Today is June 3rd.

Today would be my Daddy’s 56th birthday. But my Daddy has been gone for nearly 12 years now.  He lost a long battle with cancer on Christmas Day, 1999.

20 years ago today, we buried my Papa, my Dad’s dad.

June 5 would be Papo’s birthday, my husband’s grandfather who passed away December of 2009.

June 15 is my daughter’s birthday – she’ll be 12 this year.  She’s the only one of my beautiful kiddos that my Daddy got to meet here on Earth.

And somewhere in the mix is always Father’s Day.

June for me is a tough month because of these things [and because here in Canada we still have school all of June (and I’m ready to be out of school at the end of May), and because the weather never cooperates in June, but that’s all really besides the point].

I have never been one to dwell on such things.  I want to live in the moment rather than languishing in the  hurts of the past.  But in all honesty, I miss my Papa greatly, I miss my Daddy so much, and we all miss Papo.  At these times, when we would normally have been celebrating with them, we can chose to remember them and honor their memory, and that’s what I try to do.  Even so, I’m sad.

Daddy, Mom, me and my little sister

My Daddy died from complications of Basil-cell carcinoma (if you had to get skin cancer, this is the one you want because it’s the most treatable with the highest recovery rate).  He wasn’t taking good care of himself, wasn’t letting others take care of him either.  My husband and I were living in Canada, 2500 miles away, and doing the best we could to communicate with him and help him.  December 21, 1999, we convinced him to go into the hospital again, with the plan to join fly down and help with the details of long-term care after Christmas, when the airline fares went down again.  Christmas Eve I talked with him, and some of the family, and they were hopeful that we’d be moving him to a long-term care facility.  Christmas Day I called to wish him a Merry Christmas, only to find out in a round about way from hospital staff that he was already gone.  I didn’t see this coming, and I didn’t get to say goodbye.  I was devastated. In the end I know that I had to let my Dad ‘go’ on his own terms, which means that he refused care longer than I would have liked, and likely caused his own earlier-than-necessary demise.  I can honestly say that we parted on very good terms – he was our friend and my Daddy, with all his faults, and we knew that we loved and cared for each other greatly.  Man, I miss him.

Papa Ray, about 2 months before his death in 1991

I’m named after my Papa, was the oldest of his grandkids, and adored him.  He loved us grandkids in such sweet ways – he was a great Papa.  And because of my parents’ divorce, I didn’t see my Papa after we moved in September 1990, before his death in late May 1991.  It was awful not to see him, after we had lived less than a mile from him out on the family farm for years and years.  I hadn’t gone a week without seeing him at least once, and more usually seeing him several times a week.  It was awful not to say goodbye.  We didn’t say goodbye before we moved – we were scooped up and left in a hurry.  I wasn’t allowed to see him or even talk to that side of my family during that time. And I didn’t get to say goodbye before he was really and forever gone – he was out working in the field like he always did as a concrete ditch liner, had a heart attack, and was just gone… Nobody got to say goodbye.  I am sad to not have had him in my life these years.  He would love that we’re living in Alberta, and that one of my favorite places on Earth is Montana (he loved Montana).  He would love my husband and my kiddos.  I miss him so much.

Papo celebrating his 87th Birthday

Papo was such a sweet soul – an old-time farmer, living on the homestead farm that his family started when they immigrated from Switzerland.  He was very soft-spoken, and he loved his family.  He adopted my mom-in-law and her brother as his own when he married Mimi, and they were never less than “all his”.  We had many more years with them than we even should have.  His kidneys were failing and he was on dialysis something crazy like 8 or 9 years, at least 3 years over what they said he’d be able to do at his age.  He passed away at home, with most of his family around him, literally, as he breathed his last and went home to Jesus.  We all miss him terribly.

As Father’s Day approaches, with all these other milestone dates, I do feel sadness in my heart – the sadness of missing special people, whose absence is felt most especially in these times.

I choose to share their stories, and to remember the great men that they were.  I may shed a few tears, but I won’t wallow in that sadness. None of them would have wanted that.

Papa, Daddy, Papo – I miss you all.  I love you, and look forward to seeing you again one day!