I don't talk too much about my personal life on this blog. It just doesn't feel comfortable to tell you all everything about me when I have no idea who you are. But writing is therapeutic and I know I have to get these feelings out.
I remember while watching the Superbowl unfold, I looked up at the clock and saw we had :57 seconds left. Under a minute for a miracle. But in my heart I knew it was too late. And when the Giants won, I immediately started to tear up. I said to myself, "that was for you Dad."
The next day I took the day off of work and I spent a lot of time listening to sports radio. The announcers kept saying things like: "If Brady didn't throw that interception..." "If Welker made that catch..." "IF, IF, IF." I cried while driving because in so many ways that one football game symbolized what I was going through with my father's life.
On Thursday February 9th, my father passed away at the way too young age of 68 due to complications from Triple Bypass Surgery.
I've spent the last few days wishing I had more time with him. Wishing I had more answers. Wishing we hadn't grown so far apart in the last five years. Wishing he had met my nephews. Wishing he could meet my future son. I kept thinking "what if?" What if he didn't have the surgery?
My fathers funeral was on Sunday and over 75 people showed up. A lot of people had great memories of my father. The truth was my dad was a big kid at heart. He lived his life according to his plan and his weaknesses shaped his unique personality.
To paraphrase from my brothers eulogy, "if a persons life is measured by the memories he's left behind, my father has no equal."