I don’t know exactly how it started – he occasionally used the moniker when we were growing up – but several years ago, in one of our Sunday telephone conversations, my father began referring to himself as Daddy-O again. He signed the cards that accompanied my birthday flowers, and even Christmas cards until he could no longer send them. So, that’s what I started calling him too. It had a lighthearted, mischievous ring to it that suited my dad and his subtle brand of humour.
A couple of hours ago, I got THE call. The one I’ve been waiting for, but hoped I wouldn’t have to receive. The good news is my dad is no longer in the hospital; the bad news is I’m going to miss him terribly.
I will be going back to Winnipeg again; this time to say “Goodbye Daddy-O.”