Jimmy

Can you miss someone for 37 years?

Yes!

I still miss my dad, whom I called Jimmy. It is not the new grief where your breath is painful, but more of the I-wish-I-could-tell-him this or that such as I am a published writer. I would love to see him playing golf with my husband. I know he would love Rick II as much as I do.

I never knew he disapproved of Rick I until after the divorce and Rick I had remarried. Then he felt it was safe. We would not be getting back together.

I knew how much he loved me when he shared his tamalley, the green stuff in lobster, with me. He adored it as much as I do.

When I arrived in the ICU unit in Florida after his heart attack, the nurses knew all about me. One even said, "You are the one that flies in a helicopter."

Because of my parents divorce, I did not see my father from the time I was 13 until I was 20. He showed up at my university, afraid I'd reject him, but pushed by my stepmom who knew how much he wanted a relationship with me.

Maybe our relationship as adult to adult was better than it would have been had he been there during my teen years although I wasn't a difficult teen. We can't go back. I do know he was always there for me from the time we reconnected.

Always.

Always.

He cheered me on, even when he disagreed with me.

He never told me what I should do, but would ask, "Have you thought of..." Whatever he mentioned happened. I learned not just to think of whatever he suggested, but to act on it. It was easier than digging myself out of whatever hole, I would have dug myself into.

I am grateful that I never had to tell him I gave up my American nationality. He would have accepted that I had my reasons, but since he was so proud of being American it would still have hurt him.

He had had heart problems. His 69th birthday celebration included the best game of golf ever. That night there was a party with a cake showing a golfer. Because his birthday was immediately after Christmas, many of his birthdays had gone unnoticed. His fatal heart attack was the next day.

I cannot look at a Scrabble board, think of bridge, hear someone mention rare roast beef, or eat tamalley without him popping into my mind. That and a thousand and one other tiny things.

In Argelès where I have my second home, there is man who has my father's face. My daughter agreed. The man agreed after I showed him a photo of Jimmy. In a strange way it is comforting.

I am well passed the age my father died. He loved life. I am trying to live life for both of us. That he would have loved.

An interesting trip. My brother had not seen his father from the time he was 

5 until he was 27. He asked me to introduce them so we flew to Florida together. 

This is the only picture I have of the three of us.