Growing up, my dad was just my dad. I grew up in the era where most dads went off to work, while moms stayed home to raise the kids. He never said, “I love you,” or hugged us, but I didn’t mind because it’s just how things were.
My early memories of my dad are of him eating the breakfast my mom cooked for him every morning then heading out the door with the lunch my mom packed in his grey lunch pail. He came home at 4:30 PM, took a shower then sat down at the kitchen table to wait for dinner that would be served promptly at 5:00 PM. After we ate, he would continue to sit at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and read the newspaper until he went to bed.
I might have been a bit afraid of him even though he was a friendly guy and everybody loved him. To me, he was just the guy that paid the bills (what he did while sitting at his desk if he wasn’t reading the newspaper), drove us to stores and family outings, and took out the garbage every Sunday night.
One day, when I was five years old, my mom sent my dad on an errand to the store. I’m not sure why I was invited to go along or why I willingly went that day because I was a mama’s girl and never wanted to leave her side. I wish I had a story here of this amazing day where my dad put me on his lap so I could drive, bought all my favorite treats, and spoiled me with toys I dreamed of, but I don’t. I sat proudly in the front seat, straightening and admiring the geometric patterns on my favorite dress then looked over at my dad. He was handsome and strong in a bright red T-shirt. He was calm and content and then I decided—this man is all right!
But still, I don’t know why I gave my dad such attitude when I was growing up. He really did the best he could to be a supportive dad. He drove us everywhere we wanted to go, gave us money when we needed it, fixed our broken things, and welcomed all our friends who came to the house. I was really close to my mom and told her everything, but in retrospect, I think my dad would have listened if I told him everything too.
In middle school, one of my friends told me she found her dad annoying and she wasn’t going to talk to him anymore. I admitted that my dad had his annoying moments and decided to join her in this Non-Communication-With-Dads Protest. It wasn’t easy, but I didn’t talk to my dad for two months! I didn’t really see any benefit in not talking to him, but I kept it up in solidarity with my friend. After dinner one night, he peered over his newspaper and asked if I was ever going to talk to him. I stared him straight in the eyes, which were magnified through his black-framed glasses, and we both broke into laughter. The next day I resumed talking to him.
In the 70’s, my mom started working to help make ends meet. I hated that she had to go to work and even worse, she had to work the night shift. And even worse than that, my dad had to drive us to our ice skating lessons. It was kind of embarrassing that he was the only dad who brought his kids to the skating lessons, but there he was chatting it up with the other moms, setting up carpools and play dates, and taking pictures of us.
Then came my angsty years in high school. I had very strong and different opinions from my dad and we were always debating about something. It was the early 80’s and women were continuing to fight for equality and independence. My dad was from a different era where there were defined roles for men and women so I’m sure he didn’t know how to react to his independent daughter! He also would say the weirdest things at the most arbitrary moments, always embarrassing me. Once when we were driving in the car together, he said to me, “Sometimes boys will tell you they will die if they don’t get to do certain things, but it’s not true, don’t believe them, they won’t die!” I laugh every time I recall this memory, and I’m sure I laughed in his face then and threw in some major eye rolls!
When I went off to college, I began to appreciate him. On a ski trip with friends, I realized how horrible it was to carry my own skis! I had forgotten that it was my dad who carried all our stuff from the car to the slopes—without complaining and still having energy to ski with us! On my first visit back home, I was shocked that it was my dad who admitted to me that after he and my mom dropped me off at the college dorms, they both cried on the four-hour drive home.
When I graduated from college, my dad told me he thought it was pretty amazing that a Chinese person could get a degree in English. This was after having to explain for four years why I would major in English and what one could possible go on to do for a job! (And I guess he’d forgotten that English was my first language!) When I was applying for jobs, he advised me to make sure I accepted ones with a pension and benefits, which turned out to be decent advice.
When I got married, he proudly walked me down the aisle, drove my husband and I to the airport at 1:00 AM to depart for our honeymoon and picked us up at 6:00 AM when we returned. He willingly helped us move big furniture and always volunteered to water our lawn and drag our garbage cans to the curb when we went on vacations.
When I had children of my own and he was a grandfather, he admitted that if he knew how much fun kids were, he would have paid more attention and been more involved when he was a young dad. I loved how he loved his grandchildren—Played with them, spoiled them, showed up to every dance recital and baseball game, and even hugged them even though he still didn’t hug me. (Well maybe there was a slight side hug on my wedding day.)
