Missing Daddy

Nineteen years ago on Memorial Day my father passed away from pancreatic cancer. I was eleven years old. He was fifty. I was old enough to understand the gravity of the situation but too young to know I should have taken advantage of every moment I was able to spend with him.

My dad's name was Alfred, but everyone called him Fred. He was a plantebiologist at Michigan State University, meaning he was a scientist who studied plants. His area of expertise was beans, so I always called him a Bean Doctor. I did not inherit his science smarts, unfortunately, but I did inherit his ears, his sense of humor, his nose, and his faith in God.

I still miss my dad terribly even though I have now lived more of my life without him than with him. I think he would be proud of me and would love my family. I wish they had been given the opportunity to meet him before he passed away.

For me, Memorial Day is about my dad. I am always a little melancholy on this day, as I am sure many of you are. I wish he was here on Earth with me, but I know I will see him someday in Heaven and will embrace him like no time had passed between us.

I love you, Daddy.