June 25th marked three years since my dad died. Sometimes it feels like it's been forever and then other times it still seems fresh. The last time I saw my dad alive was at my youngest son's first birthday party. I can still remember what he was wearing, the scent of his pipe tobacco, the feel of his strong arms around me when he hugged me, and his smile as he watched our boys.                                            It was a short 10 days later when we got the awful phone call. My father was a chiropractor and had worked all day in the office. My mom was his office manager so they'd been together all day as usual. They began working in the yard - Dad on the tractor and my mom on the riding mower. Mom said that she noticed him go inside, but she just thought that he was already done with his section. After she finished her area, she went inside to check on him and he was gone- sitting in the chair in their bedroom. He'd had a massive heart attack at age 59. I hate wondering if he felt alone. Did he realize what was happening? I hate thinking about how scary and heart wrenching it must have been for my mother. She called 911 and neighbors came over to help, but there was nothing anyone could do. Mom was still in shock when she called and told my husband. She didn't even mention what hospital they were at so I ended up calling a few hospitals before I could even get her on the phone. Oh it was so hard to tell my boys that they'd lost their Granddad. He'd had his special nicknames for them - Joseppi, Jaker Jaker Mover Shaker, and Big Jon. In fact he & my husband had just caddied for my two oldest sons in a golf tournament not two weeks earlier. I felt so bad for them. We'd lost my husband's father 8 years earlier, so this meant no grandpa at all for them. I hated it for my husband because he had already lost his dad and I know my dad meant so much to him. I hated it for me. My father and I were/are alike in many ways. Some good, some bad, but it's undeniable. He bought me my first computer and encouraged me to get on the Internet. I had no idea what he was talking about or why I would want to get “online”, but he was insistent that I needed to learn how to use it. He loved the Internet and email. For the longest time, I saved the last email that I ever got from him. It wasn't anything deep, just some jokes, but my dad took great pride in selecting the best jokes that he thought people would really enjoy. He always replied to emails and didn't like it when people didn't reply to his. More than once we would wonder, “How long does it take to hit the Reply button?” He loved Solitaire and Free Cell. Kept records of his games and scores. I don't go that far, but I do enjoy my Solitaire and always try to end with a winning hand. When my kids are looking for me, they start at my computer desk first. We both enjoy simple pleasures - family stories, good friendships and nature photos. Just like he got me started with the computer, he also bought me my first camera. He went through a phase where he was really into 35mm photography. He caught many good pictures and I guess they are precious to me now because they were precious to him. Here was this big bear of a hard working man that would stop to take a picture of a rose in bloom. Sometimes it's a little harder to see inside some people - my dad was one of those. I guess a lot in his generation were that way too though. My dad inspired me to write. He had just begun to try and write some of the stories about his days growing up before he passed away. He was one of 7 children. His daddy was a poor sharecropper in TN. His mom loved babies, but could be pretty negative with the kids as they got older. Mostly my dad just wanted to tell the stories of his adventures with his siblings and friends. Just to leave the stories as a lasting legacy. So that's probably how I got started wanting to journal our family stories. My dad always acted like I could do anything that I set my mind to. I sometimes wondered if he thought I had made a mistake by staying at home with my kids. After he died though, I found some comments that he made on a discussion group about how great my kids were (proud Granddaddy speaking) and how he thought that I was doing the right thing. It was so reassuring to know that he realized that I wasn't giving up anything; I was simply giving my best to the people who meant the most to me. So today it's three years later. Three years since I've gotten to share my excitement with him. Three years since I've gotten that fatherly hug. Three years since he's been able to play with my boys. Three years since I've gotten to share my writing or email stuff with him. But today, I won a little contest for my writing and I know that he'd be proud. He always knew that I could do it.