I don't think one ever really gets over the untimely loss of one's father. The last time I saw him before his death was in early 2010 when I had an outpatient process done at a Baltimore hospital. I didn't have any close friends in the area, and the hospital required someone to accompany me. Dad flew from San Antonio to be with me. I never thought when we went out for dinner and ordered a beer, it would be the last time I would share a beer with him.
When I would visit home, that was a bonding experience; we would go to American Legion or VFW (Dad was a member) and talk over mugs of beer. Dad had to lighten up on beer per doctor's orders over the last few years; I'm an indifferent beer drinker after the first few sips, and it used to exasperate Dad who was ready to buy the next round. I don't recall drinking one since Dad's funeral; I may have had one when visiting Mom last Christmas, but mostly I joined her in drinking a glass of wine around dinnertime. (Mom doesn't drink beer; I think she keeps a few in the fridge mostly for visiting family members.)
Dad didn't know much about my line of work, but I know for a fact that he would be very interested in the big picture of my new occupation. Not being able to share that with him personally makes me sad.
Dad is gone but will never be forgotten. I was pleased to see Diane's oldest daughter remember him today on Facebook, calling him like a second father.
I love you, Dad; pray for me.
