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Some days just find me missing my dad like crazy. Today is one of them.
I just keep thinking of Dad. His birthday would have been eleven days
from now.
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I woke up yesterday morning, and one of my first thoughts was that I'd better remember to call my Dad today to wish him a happy Father's Day. Then, of course, I realized that I can't. After seven years, it's still no easier coming to that realization than it used to be.

Dad and I used to call each other all the time, just to talk, or to share something interesting we'd discovered, orr just for no reason at all. He used to call me up and say, "So, are you watching the Curling match on TV?" Of course he knew I found grass growing to be a lot more exciting than a Curling match, but it was an excuse to call.

I know that not everyone has the best relationship with their parents. But, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, if you have a father to call, I gently urge you to do so. Tell him you love him, if it's at all in your heart possible to do so, and wish him a happy Father's Day. You might never get that chance again, today may be your last opportunity, and someday you may find yourself wishing not only that you could, but that you had done it when you could.
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We had a bit of a situation at work here. We were given the afternoon of Christmas Eve off, which is of course fine and good. Then about a month before Christmas, it may well have coincided with when I was in Milwaukee, we got this e-mail saying that our office will be closed for the morning, too, and we will be required to make up that time before the end of March. No choice in the matter, only a month's notice. Anyway, this lunch hour I finally made up the rest of the time, so I've got that monkey off my back.

So now I'm sitting here reading this Choice Theory book. Someone tried to tell me about twelve years ago that all arthritis was due to bitterness. Now I know where he and his wife got this idea from, because what this Choice Theory books says is much along the same lines. This doctor contends that autoimmune diseases are "our creativity responding destructively to difficulty in our lives". I try to examine this in the framework of my dad, who died of an abominably horible autoimmune disease called Wegener's Granulomatosis. It just doesn't compute with what this Dr. Glasser is contending. I doubt that Dad would have agreed either. I miss him.
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Last night was another one of those nights when i dreamt a lot about my dad. For those new to my LJ, Dad passed away in 2001. You can read my tribute to Dad here.

I've dreamt about Dad a lot since his death. At first, I constantly dreamt that Dad was angry at me, something which was very much not like him at all. I still don't understand why I had all these dreams about Dad being mad at me. Then I'd dream some very sad dreams, where I had to relive Dad's death over and over again, and it was equally horrible. Sometimes I'd have very peaceful and happy dreams about Dad following his death. Last night's dreams were neutral. I mean, Dad was Dad in those dreams, the same wonderful Dad he was in real life, but for the first time really, I didn't wake up feeling miserable over his loss. I don't know if this means anything or not. But so it goes.

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Bruce Toews

June 2017

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