A Crying Day
Published by Deanna Hoak July 2nd, 2005 in blogIt’s the third anniversary of my dad’s death today. He contracted tonsil cancer when he was 50 and bronchial and tracheal cancer when he was 55. He eliminated the cancers only to die from the treatment–the radiation weakened a blood vessel in his throat; it burst and he drowned in his own blood. He was 56.
No, he was never a smoker. Like most guys his age, he was in the Vietnam War when he was a kid, and he worked on airplanes that sprayed Agent Orange. The government pays my mom a monthly stipend for his death.
I loved my dad like crazy and miss him more than anything. I got to tell him before he died that he is the reason I’m such a good copy editor. From the time I was twelve, we’d read the same SF/F books and quiz each other on them; the one who could stump the other by remembering some tiny piece of information would win. We spent a lot of fun hours that way.
I’d do anything to have him back.
6 Responses to “A Crying Day”
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I'm a freelance copyeditor specializing in fantasy and science fiction. SF/F novels I have copyedited have been finalists for (and have sometimes won) the Hugo, Nebula, Arthur C. Clarke, Golden Spur, John W. Campbell Memorial, Quill, Locus, Philip K. Dick, British Science Fiction, British Fantasy, and World Fantasy awards. In 2007 I was short-listed for a World Fantasy Award for my copyediting.
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It doesn’t seem possible that it’s 3 years already. It’s great that you remember his gifts to you. My sympathies though, for your sadness.
Damn, I’m so sorry. I know how hard it is, and I know there’s nothing anyone can say to make it better, but know that people do care, and are thinking of you, and are there for you. It’s wonderful that you have such nice memories of him.
*hughug* What a wonderful dad you had. Beyond that, any words I can come up with are insufficient. *hughug*
I know you feel. My dad died four years ago. I’ve give anything to have him back, too.
It’s a hard day. I’m sorry so painful, and wish you ease.
Know how you feel.
I still cannot go to the cemetery - it hurts too much to think that my mother is gone. She used to be my toughest writing critic and my biggest fan.
But I wore the perfume that she left me - her scent - without crying today. It made me remember I want to be a person she’d admire.
*hugs*