My Dads Guitar

It was 2012. I was managing a “wellness” clinic that was more like a theatrical debut for Tartuff without the religious undertones, but complete with hypocrisy. This was just part of my daily life. I had a fiancé of about 6 years and a daughter of 2 years. My life was perfect- insert an eye roll here. I wished there could be more.

I went about my day as I usually did- an hour and a half drive to work. Stop in drop my stuff off, head to the Starbucks around the corner, and order my venti americano. Back then it was caffeinated- my problems with anxiety came later. I went back to work and proceeded with my day. It was a “normal” day at work. Full of little fires to put out. I took care of the laundry issues, the interpersonal issues between staff, and customer service complaints. The day was draining, but I always felt accomplished at the end of it. I had booked a massage for myself after this long day. I was very much looking forward to it after the long week I had slapping on a happy face when inside I was feeling low and even miserable. On the surface I always seemed calm and happy. That’s the reason I was promoted to management, my great ability to suppress and compartmentalize. At home my fiancé was going through his early twenties and that meant he was really fifteen maybe sixteen since he could drive. He was very emotionally unavailable. Then my daughter who is a magnificent creature that I wouldn’t trade anything for was talking away- without me. Poor me- poor breadwinner that has to go to work. As a first time mom though I have to admit it was a lot harder to do this than you may imagine. I was constantly stressed one way or the other. This is the reason for the massage.

I booked the massage with tough Ukrainian I knew would beat me up on the table metaphorically. I needed some intense pressure to my muscles to break up the knots that had been accumulating. “Oh Nico, what happened to your back”, he would say about every time I had a massage with him. The massage was going well until there was a knock at the door. “Boss, you have a call at the front- it sounds urgent” said the front desk girl. I said “ugh, ok Il be right there”. I went to the front desk to see what the issue was, and I would have never expected what I heard on the other end.

It was my dad’s wife. “Nicole, your dad has had some angina today, we had him checked out, but everything looks ok,” she said. I was so happy there wasn’t any issue. And selfishly I was happy to return to my massage- which I did. Then there was a second knock at the door. “Boss, it’s the same lady again, she needs to talk to you right now.”

I leapt off of the bed after the Ukrainian stepped out and threw my clothes back on. At this point I told him the massage was done and I’d tip him later. I make it to the phone to find out that there is more of an issue. They are taking my dad to the ER Palms Hills. It runs out it wasn’t angina, he has had a heart attack- a big one. I was beside myself. I had just gotten back in touch with my dad a few years prior to this, and my thoughts were racing. I was so worried. I left work immediately. I got to the hospital he was being prepped for surgery. Turns out he had heart disease and was eighty percent blocked in his arteries. This was unexpected as he was a pretty fit guy. The top surgeon in the region was doing his surgery, but nothing really calms your nerves completely in this situation. After all, I had lost my dad once when I was a kid, and I was hoping not to lose him again.

My dads surgery was a success. He came out, he looked pale- and for a Hispanic man, that was hard to do. The surgeon was very satisfied with his procedure. We were all there and all grateful. Even my mom, who had separated from him some 20 years before. They had a difficult relationship, mainly because of my dads philandering and drinking that ensued after the philandering. She was happy though he was ok. My mom never dated after my dad. As horrible as some of their relationship had been somehow she focused on the good. She never fell out of love completely with him. My brother was there. He and our dad had a strained relationship. My brother Adam really needed a father figure. My mom raised him well, but he lacked that manly quality about him. My sister was there as well. My dad was her step father, mostly he teased her and called her Dana-Dane- that’s all I can remember. Don’t forget- great compartmentalizations over here. We all went home as there was no room for us to stay, and we were told he would be resting.

To keep this story short- as it is a short story, my dad never made it home. He died the night before he was supposed to come home. I wanted to see him after work that night, but he told me “sweetie, it’s ok, it’s late, just go home to your family, and Il see you in the morning at the house, I love you”. “Are you sure dad? I don’t mind, ok, Il see you tomorrow. I love you too”, I said. That tomorrow never came.

With my dad passing there was a lot of grief, frustration, anger, and sorrow. How could this have happened? Why was he taken now? Why did he have to leave again? All of these questions would be unanswered. As would any question I had about his life really. That’s the hard part too- when you want to ask a question- any question and they are not there to answer.

Shortly after the funeral came the dividing of his things. My brother asked if he could go through them first. I agreed because I figured this hit home for him pretty hard. He had not taken the time to repair the relationship at all. The box never made it to me. Adam had kept it. He never shared it, not until this day. I talked to his wife because I was distraught and longing fir some connection to my dad. I asked her if she had any of his guitars. She said “I believe I do”. I felt bad to ask, but I figured she kept the items of his that had the greatest sentiment for her. I felt like I deserved the same. My dad and I used to draw for hours together when I was a kid. I loved that. It was one of my greatest meteorites of him. It was also a career changer for me later. Maybe in the best story I can tell you about that.

His wife gave me an acoustic guitar. She also told me she had an envelope that was sealed and said Niki on it. I waited with nervous anticipation for her to arrive with these things. She left them with me so I could look at them in my solitude, which was my preference. I don’t like to cry infrint of others. I touched the leather guitar case. I thought of all the places it had seen. Maybe it wasn’t his guitar from Battle of the Bands where he played the legendary band The Stix, it it was a piece of his history. Then I looked at the envelope. It was heavy. Thick. I opened that first.

Inside the envelope was a small black notebook. My eyes began to well with tears. It was the book he had used to draw in when I was a child. It was full of all his funny drawings- horses pooping, dogs wagging tales, funny bunnies. I cried and hugged it, but was so careful not to get it wet. I was so very happy to have this small piece of our history in this little black book. After I pulled myself together I decided I wanted to stroke the guitar. I opened the case, and I recognized it instantly. It was the guitar he had played when I was little. He played Prince’s “Purple Rain”, assorted Jimi Hendrix- did I mentioned my dad was talented- he was definitely talented. I was so happy to have these two items even if that was all I had. I was swirly around with the guitar in my bedroom at this point fantasizing about being able to play it one day, when I knocked over the guitar case. I ran over worried I broke it. It appeared just a padding had shifted. As I set my dads guitar down and tried to fix this imperfection, I noticed something strange. Curiosity got me. I picked at the back and eventually lifted it up. Behind it was another envelope- wide and flat. I opened it,and inside I couldn’t believe my eyes! There was hundred and fifty dollar bills everywhere- the old kind! He must have been saving this money up at all the gigs he played at!! It was at least twenty thousand dollars!! I couldn’t believe it! I had found a small fortune. I had been in such financial straights and had not been able to go back to finish my last term if school. Was this my dad looking out for me? Could this be real? Would it be ok if I kept this money?

The answer to that is another story.