Good-byes are never easy, especially to those who are dearly loved. Seventeen years ago, I lost my dad. Today would have been his 88th birthday. Although he passed many years ago, it often seems so very near. Perhaps it’s because recently, I stumbled across some old pictures of Dad during a Google search. Over the years after his death, I attempted several searches for any information surrounding his military history because I knew so little. Each search ended with nothing. I was determined to find something of his past last November though. What I eventually found was beyond anything I’d ever hoped for including several pictures of Dad in much younger years featured with his flight crew during World War II. One thing led to another, and soon I learned of a distant cousin who had researched and written a history of Dad’s World War II years. I often read this history of Dad’s exploits and am currently putting together a special album of pictures I’ve collected from back home and from my cousin, things that keep Dad’s memory alive and are constant reminders of who he was.

I remember the last time I saw Dad. I had flown home to visit my parents from California where I was living at the time. He wasn’t in good health. His limp was more noticeable, and I could tell that he was weaker physically, thinner than I’d ever seen him. The previous year, he’d had a second heart attack and was very lucky to have survived after many hours of major surgery. When it came time for me to return to California, Dad drove me to the airport. I looked out of the airplane window after boarding and could see him clearly standing in the window of the airport looking out towards the plane. He was wearing  a short-sleeved striped button down shirt, the kind he always wore, and brown trousers. I waved good-bye, but doubt that he could see me. At that moment, I just felt that this would be the last time I’d see him. I tried to conceal my tears from the passenger sitting next to me. That moment sitting on the airplane and seeing Dad for the last time will forever be emblazoned in my memory. It was Christmas, 1992. The following January 28th, I received a phone message from my mom. I could tell by the sound of her voice that something had happened to Dad.

I returned home for the funeral. Once back in California after the funeral, I had a vivid dream about Dad. I could see his face so clearly and woke up from the dream troubled and sobbing. My roommate at the time was there next to me trying to console me. It was as if he were trying to tell me good-bye. I should have stayed with my mom longer in Louisiana after the funeral to support her and to continue grieving. But, instead, I rushed back to the busyness of my life in California, something I deeply regret.

I don’t mean to be morose on this day, his birthday, but now that I’m older, I wish that things could have been different. I would like to have expressed more appreciation to my Dad for all he did for me, for adopting me and making me his own, and I would have liked to have told him that I loved him more often. Dad kept his emotions under wraps, and I have to say that I tend to be very much like him in that way. I wish that I’d gone home more frequently when I’d had the chance to see both my parents. At that time in my life, I wanted to live as far away from them as possible. The old saying, “if I only knew then what I know now,” rings true.

I cannot bring back nor change things from the past. I’ve made peace with the fact that life does not always work out the way you want it to. That being said, grieving for the ones you’ve lost goes on for a lifetime. I wish that he were here and that I could talk to him about the days he flew in a B-24, or the time he flew in the Berlin Airlift. I like to think of Dad in a much happier place. I’m very thankful to have a history of his World War II experiences through Steve’s written account and from the military records I received from the National Archives. What always amazes me is how little Dad talked about his military days. But, as I look back, the pictures and plaques hanging on our walls at home and the newspaper articles and military medals he saved speak to the significance of those days in his life. These things will always perpetuate for me loving memories of my dad. On this day, I honor my dad and remember him with a sad, but grateful heart.

Picture above: Dad, young Army Air Corp cadet