t take a lot of pictures growing up, but one of my favorites is one of my dad and I on Halloween. I was dressed up as a punk rocker. I had a blue mohawk and a shiny dress. My dad had been busy working on the field, so he was in his dirty coveralls. He knelt down on one knee and I sat on the other one. It was a happy moment for both of us.

I loved sitting on my dad’s knee. I always felt safe and protected. Even though my dad didn’t often (or ever) tell me that he loved me, I could feel the love when I sat on his knee. On Sunday evenings, I would crawl up on his lap and we would watch The Wonderful World of Disney and the Littlest Hobo. As I got older, sitting on dad’s knee meant I wanted something. When I was sixteen, I would walk over to Dad when he was sitting on his chair at the head of the table. I would put my arm around him and sneak onto his lap. This was usually followed with a request to drive the truck on the weekend. Although he knew the request was coming (and he didn’t always say yes), he still let me go through the motions of sitting on his lap. And it would usually make all of us giggle.

Dad loved to laugh. He loved to tell jokes and make sarcastic comments to make others laugh too. We would often have friends, neighbors, and family stop by to visit or play cards. Dad was always happy to have company and ready to entertain! He was also very involved in our neighborhood and our community. He was a volunteer firefighter for over twenty five years. Dad was loyal to his friends and family and we could always count on him to lend a helping hand.

With age, dad became a bit softer. He was still strong and tough, but he also showed a more sensitive side. I am sure the grandkids helped bring this out too. When I complained of a stomach ache, Dad would tell me to drink some ginger ale and have a good fart. When my kids told Grandpa their stomach hurt, he thought I should take them to the hospital! He was also very concerned about my kids going to daycare. So much so that he offered for him and my mom would watch them instead. 

I am so grateful that my kids were able to spend that time with their grandparents. The boys often helped my dad in the yard and in the garage and he would let them “fix” things. He taught them how to slurp spaghetti and scare each other. Grandpa always had candy or gum in his pocket for the kids. He made them laugh and giggle and they filled each other’s hearts with joy. 

After my mom passed away, Dad’s days were filled with grief. He was lonely. He was alone. He felt her presence in their home, but this did not bring him any comfort. In fact, I think it brought him even more grief. We visited Dad often. I would bring the kids to try and cheer him up. In those moments, he was able to smile if only for a brief period of time. 

While I was also grieving my mom, I was doing my best to support Dad on his grief journey. Some days that was easier than others. Shortly after Mom died, Dad decided to get his affairs in order. He added me to his bank account. We went to the funeral home, where he chose his casket and pre-paid for his funeral. It was all a bit strange, but I knew in my heart, it was something Dad felt needed to be done.

Along with taking care of “business”, Dad would make some odd and often, untimely requests. More often than not, I would oblige, knowing again that this was part of his grief journey. I also realized very quickly that everyone’s grief journey is very different. For example, some people have a hard time letting go of their loved one’s clothes and possessions. Not Dad. For him, Mom’s clothes were a constant reminder that she wasn’t there. He was insistent that we get rid of everything as soon as possible. One day, while he was away from the house, my friend and I went in and cleaned out the closets and drawers, removing all of my mom’s things. 

Several months later, Dad called me in a panic because he opened the drawer of the china cabinet where Mom kept the tablecloths. He needed them to go. If I wanted any, I would need to come and get them. So, over I went. Of course, it wasn’t just the tablecloths. There were other items in the drawers too that Dad wanted me to either take or get rid of. So I did.

After the work was done, Dad opened up to me in a way he hadn’t before. He was sad and lonely, but he also felt tremendous guilt. He had often talked about how he should have taken Mom to the doctor sooner. How he should have noticed that she was getting tired. There were many should haves. This particular day, he talked about how they should have “gone east”. He told me that Mom had really wanted to go back to Quebec to visit some family and friends. He should have gone. He didn’t particularly enjoy those trips, he told me. He felt out of place and he didn’t know anyone that well. But he should have gone. He should have done that for Mom. I listened as Dad expressed his guilt. I tried to console him and help him understand that none of that would have changed the result. But he couldn’t forgive himself.

About a month later, eleven months after my mom passed away, I called my dad and there was no answer. I tried several times, during different parts of the day, knowing his schedule. But there was no answer. Late that evening, on my way home, I decided to stop in and check on him. In my gut, I knew something was wrong. When I drove into the driveway, that feeling got even stronger. The light in his bedroom was on, but no other light in the house. It was too early for him to be going to bed. I ran up to the door and it was locked. I knocked on the door. No answer. I rang the bell. No answer. I fumbled to get my key into the lock and let myself in. As I pushed the door open, I called to him and ran into his bedroom. He was collapsed on the floor. No breath. No heartbeat. I called the ambulance and when they arrived, they confirmed what I already knew. My Dad was dead. The police came and searched the house, while I completed a report. I was confused, but knew this was standard protocol. Dad’s body was taken to the medical examiner’s office for an autopsy. It would later confirm what I already knew. Dad died of a broken heart. My parents had their differences, but in my heart I knew this was a true testament to their love for one another. Dad simply could not live without her. 

The image of Dad alone on the floor is not one I will ever forget. But I will also always remember his whisker rubs, the feeling of sitting on his lap, his strong hands, and his big, boisterous laugh. Most importantly, I will forever be Daddy’s little girl.