 |
|
| My
father was simply an eccentric Renaissance Man. My mother met and
married him within months because he encouraged her and his family to express
themselves. He trusted well and he was passionate about life.
His work in computer engineering in the Aerospace industry was earned
through sweat by a man who didn’t go to college. He simply worked
hard. Yet I remember every night he would spend hours with his two
daughters, me and my sister, Sylvia, who is 10 years older than I am.
On weekends, my father and I would spend the entire day together exploring,
going to the beach, or running our dog.
When I go older I was embarrassed because he would ramble on about his current project to anyone who showed up: restoring old cars, lathe work, weaving, woodwork, and most important, music. He owned dozens of instruments none of which he played. However, he loved when I found someone who did! Later I found that others loved him and his attention. In fact, my oldest best friend Ernie (who grew up like my brother) changed his name to Peter considering him his father. My family started building a communal house in Santa Barbara foothills 14 years ago, because we wouldn’t be able to afford individual houses. We didn't realize Father was starting to show signs of depression and HD. He and my mother did most of the building, even as he got ill. He shared with my mother how to do everything he has taught by himself. He was not only incredible smart and talented, but he simply accepted every one. Kids and dogs loved him, healthy or impaired. He never spoke a lot but he somehow related to both. As he slowed he came to relate to me more than my Type-A family. He and I shared simple thing like reading and watching tv together. We were both irritated that we had to give up our former life and we both learned to share. He went through tantrums and though Fibromyalgia kept me from yelling, I felt like he did. My mom would simply re-attached the doors, knowing he would grow out of this stage. He did. He became zen and joked about his condition. He once said, “The Sykes family doesn’t say I love you. We show it.” I am a toucher and started to hug him. After that, he would hug from behind. He called it his “Funny Hug.” I always smiled his attempt to be expressive. The last time I saw him he was going into the hospital with a tumor and chemotherapy. He funny hugged me and said, ”Next time I see you I’ll be all better.” I didn't see him until the morphine had him out cold. I held his hand and my sister said, “Peter, everyone is here. Andrea couldn’t come before this but she’s here now.” His life line ended 1/2-hour later. I felt horrible I wasn’t able to visit him like “normal” folks. I had to work and was going to go that weekend after he’d been in for 4 days. God had a different plan. But I know he knew I loved him. Andrea
|