A Quarter Century of Father’s Days: Where Did the Time Go?

(HAVE A SEAT AND A DRINK..THIS IS A LONG ONE!!)

It has been my mission and responsibility every Father’s Day to acknowledge another special day without Erica. 25 years! From middle age to being a senior, I may be OLDER in years but not in feeling youthful.

How have I stayed young? Being involved in my fight for bereaved parents and joining the board of Evermore, which campaigns for ALL those who grieve and keep the work going.

How have I stayed young? Going through my bathroom cabinet, sometimes using the strawberry hand cream that was Erica’s. I smell like her. And when I asked Hope this week about her cool cut-off shorts, she says, 'These were Erica’s jeans!’

How have I stayed so young? Listening to music and singing along with NKOTB or N’Sync and dancing with Hope around the house, trying to get the dogs join us. They get happy!

How have I stayed so young? Going bowling on her birthday or her ‘anniversary’ and asking them to put up the bumpers for my second game. The only difference is I can’t cheat.

How have I stayed so young? Looking through some of the things I have saved and regretting some of the things I discarded in my reflex move.

How have I stayed so young? Weaned myself down from the 20mg of Celexa I started two days after she passed, to 5mg the past 23 years. It was the desire to ‘feel’ not numb up.

How have I stayed so young? Came even further out of my SHELL, which we know never REALLY existed, to engage with everyone, even annoying passengers at the airport.

How have I stayed so young? Simple. I lived. I embraced life and let the sadness guide me to be better.

I traveled. I continued to ski. I continued to do things on the spur of the moment.

I was determined to prove that if I stopped feeling, caring and growing, it would be a different ‘death’ of sorts. It would not do her memory justice and might have kept me from spreading the love, in whatever way has worked for me; and Hope. And Erica’s ‘entire’ family has shown there can be strength in acknowledging loss, not ignoring it, but summoning the best in us.

The goal was to live the life she would have and should have lived but as John Lennon said: “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.’

I often use the exchange between Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp in the movie ‘tombstone.’

This Sunday will be the 25^{th ‘HOLIDAY’.}.

Does each Father’s Day get easier? For me, it does. Not any less poignant but knowing the voids have closed up quite a bit BECAUSE I have stayed youthful; remembered, not just recalled and kept out there, fighting for others and seeing that fight give me strength..and solace.

So, what will I do this Sunday? I haven’t decided yet and that’s ok. Bowling? Perhaps. A movie? A possibility. Cook up a storm? Likely. And know that emptying the dishwasher was Erica’s job and I’m sure she knows I’ve got her back, in my heart.

An article I wrote on June 21, 2001.

..”and a Happy Father’s Day to all of you flying with us today on Southwest Airlines.”

I wondered out loud to my wife if I was still a Father and she assured me I was, that you never stop.

In the Fall of 1993, I wrote a feature for the New York Times about my then 11-year-old daughter Erica on how one could raise a 90’s kid with 50’s values, avoiding the well-worn and outdated parental encumbrances of the past but holding onto to the more innocent times and mixing them with the new, materialistic world of nearly a decade ago.

This past April Erica was once again in the New York Times, but it was not a feature, but rather an obituary for an 18-year-old, whose life was cut too short in a car accident here in Arizona, our new adopted home.

This past weekend was my first Father’s Day since Erica’s death and my first thought was to “get out of Dodge,” avoiding the IHops and brunches where throngs of Dads go, because as I was told as a child, “every day is kids day,” but there is only ONE Father’s Day. Where sports heroes go to Disney World to celebrate after winning the big game, I chose Las Vegas as the place to ease the pain and escape to a fantasy world.

At the Phoenix Airport Friday night, I spoke to my 77-year-old father in Florida and wished him a Happy. After I hung up, I said to my wife Hope “There’s no one to call ME on Sunday.”

As the tears welled and she gave a comforting touch the flight was called and it was time to lose a little cash, see the new hotels, and watch a Las Vegas headliner. We landed barely 55 minutes later, whisked in a cab to the Bellagio, and proceeded to hunker down for the weekend, paying $3.75 for a cup of coffee, eating at restaurants they have in Scottsdale, and New York, and partying in a town that as a rule, has no clocks, no calendars and time stands still..Or continues without road markers.

The first thing we noticed was kids. lots of them. With fathers, mothers, and steps. But this was no big deal, this was Las Vegas, and we were here to have fun, never forget, but not be stuck in the land of pain and sorrow. After a nice, terribly overpriced dinner in a hotel that must have cost more to build than the entire GNP of most second-world countries; a day of tramming to a replica of the Eiffel Tour and San Marco Square, we settled in at the pool to prepare for a dinner and a show.

Using my entertainment contacts of more than 25 years, we dined along the Canals of Venice-across from Davidoff’s and BeBe and The Gap-- and went to the MGM Grand to see Tom Jones. Later that night as we walked back to the hotel, I told Hope it was good to get away from the memories for a few days. She asked me when the last time was, I was in Las Vegas. I told her..two years ago—with Erica. She then asked, “What did you do?” I told her we ate at CPK and went to see—uh—Tom Jones.”

Hope then told me that in reality, I had run AWAY from a town where I had never celebrated Father’s Day with my daughter and ran TOWARDS a place where I had a connection with her, a history, a past, a link to her memory and a happy trip in her all too short life.

We talked about how we sometimes inoculate ourselves from pain and that we have two choices—we can take an antihistamine to dull our senses and sleep, or we can take an aspirin to deal with the illness but still be able to function and get around.

This past weekend, Scottsdale became the former, Las Vegas the latter and the key was to deal with pain and not mask the emotion. It was somber but not as explosive as I feared. The next morning—Father’s Day, we left Las Vegas four hours early because I wanted to get back to a barbecue with my in-laws and their twins.

It WAS a special day and the lessons, guidance, and support I gave to Erica was still fresh as I imagined I would always be a Father, and that I would use every opportunity to parent; maybe not my child but someone else’s through being the kind of person I am.

As we drove home from the airport, we stopped at the cemetery because since Erica could not come to me on this day, I would come to her. I sat down on the still-fresh grass and marveled that the chopstick I put there two months ago was still there. How she loved sushi.

I said a Kaddish, and told Erica that we were off to Lori and Jeff’s to “see the little monsters”, wishing my monster was coming with us. I could have sworn she said “They are so cute. I love them. Be nice, Dad!” I said I would. Because that’s what I am about..people like me love, nurture, and never stop being what we are.

We are fathers and I will remain one until the day I die.”