my father’s daughter

That’s me.
My father’s daughter.
A pilot.
Swearing is part of my vocabulary.
I love history and hot mustard and i suck at hugging.
His childhood was as fucked as it was for many in the 1940’s: A bit of violence, a bit of rage, lots of love and a new world to discover after a long war. He was the youngest of 10 surviving children to a Suffragette Mum in a poor mining town in England.

He did what he could. He left when he could.
And then Dad had to leave us, too; Thankfully, not by his own hand, but with time. Goddamn time.
The very yelly man just finished successful cancer treatment, and then dies by an aneurysm or stroke. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
Again.

My Father was not perfect. In fact, I’d say he was quite flawed. But he had perfection perceptions that led him to yell. A lot. He wanted what was best for everyone, but he wanted it NOW and it had better be perfect. The tributes in his memorial tell us that he was loved, respected and was a friend and mentor to many, despite the outbursts. In recent years, his yelling became random, frequent and at times, nonsensical.
His death was deemed an aneurysm, not by science (no autopsy) but by experienced paramedics.
I do believe the paramedic when he told my mum “he was dead before he hit the ground”. It is a comfort I cling to. Quick. No pain.
I didn’t want Dad to suffer.
I didn’t want John to suffer.

Mum found Dad, like I found John. Warm, and lying down. When a person is warm, you think you still have a chance. It’s what we know. Cold is dead, warm is alive. But it is not so. She tried. She told him to get up.
My heart breaks for my Mamma. 54 years of marriage, over 55 together.

I wish so much I’d had that much time with John, but it doesn’t make anything better, nor less painful. My Dad is gone. Her husband is gone. A granddad is gone.

I wanted to tell Dad about the shit-show Las Vegas approach where the first go-around was windshear, the second was ATC- although doing a great job- crowded the aircraft, and we, as lowly Canadians, were not ready for the tight approach with the huge tailwind…and then the crazy storms that ensued. I called him when I got home, but he was already gone. The dragonflies had gathered him and they already flew overhead.

I realize how much sadness I’ve been carrying lately and I’ve been fooling the general public. I just had a sweetheart of a person tell me “you’re so funny”… shitty thing? i am.

When Dad called me to say he had prostate cancer (that didn’t kill him) I know exactly where I was. In Winners. I collapsed to the floor because I couldn’t handle that extra straw. I’d lost John and I wasn’t ready to lose Dad. Thankfully, I knew he’d want to fight it.

I realized today that I only met John because of my Dad. No, he didn’t directly introduce us. But my Dad inadvertently, distantly had us shake hands in Northern Ontario, 13 years ago. The only reason I’m a pilot is because of Dad. The only reason I met John is because we were pilots.

I don’t know what to think about this.

I’m emotionally lost so often, and I wonder how the universe calmly keeps it’s shit together while being such a douchebag.
The universe is really quite mean.

Gotta Run

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