Thank you for the fabulous emails I received. It helped me to realize how many people still check in on the blog daily and don't even know why. Don't worry. You're not alone. To be honest with you, I can't even bring myself to read his blogs. In fact, when I come to the blog, I come through the "manage" section as to avoid his picture. It's just too raw for me. Sometimes it's hard for me to believe that's it's been almost two months, and other times I struggle to believe it happened at all.
Father's Day is coming up, and if it weren't for the fact that my children have a wonderful father who deserves to be honored, I'd pretend the day didn't exist. It just makes me think about all those Father's Days I should have done more. I suck at sending cards, great at buying them, crappy at mailing them. So most of the time, Dad would have to settle for a phone call. Come to think of it, Dad was probably okay with that. Though he appreciated the sentiment of a card or gift, he'd tell me to forgo the commercialism and stick with the personal touch of a phone call. Now I'm not sure how much he really believed that, but with David Foster, you are forced to take what he says at face value. Dad liked to stay near the surface, but there were a few rare moments of depth and vulnerability when Dad let down his guard, mostly towards the end of his life. I remember a time shortly after I arrived in Augusta. Dad was still at home, and my job consisted of watching reruns of One Tree Hill (don't ask) on the internet while he slept off the chemo and various mind altering drugs. I had just brought Dad a glass of water and literally a bite to eat, turned out the light per his request, and as I was walking out the door, Dad said, "Thanks for taking care of me sugar." You have to understand the true depth of this statement. First of all, Dad admitted that he needed to be taken care of...huge step. Second, how humbling is it to admit that to your very offspring? I got it, as soon as he said it, I realized that Dad was breaking down a wall, a structure I had come to know quite well, a fortress with a one way door designed to let people out but not in. In seven spoken words, I saw a few bricks start to tumble down off the structure, it's integrity being compromised by it's own architect. Now I'm not saying it came down completely, but it was a beginning, and I will never forget that moment.
You might be wondering if there were other times in my life when Dad let down his guard. I'm sure there were, but the brain cells containing my long term memory have most likely been given to my two sons so they'll grow up to be geniuses and save the world. Of course I have memories of Dad, tons, but none (that I can remember) where I was able to see beyond what he wanted me to see.
As per your request, or some of you at least, I'll be sharing some of my memories of Dad in the next few blogs. It will be good for me and will help me get past the last few months to a time when Dad was just Dad, and not a dying man. I invite you to join with me, share your stories and memories, but not just of Dad either, of whoever or whatever you feel like. Let's heal together.
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