Father's day

I hear that in the US today is father's day. Even if I'm wrong, I've been thinking about my father, Jimmy Boudreau, a lot today.

If he had not died at age of 69 and one day, he would be 100 this coming December. If there is an afterlife his beloved 2nd wife has just joined him.

I had to decide between my father and mother, who made it clear I couldn't have both. I went years without seeing him until I was in college and my friend Paul Harvey found me in the nook where I studied. "You are wanted in the office," he said.

My father was waiting for me and he took me to lunch. Bridges were started then built as strong as the Chinese Great Wall.

He introduced me to his wife, his step children who became my brother and sister. He became my haven when my mother had me arrested as a stubborn child at 20 for trying to marry my soon-to-be husband.

He introduced me to his family via a wedding shower of aunts, uncles and cousins I'd not met since before kindergarten. All had money for me to finance my voyage to Germany to join my husband who was in stationed in an Army band in Stuttgart. As I opened each envelope, I looked around the room at faces much like mine, not knowing whom to thank.

He never told me what I should do, but whenever I came up with an idea he would ask, "Have you thought of..." What he asked about always happened. Always.

When my marriage broke up, he offered a place in their home for me and my baby daughter, but he was relieved I didn't need it. He and my stepmom were just free of all children. 

When he had a heart attack first in Maine and then in Florida, I rushed to his side despite his saying "no need." There was a need. The nurses knew that I flew in helicopters and I was a PR executive and a great mom and and and and...

He found it hard to say "I love you"  but would answer "me too" when I said I loved him whenever we parted or finished a telephone call. I never gave into the temptation to say, "you love you too?"

In a way, I'm glad that he didn't know I moved to Europe and became Swiss and then gave up my American nationality, although I did it for the same reasons he migrated with his family from Nova Scotia. He was, like all converts, a strong patriot, a Republican. My stepmom was a Democrat. Each election they would decide not to vote because they would just cancel each other out, but more than once they met up at the voting booth and sheepishly would then go to dinner. I have no idea what he would think about today's political situation.

I do wish he knew that I've published eight novels with the ninth in production.

When he died there were no regrets other than I was deprived of him. We'd said all that needed to be said, understood all that needed to be understood. I suspect if he'd been around during my teenage years we might not have formed such a strong bond. He wasn't good with teenagers, but he was perfect for adult daughters.