A Long Overdue Remembrance of My Father (Repost from Facebook)

The following post was written the day before Father's Day in 2010. I have made no changes to the text except the correct spelling errors and punctuation errors. I have added some additional photographs that were not present in the original Facebook post.

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November 19th, 1980. The day my dad succumbed to the scourge of modern society, Cancer. In this case, Leukemia. I was 8 years old.

I don't have many memories of my day. At least, I don't have many memories that include him visually. I vaguely remember sitting at the kitchen table, leaning back in our high back chairs and him chastising me for doing that. And yet, the one time I leaned too far and fell back into the china cabinet (cracking the glass), I don't remember punishment. I remember him being concerned for my health.

I remember him sitting around the pool, usually in his chaise lounge, watching as his children and his wife played in the water.

But, I am thankful for the few photographs I do have of him. Because, even in these few memories where he does appear, the visage is vague. Remote. Hazy.

Of course, these are not my only memories of my father. It's just that my memories of him are of situations with him in it... not directly of him.

My favorite memory of my father was during a vacation in Virginia Beach, Virginia. I might have been 5... perhaps younger. We arrived during a horrible early season Nor'Easter in Late April. And, as the family walked towards the hotel entrance, a gust of wind literally lifted me off the ground and threatened to continue lifting me like a balloon. Alas, my father was a hero that day... catching my ankles and pulling me back to the ground.

My father was a smart man. He was a certified public accountant as well as somewhat of a politician, having performed the role of Treasurer for the Town of Westbrook in the 1970s. He like fast cars, favoring the Datsun Z's for his care (while owning Oldsmobile 88s for the family car). And, he was a good provider for a family of 4 children. He was also a good provider for humanity, becoming a Volunteer EMT for the Westbrook Ambulance Association (along with his wife/my mother).

I remember going to the town hall to visit my father... going up the stairs to his office. I remember cleaning out his new accounting office. And, I remember the day he crashed his 240 Z... and I vaguely remember it being a second crash. But, in none of those situations for I remember him... just the situation.

I do remember winters... walking on the streets of our neighborhood after a snow... all of us throwing snowballs at each other. Of course, we would all try to get my father... and we probably succeeded more often than not. But, it didn't matter... because he would get us all with his snowballs.

And, I remember his dog, an Irish Setter named Tobias. Sure, I could lie and say it was the family dog... but it just wouldn't be true. I remember Toby sitting in the living room, sitting on the couch... emulating my father. Literally, sitting on his butt with his back against the cushions. Somewhere, there are probably pictures... I hope so. But he was Peter's dog. Soon after my father's death, Toby ran away. We can only presume he went on a search to find my father.

Of course, my most vivid memories are of his final year, wracked with Leukemia. His absence as he went to New Haven (Yale to be exact) for treatment, diagnosis, and hospitalization. And later, his trips to Boston (Dana Farber) for more tests and treatment... and hope for a cure. Or at least a treatment that would give him more time. 

My first time in Boston was likely my father's last... It was the fall of 1980. I'm thinking it was mid-October... but I honestly don't know. He went to Dana Farber for treatment, and the entire family went with him. I do remember it was a day trip... but I'm not sure why we all went, it was not something we usually did. I remember walking down some back roads as a family (absent my father), looking at the buildings and talking. About what, I don't know. Maybe my mother was telling us in her own way that the end was near. Maybe we just talked about the weather. It doesn't matter... even though he wasn't actually walking with us... it was probably the last time we truly had a family moment.

And, on the way home, we stopped at an old gas station. we stopped by an old gas station. In fact, I think the station was closed... I'm not certain why we stopped. Perhaps, to look at a map and get directions. I know we all got out of the car... and I remember seeing Fenway Park in the distance. It was maybe a couple of blocks away, but it was huge in my 8 year old eyes. I didn't know what it was... but I believe it was my father who told me it was Fenway Park. Which seems odd now, my father was not a sportsman. We didn't watch much sports on television (of course, television was different then). And, I remember picking up an old program that was lying on the pavement.

As much as Boston should bring pain... given my father's ultimate outcome, I actually think the trip gave me Boston. It is my favorite city, the city I wanted to be near in college... and the city I will continue to return to as often as I can. Boston was the last give my father gave me. 

And, then he died. I have major memories of the wake... I was taken to the wake by an old family friend, a friend who is to this day my hair dresser. And I remember being told it was OK to cry. And I remember going to the funeral home (a funeral home that has since become a Cajun restaurant) and seeing my father in the casket. And sitting by my mother. And being given condolences from people I didn't know. But, I never cried. And to this day, I don't know why. I knew my father was gone. I knew I should cry. I knew it was OK... but I never did.

I remember being picked up for the funeral... sitting in a limo with these weird flip down seats. I remember the ceremony at the Westbrook Congregational Church. I remember the burial. And, I remember not crying. I don't know why. I still don't know why.

Life of course moves on... it always does. And while I never forgot my father, he became a vague memory in a complicated life... a memory that occasionally bubbled to the surface. Father's Day was never particularly painful because my memories were repressed. Another defense mechanism? Another way to avoid being hurt? Who knows. I would occasionally go to his grave... but as I moved away from my childhood home, the visits became fewer and fewer.

My life changed a month ago. I entered into a relationship with an absolutely wonderful lady. (Thank you, Dawn!). But... in order to move forward in this relationship, I had to deal with a lot of repressed memories of childhood. The memories of my father came rushing back... as did the memories of the years after my father passed. The memories of my father were the better half of the flood... but brought with it strong emotions. Because, he died when I was 8. I never really knew him. He missed all the important parts of my life... and her I was entering, perhaps, the most important non-family relationship ever... and I couldn't share this with him either. And I wanted to. I so wanted to. I know that he is still around, within us... he knows my happiness. But... it's not the same. I want him to be here.

Tomorrow is Father's Day. And for the first time in a long time, I will be celebrating my father by honoring my mother... a person who was stong enough to take on both roles as she raised 4 children (age 15 to 8 at the time of my father's passing) to maturity. But it will be painful... because I now have these memories of my father. After repressing them for the better part of 30 years. And, at least I am able to do something I couldn't do 30 years ago... I can cry for the loss of my father.

Peter Magee. I miss you. I love you. I wish you were here.