My dad was my hero when I was a little girl. It seemed that he could do anything. And in many ways, he was able to do everything and anything he set his mind to. I began to see his flaws as a teenager (don’t we all see the flaws of our elders as teens?). I saw his heart break over my brothers, but I also saw the mistakes that he made. I was angry with him over some of those mistakes because they hurt my mother. But I also saw this flawed man show such love and caring for my mom that I didn’t think he was possible of when she became sick with cancer. I was afraid I was going to lose him when she died. His grief was real and deeply imbedded. He drove with her picture and urn of ashes in the passenger seat for two years after she died. I think he talked to her as he did his work. He healed slowly and found love again. In watching him in those last 15 years of his life, I found my hero again. The same one that I had as a child. Yes, he was flawed. I learned that flaws are normal. We all are flawed. I accepted those flaws and loved him despite them. He was a good man who loved his family more than life. He would do all that he could for them. I found my hero again. The man had not changed, I did.
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