On August 19th, it’ll be 30 years since my dad passed away of a heart attack at the age of 50. I had just turned 12 the day prior, so you can imagine that my birthday has always sort of sucked pretty hard.
I have discussed it with therapist after therapist for 3 decades now. Not only did my father die, it happened in front of my mom, little brother (he was 7) and myself in our car coming home from an amusement park, a supposedly happy occasion that ended in tragedy.

I can replay the whole thing in my head like it was just yesterday. No detail is forgotten. I was extremely close to my father. He was like a hero to me, just being near him gave me a sense of calm, because he himself had a peaceful vibe.

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My dad is the little guy on the left, my grandfather and my uncle.
I grew up knowing that my dad was sick, so I learned the fine art of worrying at a young age. Sadly, I haven’t outgrown it. But like they say….

Eh, I got nothing. Never mind.

You can’t change a thing by worrying. My worrying couldn’t make my dad healthy. In the end, all it did was condition me to become a anxious adult, always waiting for the next chaotic event that would throw my world into instant turmoil.

Anyways, in honor of my father and to celebrate him with hopefully some laughter instead of tears, on the 19th I am going to write about all of the things that I would tell him about from the last 30 years.

He reluctantly let me watch “The Love Boat” (he thought it was too sexual) and liked Cyndi Lauper even though he didn’t understand why she dressed so oddly.

Well dad, what would you have thought about a naked Miley Cyrus on a wrecking ball?

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Get me my eye bleach, Mer!
I hope you’ll join me on the 19th, to help me celebrate my dads life.

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