Today is the anniversary of my father’s death. Maurice W. Black MD.
It may be the 4th or 5th year. Try not to think about it. The obituary says the January 7th, but it was actually the 6th. I couldn’t even make it to your funeral; clutching half-sister (previously spending all that time and money proving she was not your daughter), step-mother (who did love you) and being asked to sleep under the dining room table helped make that decision. And I KNOW you would have done the same. Fled at the atrocity and craziness before I was drawn into the madness even further.
My father was the only person in my life that encouraged me to go where life took me. Music and not Medicine, Life and not fleeting Love, Happiness and not Hopelessness.
Some of the above may sound wrong to you, but made the difference to me. Even when I wanted to slice my current career as a successful businesswoman and musician; to go to Med School. He gave me the down and dirty about life in the medical field today. He convinced me that 20 years ago (when I graduated from college) it would have been the right choice… but no longer.
I miss you dad. You gave me my love for learning. For history, most of all music from Classical to Show Tunes, to find my own path, and an unwavering love.
The last night of your life you called me. I did not call back, opting to call back tomorrow. Hate the phone, and email. You were then already dead of a massive stroke; on your way to help others. At the age of 75 you still went to work every day to head the county mental health division. To help others.
Doing my best not to dwell on that. Only that you loved me the most. As I loved you.
p.s. all of my family picture are on another hard drive. Dammit again.