Nine Years

Dear Dad,

It was good to see you today. Though, I have to admit, you weren’t very talkative. Of course, for the last nine years, the conversations we’ve had have been pretty one-sided.

I have to admit, Dad, it’s hard to imagine me longing for the conversations we used to have. You remember….the ones where you’d sit in the chair at the kitchen table, and I’d be across the room sitting on the middle stair.

I loved those talks, Dad. And, I miss them. There we were, two stubborn Irishmen discussing a topic we were passionate about — neither one wanting to give an inch. And neither one of us ever did. And, yet, somehow, you always came out on top. You would get me to come right around to your point — almost forcing me to say something that agreed with your position, not mine. And once I did that, you wouldn’t say anything. No. You would sit there, and I would sit there. And while I was waiting for you to say something, it kept boiling inside of me that you got me to your point!

Sometimes, I wish we talked more. I think of questions now that I wish I knew the answers to. Why did you give up education? How come you never said much about your brother? There are more, but I think you get the idea.

I thought of those when you were alive, Dad. Of course I did. But there was no reason to think you wouldn’t be with us forever. So, I figured I’d get the answers eventually. You certainly aren’t talking about them now.

A lot is going on, Dad, that’s for sure.

The kids are growing. Everyone is busy. Mom just had bypass and came through fairly well. Slow to recupe, but that’s OK, she’ll get there. She had a funny dream about you, too, while she was doped up after surgery.

 But you know all this. At least I assume you do. And sometimes (no, make that a lot of times) I feel guilty when I don’t think of you as often as I think I should. Hoping all the while that not only are you thinking about me — but that you are watching down on my life.

And, honestly, Dad, hoping that you’re proud.



6 Comments on “Nine Years”

  1. Scott says:


    I write these often to my mother, but usually delete them. The next one I’m going to keep.



  2. Carrie says:

    He is proud, Mike. No question.

    Can’t live with the shoulda, woulda, couldas. Drive yourself crazy doing that. Thingshappen4areason you have to believe. There are things we can explain and things we can’t. Unfortunately this is one of the can’ts.
    You’ll find some answers to the questions in time – through conversations, through life.

    So for now and always, remember him (and Tim) and smile. Because they are smiling down on you.

  3. Erin says:

    An Irishman more stubborn than you???!!

    I know he’s proud.

  4. I know he’s proud…I don’t comment all the time but I read your blog always and I have come to really admire the man that you are. My Dad is a strong Irishman and he sounds much like yours was…

  5. Sara says:

    as always…. a loving tribute. You know he is proud.

  6. […] since she did that after burying her husband. Now, granted, that hurt like hell, too, but I still don’t think it even touches the other […]

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