My dad died earlier this evening, about 6:30-7:00 PM local time.  I include the time because I have had knowledge of this for the last 6 hours, but I'm not sure if I am reacting "correctly" or even normally.

I have told my kids, my wife, a few friends of the family and of my dads, and now you here on this.  The weird part is this: I do not feel sorrow right now, I'm not crying or about ready to cry or anything like that.  I just feel empty -- like a part of me was just snuffed out and there's nothing to put in there to fill it back up again.  You'd think I would be sad that the man that I have always looked up to and tried to become (and failed often and sometimes quite fantastically) is no more on this mortal plane we call life.  I think I should feel sorrow, shouldn't I?

Maybe it hasn't "hit" me yet, or maybe it hasn't "sunk in" or anything like that.  It's not that my dad isn't important to me, just the opposite: he is the most important person (aside from my wife and kids) in my life, and I have always tried to live up to the title of his son.  That is a huge thing to me, making sure my family is proud of me, even though I have failed them in the past.

I'm sitting here staring at the monitor and I don't even know what to write.  Right now I don't even know how I am feeling, let alone what I should be feeling and/or doing.  Maybe if I talk about him.....



My dad was 98 years old, born November of 1920 in Chicago to Vaudeville actors.  He often spoke of his childhood using dresser drawers for a bassinet or bed as my grandparents were touring with him.  He told stories of how his parents traveled with him, and how they eventually settled in Albion, MI.  He worked at Chrysler for many years (38, I think).  He was past of the team that engineered the 426 Hemi -- yes, that legendary Hemi.  He was part of the team that engineered the 2.2l engine that was the mainstay of so many cars in the 80s.  He was part of the LA engine team, the B engine team, and the RB engine team.  He had an ability to draw - with hand tools - what some people can't even design with the help of CAD/CAM/CAE programs on powerful workstations/computers today.

He met my mother at Chrysler:  she worked in the reproduction department inking the pencil drawings so they can be copied off of the vellum and onto the design prints.  My mom passed away in 1999 after a final fight with cancer, and in Dad's eyes, he was still her husband.  His heart never strayed -- there is a picture of mom in his room.

After he "retired" from Chrysler he moved to GM and worked at a engineering shop there for about 5 more years.  He helped redesign the frame of the Suburban to make it stronger but lighter, and still allow wires / tubing to pass through a hollow core.  After retiring the second time, he would putter around the house in the yard or garden or just sit on the back patio with mom and watch the squirrel try and get to the food in the bird feeder that he put his latest anti-squirrel contraption on.  He had many friends, much family, and nothing but love for all who knew him. 

I remember growing up I got the family vehicle, as as teens known to do, I would ask mom for some money so I could go out with some friends.  Sometimes she said no because I didn't finish one chore or another, but invariably if dad found out, he'd slip me a $10 or $20 with the admonition "don't tell your mom -- I'll get in trouble!"  He was generous, but not frivolous: once back from time with my friends, there was sometimes a new chore waiting for me (usually something simple), sometimes nothing more than a "Did you have fun?", sometimes he'd just check to make sure I was OK, but I never forgot (nor disobeyed) his warning.

He spanked me when I was wrong, he praised me when I was right, he helped me when I was weak; he encouraged me to be a man of faith, he demanded I be a man of accountability.  He was my dad.

When my family and I were able to visit him and my brother this last Christmas (2017), we reminisced, we laughed, we cried, we took pictures, and even though we knew dad was getting weak I held out hope that he would be there if we came for another visit this summer.  I really do feel lucky and blessed that we had this opportunity to spend just a week with dad and my brother and his family.


Here is what I wrote about him years ago (I think in 2004, right after the birth of our baby girl).

None of this is even close to doing justice to dad, but it's all I can write now.  I've experienced some heart-rending emotions in the past with my wife almost dying in a dog mauling, but now I just feel ... lost.