The moment I got the call, hearing my dad had passed…
Less than 24 hours before I was able to get on that flight back to Terrace.
I sank down to the carpet in my living room as the tears started to fall.
Remembering his last words to me on that phone call.
I….love….you….
In his raspy slow voice.
All he could say with almost no breath,
after years of heavy smoking and no oxygen left.
This man who had told me to not work so hard,
Meaning live now in the moment as he was still no further ahead.
Unhappy and lonely in his older years,
Unable to express what he yearned for and his many fears.
But oh regardless of that, what I learned from him,
Farming and plucking chickens, cribbage and poker strategy.
No matter, you would always figure it out in the end,
By trusting yourself and moving forward endlessly.
Whether you keep everything inside or share to be seen and heard,
We will find ourselves in the same place through it all.
Let’s celebrate, show love, reveal your true self and be.
Though I couldn’t see him one last time in person, I know he’s watching over me.
Thank you for the lessons, as hard as they’ve been.
For showing me struggle, survival and how it feels to be stuck.
From where I would understand much later that I could too be free,
Just by the ‘simple’ task of willing to be me.
My father, Harry Chemko (1918-2000), at around age 21, with his Ford Model T. At the time, he was a boxer and worked at a BA Oil bulk plant in Kelvington, Saskatchewan, long before the loss of his family’s home in a poker game led to his move to my eventual hometown of Terrace, BC, Canada.
Header Image Photo credit: Rob DuMont
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