My dad and I were never close. He felt that we were girls so we were my “mom’s problem” (his words, not mine). He had little to do with our upbringing and never spent much time with us. I always felt that he abandoned us. 

Dad and I never had any “father daughter talks” nor did we ever spend much time together. I was rejected by the first male relationship I had.

It was our custom that the entire family always gathered together on Christmas Eve. On Christmas Eve 1982 we all gathered my aunt’s house.

After the festivities I went to my parent’s house and my dad did something unusual, he asked me to have a drink and talk to him. I was twenty-nine and this was the first time we ever sat down together to just chat. I don’t know what I drank or what we talked about but I do remember Dad smiling at me and expressing happiness in having me there.

Dad told me that he was not feeling well. He told me that he was having indigestion. I will always remember the wonderful smile he had on his face as he talked to me. For the first time in many years I kissed my dad before I left.

I was never to see him again. The following morning he had a massive heart attack and died on the sidewalk while he was jogging. Dad was eighty.

 It still hurts to think that perhaps we were finally developing a relationship and that he was taken away when he was. I loved my dad and only wanted his acceptance.