4.5 years later

My dad's birthday is the day after tomorrow on Saturday. He would be 70 years old.

I can't believe it's been 4 and 1/2 years since he passed. I still miss him every day. There is still a void in my life. I'm no longer a mess of a human being without him, but I miss him with every ounce of my being. I no longer have a mood disorder caused by grief. I am not on any medications and I sleep naturally every night. Occasionally, I have wonderful dreams with him in them. On those days, I try to sleep as long as possible to hold onto those images and the feeling of him being around.

It has been a long road to get to a point where I feel I can talk about him without crying instantly. I still do sometimes, but I can talk about him in social situations without it being awkward for everyone involved in the conversation. In many ways I feel like this is a completely separate life. The other one seems like looking back on a completely different reality, a different me, a twilight zone.

After my dad was diagnosed, he gave commands to everyone around him. Telling my mother to stay up to date with technology aka "not become a dinosaur," and to not be a pathetic widow. He gave advice and direction to everyone who visited or called him. I felt a bit left out when he didn't give me any last words. What I have come to realize is that he is ingrained in me. I am truly my father's daughter. I didn't really need him to tell me anything, because he knew I would get there on my own. I wish he could share in the excitement of my life and the fact that I have found what I think is my calling in life. He'd be proud that I took a leap and made a minimal job into a proper one with hard work and a lot of determination.  I hope I can continue to follow in his footsteps in developing people and managing projects, but it would be nice to bounce ideas off of him in the process. He never saw me settled and functioning at the highest level, but he knew what I was capable of because we were made from the same mold. I don't know if he'd have guessed I'd be full-time in the rowing world, but I doubt it would surprise him.

I'm still really awkward about knowing what to say to people when their loved ones die. I know how much it annoyed me to have people say "I'm sorry for your loss." Sometimes I responded with an aggressive, "Yeah! Me too!"  Even worse was when people said, "It'll get better." I didn't want it to get better - I couldn't imagine life being good without him in it and I didn't want to imagine a good life without him in it. It seemed like that was cutting him out of me in some way. All I can really do is tell them how much I know that hurts. I do think my life is better now than it has been, but I still hurt without him around and that hasn't changed.

I wish he knew my dog, my friends, my athletes, my co-workers and the 2012 version of me. It's still tough having so many people in my life who never knew him. The nice thing about moving to his hometown is that I occasionally run into people who knew him. The benefit of him dying fairly young and quickly from cancer is that I don't have to watch my dad grow frail over decades. He wouldn't have handled that well. I still remember him as the strongest guy I've ever met - physically, spiritually, mentally, and socially. He has set a high standard for men in my life, which I refuse to lower.

Not having my dad around has definitely changed my relationships with my mom and sister. I wouldn't have the relationships I have with them if he was still around. We have had to work to understand each other. I function very differently from them and this makes communication extra hard sometimes. They are all the immediate family I have, so we have to work at it as that is the only option to keep our family strong. I treasure them both more now that I did before. Dad would be happy to see our family unit today.

I see photos of myself now and I see my dad. I have his face and I love that. Before he died I thought my dad had kind of a silly smile and face and wasn't all that pleased when people would say I looked like him. Now I love that I can look in the mirror and recognize him. I like having the constant reminder of him looking back at me. It makes me feel that he's with me that much more, like a constant support system that encourages me to start my day right.

I still can't quite get in a pool and do laps, although I need to get over this. Every time I try, I feel like he's next to me in the other lane swimming along with me. Growing up, every time I went to the pool this was the case. When I do get in a pool, anytime I feel the rush of someone swimming by, I am reminded about swimming with him and still tear up quite a bit.

I can't go back to Jacksonville FL yet either. It's my mom & sister's favorite vacation spot, but it just reminds me of death and sadness. It was my grandmother & grandfather's place (both dead now), and the place we went immediately after my dad died to get away. It's too painful to be there still. Although there are happy memories of our vacations together there watching the ships, swimming in the ocean, rigging systems for getting supplies to/from the condo - the happy memories make it just that much more painful because they are over. It's why I had to leave Austin. Too many memories around every corner of something we had done together when he was healthy, or worse, when he was sick. Pittsburgh has childhood memories which are pure and not painful. Some corners bring back memories I thought I had forgotten completely. Pittsburgh is the right place for me to be.

Dad, I love you. I miss you.  I look forward to our reunion at the end of my life. Happy Birthday even though I'm sure you've stopped counting.

For those of you who didn't know my dad, the Rev Dr Robert D Nix Jr and want to check these out: 
4-minute video made 2 weeks before my dad died
2-minute clip I took interviewing my dad before his radiation treatment
His obituary
The blog my family kept throughout his diagnosis and treatment  search "chipnix"