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My dad died a few years back from lung cancer. Now I know I'm not the only person to lose their father, especially by cancer. Why my fathers death seems to be so sensitive to me is that we weren't speaking. The reason for the silence was all my fault over money. Now the reason seems so trivial for such ignorance.

My dad tried to be a father to five children. Apparently he in fact was not that great to my older brothers and sisters. My oldest sister is 17 years older then me so how many people are the same person over that long of a time span. By the time I was 3, he and my mom went separate ways. Dad moved into an apartment where all the divorced dads seemed to gravitate to. I was really to young to know what was going on so I don't feel like it affected me much. My dad and I maintained a bond that was very strong.

After many years passed my brother and I were the only ones that somewhat of a relationship with him. I recall the reason for his death being so hard not only the argument but for when I was around nine, dad and I went to the hospital to see my sick grandmother. Cancer. After our visit we were sitting in the car in the parking lot. I was in the backseat and dad was feeling stressed because his mom was dying and he had been trying to take care of medical bills. After a minute of silence in the car dad said "Promise me you will take care of me if I ever get sick." I at that age didn't feel it was a burden or a lot of pressure for a child like me to handle. Honestly I was honored.

My immediate answer was what any kid would say to their dad the way I felt. "I promise dad don't worry." I didn't think about that day until after I let him down over a loan, when I talked to him on the phone and he said he is sick. He spoke only for a minute and it lacked the love I once felt. We ended up just kind of giving up on each other and he suffered through cancer for three years with his new wife by his side. We only saw each other in that time a couple of more times. I missed him a lot one day about a month before he passed. Something was gnawing at me to call him. I did. I mustard up the courage to call the man who now is a stranger but was once in my eyes a hero. I spoke of him like he was a lot through my life and even sometimes still do. After all my dad was a pro bowler. Lol.

My dad's voice still made me feel five even in that phone call with a simple yet familiar "Hello?"

I took a deep breathe and said "Hi dad. How are you?" My largest fears of rejection right there at that minute were calmed when he went into telling me in short angered statements of his health. Yes, he was still mad and showed no love but I figured he was telling me how he was, and that point I would take what I could get. Before I hung up with him I said "Dad I just want you to know I love you." I was relieved to hear him reply the same.

He died right around Thanksgiving. It was hard for me to handle but I was and still am thankful for that phone call. It's funny, I was more logical and less selfish at nine then when I was faced with his illness in my mid twenties. I miss him and I know he is with me. I have forgiven myself over that whole thing, but it still stings my eyes with tears even now as I type this out. I love you dad and miss you everyday!

Learn more about this author, Raven Madd.
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