Father's day is around the corner again.  Once again, I'm faced with the epic battles of missing family.  I sent emails off to the real father I never had and got no reply.  An email to my real father figure would also go unanswered since emails to heaven get an undeliverable return message.

My grandpa was the most amazing man that I could ever have asked to be the father I never had.  What my father lacked in courage to be a real man, my grandpa fully lived up to the identity.  When I needed someone to be the protector, he was there.  When I needed stability, he was the rock.  Between my mother constantly moving me around between houses, men and women, alcoholics and drug addicts, cities and towns, going home to my grandma and grandpa was the only sense of being a child I really had.

He was born in 1942 in a small town.  He was a nerd who loved science fiction and had big ears.  He met my grandmother when he was 13--she was the eldest of 6 from the other side of the tracks.  He joined the military and served his years, came back and married my grandma after they both couldn't take it anymore, much to my great grandfather's chagrin.  My mother came along first, then my uncle.  He worked as a traveling salesman, a lab tech, a pub owner, a lab owner, and then as a microbiologist.  He smoked pot, enjoyed classy ladies, drank the occasional bloody mary, and sat on the front porch every night and enjoyed his pack of GPCs.

That would be his undoing.

He passed away August 17th, 1999 from his third heart attack while he slept.  He was 57.

While he was here on earth, he gave me what was the best gift I could be given by anyone--the feeling of safety.  He would work the night shift in the city, so he would come home at around midnight.  Frequently I'd be asleep already, so I would have to trust that he would come home.  He'd always come in to the bedroom and kiss me goodnight, just so I would know that he was home and I was safe from anything that would harm me under the bed or that would go bump in the night.  On days he was off, he would sit me on his lap on the front patio while he smoked and tell me stories that he would make up or teach me German he picked up while he was stationed in Germany.  I'm sure he taught me to curse first in German as well as he taught me to say my first curse words in English.  Among the knowledge of other languages, he gave me somewhere to call home, somewhere to feel safe, and someone to talk to.

After he was gone, my whole family was heartbroken.  I was only thirteen.  I think my family gave me more credit than what I was worth in resiliency because I didn't bounce back.  I still cry to this day missing him.

And what do I miss the most?

I miss sitting on Papa's lap, hearing that it will be okay, no matter what my problem was.  I miss his dry wit and dark humor.  I miss the smell of his cologne (Aramis) on everything of my grandmother's.  I miss how he toned my grandmother down from a level ten to a level five.  I miss how he kept the family together.  I miss how he stood up for me.  I miss how he made me feel like a person.  I miss the safety he provided.

So as father's day passes once again, I remember him and I miss him.  I'd like to think that I could send an email off to heaven, thanking him for the thirteen years of my life that he provided me so many good memories and the basis for what I can now return to in my healed life, past the trauma I've lived through.  I'd like to think that I could send a greeting card with a Jack in a Box gift card that he would end up sharing with his grandkids anyway for Jumbo Jacks and his ever-beloved tacos.  I'd like to think that I could talk to him on the heavenly phone and tell him how much I appreciate all the nights he spent educating me on what really mattered in life as well as things that I will always remember, no matter how unimportant they really were (the weight classifications in boxing, for example).

It's been almost 12 years since he's been gone, but I still want to celebrate my real father figure every year somehow.

So I'll light a candle (I'm sure my Papa would have preferred I light up a joint), play some Patsy Cline, look at old photos, call my grandma and reminisce about him, and heck, maybe I'll find my way to a White Castle, Jack in a Box, or Lion's Choice.  I'll also pray and thank God for the time that I did have with him, because without him I would have been a total disaster as a person.

So to all you dads, grandpas, step-dads, step-grandpas, dad-in-laws, etc--thank you for what you do.  It can truly make a difference to a child when you least expect it and leave a lasting impression on a life.  May God bless you in your journey ahead and happy father's day...

...and to my Papa in heaven... I love you.