If We Were Having Coffee – Post-Holiday – Dammit We Miss You Edition

Note: Here is my contribution for the official inaugural Weekend Coffee Share link-up.

You can link your own If We Were Having Coffee post with others on Part Time Monster and don’t forget to share them on Twitter under the hashtag #WeekendCoffeeShare

Image courtesy of Ohmega1982 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Image courtesy of Ohmega1982 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

If we were having coffee I would tell you that I miss you Dad. I’d tell you that we all miss you.

So much.

I’d shake my head while telling you that it’s hard to believe how quickly time flies. Here we are; this was already our third Holiday season without you.

Do you know this year we miscounted the number of guests and ended up with an extra chair around the table for Christmas dinner? Once everyone sat down we all stopped and looked at each other when we realized there was an empty chair. I looked into Mom’s eyes and nodded without speaking. No words were needed. We both knew who that chair was meant for.

If we were having coffee I’d reassure you that we’ve pulled together and we’re all helping each other get by. It took a while just as everyone predicted, but it did get easier.

Time dampens the pain from that sharp wound to the soul and replaces it with a nagging sense of loss that hums in the background. A dull ache that never completely goes away. It’s not supposed really – with time it just becomes bearable.

I’d also tell you how grateful I am that you didn’t suffer long. Not compared to some I’ve seen. Barely eight months from diagnosis to your last breath, with a few pointless chemo treatments thrown in because…well, we had to try right?

Looking back, those remaining months flew by so fast but we certainly made the most of them though, didn’t we?

I would tell you that your sons still speak reverently and often about our boys’ trip to Wrigley Field. What a great weekend that was.

That deep dish pizza and those Chicago style hotdogs. The ones your doctors said you weren’t supposed to eat. Damn they were good! They kept you up all night burping and farting. It scared the hell out of us for a bit, but then one of us joked about having turned you into a methane factory.

You started laughing and couldn’t stop.

That’s how I’m always going to remember you Dad. Doubled over not in pain, but laughing.

If we were having coffee I’d also tell you not to worry about Mom. Some days are better than others of course, but overall I’d say she’s managing well. We’re keeping a close eye on her and helping out as best we can. Really, you’d be proud of her. She’s tougher than we all thought.

Of course I know we can’t have coffee again, but if we could I’d tell you that I love you. You know I’m ashamed to admit it but I probably said those words to you more in the last few months of your life than I had in all the previous years since I was little boy.

Dammit, why can’t we men look each other in the eye and say that more often, while we still can?

Well I can’t change what’s in the past but I assure you that I’ll be a lot more generous with my I love you’s in the future.

So today if we were having coffee I’d say it to you one more time. Then I’d put on my best brave face and I’d raise my cup and ask you to join me in a defiant toast: Fuck you Cancer!

 

 

 

 

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About Norm 2.0

World’s youngest grumpy old man & heart failure wonder boy. Interests: writing, woodworking, photography, travel, tennis, wine, and I know a bit about power tools.
This entry was posted in Creative Writing and Short Fiction and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

48 Responses to If We Were Having Coffee – Post-Holiday – Dammit We Miss You Edition

  1. Man, that made me cry. And then laugh, and then cry. Ugh. I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m so glad you remember him doubled over laughing. I think that’s fantastic.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. joannesisco says:

    I think your post spoke for many of us ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I loved this post. So heartfelt and touching. Made me feel very emotional. I’ll go and tell my mum I love her today… thank you 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Cindi says:

    Your writing drew me in. (I repeat it, only using “Mom” instead.) Thank you for the words, Norm! I’m glad you could let it out.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. C J Alan says:

    Very touching and heart felt. I am sorry for your loss. I raise my mug to your defiant toast as well.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. willothewizp says:

    Thank you for sharing such a touching story. My mother in law was just diagnosed so we are sending her much love

    Liked by 1 person

  7. NotAPunkRocker says:

    Wonderfully written and touching post, Norm. Perfect for a quiet Sunday coffee break.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. SUZI T says:

    I’m a cancer survivor. That was a great post

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Hev says:

    What a wonderful, heart-warming post. It brought tears to my eyes.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. NancyTex says:

    Heartbreakingly beautiful, Norm.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Your writing is riveting. I think I held my breath from start to finish. Sometimes things need to be said. Here’s a good place.

    Liked by 1 person

  12. This was a great post and oddly on time. I was thinking about my grandfather the other day and remembering the smell of his pipe and how much I missed it. I’m sure your dad is still getting a great big belly laugh out of being called a “methane factory.”

    It definitely wasn’t a downer post. It came from the heart and sometimes you just have to have a cathartic moment.

    Liked by 1 person

  13. This is a GREAT post. Your Dad is laughing for sure but also appreciative of your reflective words. I’d need a lot of time for coffee and conversation with my Mom because I’d have lots of ground to cover.

    Liked by 1 person

  14. Very touching post. It makes me think I should have coffee with my Dad more often, like we used to when we commuted together. I’ll raise my cup with you, damn you cancer!

    Liked by 1 person

  15. I’d join you in that toast. If we were having coffee I’d tell you how much your dedication spoke to me, and that I shed a tear for all the people left behind. It’s been ten years since I lost my own father to cancer and I miss him every single day. I’d also thank you for sharing your beautiful words.

    Liked by 1 person

  16. Diana says:

    What a lovely, bittersweet coffee post.

    Liked by 1 person

  17. Rose Red says:

    thank you so much for sharing this …

    Liked by 1 person

  18. Beautifully written, Norm. Very heartfelt and I’m sure your dad would be very proud of you for writing it not, of course, that he’s never been proud of you. That boys’ weekend trip sounded like great fun.

    Liked by 2 people

  19. Dan Antion says:

    Thanks for this. I miss my dad too.

    Liked by 1 person

  20. desleyjane says:

    Tears here too, lovely post.

    Liked by 1 person

  21. hollie says:

    And now I’m crying into my coffee. Great post, Norm!

    Liked by 1 person

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