My dad and I didn't get along very well. Some say it's because we were too much alike. I like to think that it's because we were so different, LOL. Once I got older and begin to think for myself and expose myself to more than his uber-conservative ways I simply became someone he couldn't understand.

Still, I loved him and I knew he loved me. He was hard on me and pushed me to succeed. He was older than most parents of kids my age and I think it made a difference in the way I was treated. I resented some of that and still do sometimes. But I believe he did his best with the knowledge he had.

The winter before I got married, he wasn't feeling well. He had some pains that weren't going away and some other weird things that his doctor dismissed as old age. He was 67, and he took the doctor's word. By 2 weeks before the wedding, he was in so much pain that he said he wasn't sure he could walk me down the aisle. I was devastated. All of my life I'd told him I wanted him to quit smoking so he could give me away at my wedding. He'd already had a heart attack, several strokes, and we knew smoking would eventually kill him. We just didn't know it would be so soon.

I don't remember the exact chain of events, but that week he had more extensive testing. I think it started with a trip to the ER when the drugs he was taking caused him to have some scary side effects. Ten days before the wedding, he was diagnosed with lung cancer. Which had spread throughout hie entire body. It was terminal, and nothing could be done to save him. I didn't know what to do...call it all off? Postpone? Elope? Somehow the big fancy wedding we had planned seemed wrong. Luckily others felt differently. It was time to celebrate life. Having family and friends together was perfect. People we rarely saw traveled to the wedding and they were able to say their goodbyes.

He did walk me down the aisle and give me away. At that point he'd been undergoing some treatment to shrink the tumors and give him some quality of life back. He was released from the hospital for the day and he had his last dance with my mom, with me. Not a dry eye in the room...even the caterers (who had been filled in) were caught crying. I huddled in a corner and sobbed while he danced with my mom. In all of our pictures you can tell he was sick. But he was there, and I have some good memories. Bittersweet memories.

Maybe I should have told him I wanted him to live to see my children. Because though he made it to the wedding and did his fatherly duty, he was gone less than a month later. Being a newlywed, finishing up my duties at work (we were being shut down and that required me to be there more than normal), and coping with a very ill father took a toll on me. I remember one day my mom asked me to come over after work and sit with him so she could run some errands. We played cards and had fun with each other. That was the last time I was with him when he was really coherent. Five years ago this week.

He deteriorated quickly after that. Went back into the hospital. A few days before he died, he spent time with all of us. He told me to be a good wife and a good mom. That's the last thing he said to me. He died on Friday, May 4th. It had been my last day at work and I was hoping I'd be able to spend more time with him and help my mom out some. It was not to be. My husband and I had been doing lots of experimental cooking and that night I had planned to have coconut shrimp with fruit salad for dinner. We made it together, and I had a lot left over. I was boxing it up to take to my mom when I got the call. It was about 9:00.

My mom's friend was on the other end of the phone and asked me to come. I told her I was on my way and asked if he was gone. She told me he was. So I finished getting everything together (because of course my mom wasn't going to want to eat...don't know what I was thinking) and we headed for the hospital. My brothers arrived sometime after me. They didn't know yet and I don't remember who told them. I don't think it was me, but that night is such a blur.

I'm angry about all of this. I'm angry at him for smoking and killing himself. I'm angry at God for taking my daddy away before he could meet my sons and see how wonderful they are. I'm angry at his moron doctor who missed the diagnosis for all of those months. I'm angry at myself for being angry. It sucks. It's not fair. It's not how life is supposed to happen.

To this day I can't watch my wedding video without sobbing. Pictures are somewhat better, but it's hard to see them and NOT think about the events surrounding it. They are good memories in a lot of ways but so bittersweet. I'd give anything to have my dad back so he could meet my babies. My little boys who are the light of my life, even though one of them is not here yet. He'd have loved them both. How I wish he hadn't smoked all those years. He might still be with us.