A Melancholy Father’s Day: The First Without My Dad

This year’s Father’s Day does not seem as happy as the previous 58 Father’s days in my life. It’s hard to enjoy since my dad passed away just seven months ago.

When giving medical advice to friends, as friends do, I always joke that my knowledge was based on the fact that my father was an M.D., no he wasn’t a physician. he way a house painter (and in certain circles I was known as the painter’s son). My dad was an M.D. because they were his initials is name’s Milton Dunetz.

Dad passed away early Wednesday morning November 2nd (sorry liberals but he voted early for Trump before he passed away). And both of his parents were of Russian decent, so maybe it was his vote that was the Russian conspiracy (it’s a joke folks). Dad was a conservative who loved this country and served in the Philippines right after WWII. He thought the food he was fed in the Army Air Forces was the best food he ever had (the USAF was called the Army Air Forces back then). Dad’s conservatism was in display when he taught me that the way to get ahead was to work my butt off.

The last time I saw him was when I visited him in Florida a week and a half before he passed.  During that visit he said more than once that my Mom, of blessed memory (who had passed away seven years earlier) was calling him.  Anybody who knew my mom knows when she called you better listen, I guess he listened. A few weeks before he passed away Dad said that he wanted to make it to his 90th birthday. He made 90 plus three days as his birthday was Oct. 30. As someone who does not believe in coincidences,  it was no surprise that Hebrew name was Noach and the section of the Torah we read in Synagogue the week he passed alway was Noach, the story of Noah and the flood.

Dad was the nicest person I ever knew  and not just because he was my father.  Most people who met my father always commented how nice he was. This may sound corny but it’s the truth.  Wherever we were, if there were little children or puppies around they would gravitate toward my dad, probably because they sensed his good nature. You never had to tell my dad to smile when you were taking a picture…he was always smiling. When I was in college I would house paint with my dad during the summers. Even when we were working outside in hot humid days that would make most people miserable (like me) one would know my dad was working on the house because you could hear him singing loud as he did his work. Generally he got the tunes and words wrong but it didn’t matter he was so happy most of the time.

When I was down in Florida just before he passed away, Dad was fighting against his dementia, he was desperately trying to hold on to his memory; continually going over everyone’s names, my kids, my brother’s, and my sister’s, the layout of our homes etc., but despite it all my father kept talking and singing happily.

Dad I will try and be happy on father’s day, because you would want me to be, please know that I miss you, and please say hi to Mom for me.

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