When my husband and I became empty nesters, my mom’s health began to decline. She was going blind and had end stage renal failure. Gradually the man, who sat at the kitchen table waiting for his meals to be served to him, had to take on all the domestic roles my mom handled as he became her full-time caregiver. He woke my mom up at 5:00 AM four times a week to to take her to dialysis, took her to doctor appointments, managed her meds, did her hair, cooked, cleaned, and continued to take out the garbage every Sunday night. He rarely had time to read his beloved newspaper anymore.
My dad surprised me with his willingness to do so much for my mom and refused help. However, my parents agreed to come for dinner every Wednesday night. It probably wasn’t necessary, but I pulled out all the stops! And even though many of these dinners felt like a three-ring circus trying to accommodate their favorite foods, dietary restrictions, and my mom’s health related moods, it was great to check-in with them in person every week. When it it was time to go, I’d walk my mom out to the car. With my dad’s help, I’d get her situated and buckled in. Then she’d hug me—sometimes not wanting to let go. Then I’d escort my dad over to the drivers side. He’d thank me and say how much he enjoyed dinner. Sometimes I’d get a pat on the shoulder. Sometimes, I’d get a slight side hug.
When I took a hiatus from my job to help my parents, I truly saw how hard caring for my mom was on my dad. So at that time, I was thinking that when my mom passed away, I would help my dad finally have some fun again. We’d grab coffee and donuts, go out for lunches, take morning walks around the park. We could take a tai chi class together. He could resume ballroom dancing and maybe I’d learn too so we could dance together. I’d cook him his favorite foods (lots of meat—because my mom didn’t like meat in her later years), and take him to Warriors games and the the Ice Capades. But none of that happened, not exactly.
While I was mentally preparing for the reality that my mom’s end was near, my invincible dad fell (most likely from a brain aneurysm or stroke), hit his head and had a subdural hematoma, which basically means things were bad! Doctors did not recommend surgery saying that if he survived surgery, he would probably never wake from a coma, and if he did, he would need 24-hour care with no quality of life.
But miraculously my dad made it through the brain surgery, woke up from the coma remembering that he had an appointment to get his driver’s license renewed the following week! While he was rehabilitating in a skilled nursing facility, making new friends with staff and fellow patients, my mom’s health took a turn and she ended up in the hospital. Then suddenly, my dad got pneumonia and sepsis and joined my mom in the hospital. My mom’s body was shutting down. It didn’t make sense for her to continue dialysis and so it was her time. Because my dad happened to be at the hospital too, he was able to spend time with my mom and held her hand as she passed.
However, before my mom passed away, it was sadly determined that there was no hope for my dad. He actually was not swallowing properly and so tiny bits of food particles were going into his lungs, which is what caused the pneumonia and infections. His chances of ever recovering were extremely slim. He would need to be on a feeding tube for the rest of his life. And so after my mom passed, my dad went home on hospice.
While my dad was on hospice, I spent every chance I had with him. At first he was still very much like himself and it was really difficult to believe that he would not recover. I would make him his favorite foods—pureed—and he’d get coffee every day mixed with some sort of thickener. We watched the Warriors on TV and YouTube clips of ice skating, ballroom dancing, and Bruce Lee. We listened to his favorite oldies on Spotify. I read him the newspaper and emptied his urine bag.
When I watched him sleep, I wondered if I should finally really hug him and tell him I loved him. But he was becoming boney and hollow and less huggable as each day passed. Instead, I told him how much I appreciated that he worked so hard to provide the best for us, paid for my college education, always carried our skis and drove us to ice skating lessons. I told him he was right about the importance of benefits and a pension and that he did a great job caring for my mom. He could barely talk at this point, but he looked over at me and patted my hand.
On one of the last days with my dad, I whispered “Daddy, I love you” then immediately felt foolish and awkward. I hoped he didn’t hear me. He probably didn’t hear my words because he was completely deaf in one ear and only had 10% of his hearing left in the other ear. It didn’t matter. I know he knew I loved him, just like I know for certain he loved me. 🙄😍
Ava Yee Chinn 
This was such a joy to read. I’m so glad you shared these moments – I know he knew how much you loved him ❤
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Awww Thank you! Thank you so much for taking time to read my post!
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