September will mark 50 years since my father’s passing in 1968. Abe Fuhrman was 55 when he transitioned. He was 18 years older than my mother when they married, having been a “confirmed bachelor” until he met her. I was their first born and remember a contentious relationship with him. I know that he loved me and my brother and sister who followed, but never really felt loved by him until I was eight. That’s when I joined my mother as part of his care-taking team following diabetes that claimed one of his legs. He subsequently had a series of strokes, with the final one in September of 1968. That would set the stage for every relationship I would have from that point forward. It wired in my young mind that if you “take care” of someone, they will love you.
I am grateful to my father for giving me life, for his incredibly sharp mind, wicked sense of humor and story telling ability, all of which I inherited from him. We shared jokes almost daily until his last days in the hospital. When he came out of a week long coma, I smiled and told him I had a joke for him. He gently whispered, “No more jokes.” I knew this was the end.
I remember connecting with him psychically after his passing. Anytime I faced a difficult situation or was sad, I would sense his presence, hear his voice offering advice and be comforted by him.
On this Father’s Day, I have bitter-sweet memories of him, but I’ve learned over the years to forgive him for all hurt, perceived and actual, and ask his forgiveness for the mistakes I made.
Happy Father’s Day in Heaven, Dad. I carry you in my mind and heart. I love you!