In just a few short days my birthday will be here. One whole year has come and gone and I am one year older, one year wiser (hopefully), and one year without my father.  As my birthday arrives, so does the one year anniversary of my father’s passing.  Sometimes it’s incredible to think how much time has passed, and yet I can still hear his voice calling me Wei (my Chinese name) on that last phone call he made to me a week before his passing. At the time I didn’t know it would be the last time I would ever hear him say my name.

My wedding day

One year ago on my birthday, I woke up at my usual time of 6:15am to get ready for work.  It felt like any other day as birthdays do, so I got ready, got Drake ready and rushed us out to the car.  I was actually running late when I saw my mom calling me on the phone. I assumed she was calling me to say happy birthday before she went to work herself so I almost didn’t pick up the phone since I was late, but decided to at the last second. It was then I got the news that halfway around the world, hours before I had even woken up, my dad had had a heart attack and passed away.

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It was such a surreal moment, and even now as I type this it doesn’t seem completely real. Due to the fact that my dad lived so far away in his native Taiwan, we didn’t see each other or even speak often.  It’s easy to imagine or pretend or just trick myself into thinking he is still here. Other times the realization hits me and I think about all the memories; the only things I am left with now.

While my relationship with my dad had its ups and downs, he was still the only dad I ever had. As much as we fought, disagreed, and exasperated one another, I always knew how much he loved me. When I was born, my mother said my father doted on me like I was a small living doll.  The first night I came home from the hospital, I slept on the floor of my bedroom next to him because he wanted to hold me.  When I would wake up for feedings, my dad would race me to mom.  He simply couldn’t get enough she said.

When I told my dad I was pregnant with Drake, he wrote me an email later that day that said, “I still can’t believe it, how can my baby be having a baby?  I still think of the day mommy and I brought you home from the hospital.”

Maybe it was because I was an only child, but in my heart I know my dad always saw me as his little baby girl.

Now that he is gone, I realize I not only mourn for myself but for Drake and Juliet who will never get to know my dad. Drake was only a month old when he last saw my dad and I don’t even have a photo of their brief time together.  I never got to tell my dad I was pregnant again or that he would get his first granddaughter.  He will never get to see his grandchildren grow up and they will never get to know their grandfather — how he would love to make up silly bed time stories, how great his paper airplanes were, how much of a sports encyclopedia he was, and how much he loved driving around discovering new routes and short cuts.

But I also realize my father can live on through me.  I can pass down the knowledge and advice he gave me throughout my life, I can share the stories of my memories, and I can even retell the stories I was told about his childhood from my grandmother.  When I see Drake being mischievous, I am often reminded of the stories of my dad causing mayhem when he was just a little boy too.  When Drake is older, I can’t wait to tell him those stories hoping he will see a little of himself in his grandfather.

One special memory has stuck with me though through the years.  My mom used to tell me when I was very little, my dad would wake up early every Sunday and take me with him on his coffee and newspaper run.  We would often go to a local orchard/bakery that made apple cider donuts.  They had a window in the store that let you look in as the donuts were being made.  I loved watching the donuts come sliding down the chute into the frying oil and could watch that for hours. So most Sundays we would eventually end up there where I could see the donuts and my dad could read his paper.  For many years this became a tradition for us, not stopping until I discovered that Sundays were best for sleeping in.

The orchard is still there and this winter, I hope to take Drake for the first time to sample the cider, the donuts and of course watch the donuts slide down the chute.  I hope that by creating these memories with my own children, it’s a way of sharing my dad’s spirit and legacy with them. Together we can create a bond with my father, but also heal my heart by seeing him live on through my memories.

I was so lucky to have my dad for as long as I did and I hope Drake and Juliet are blessed with the same wonderful relationship with their own dad.