Father's Day Memories: Blueprint for a Great Dad

photo by Sergey Nivens via Adobe Stock

Celebrating Father's Day is bittersweet for me, because I suddenly and unexpectedly lost my own father at the tender age of 15. He suffered a heart attack at home one lazy Sunday morning and life was never the same. Ted "Bunky" Kasica was a good man,  and my brothers, mother, and I keenly felt his loss. It's been 41 years, and I don't believe any of us ever got over it. In his short life, he left us with many gifts, most importantly a blueprint for what makes a man a great father. 

Dad was the 11th of twelve children born to Polish immigrants in South Boston. His own father unexpectedly died when he was just three years old. He never finished high school, but enlisted in the United States Army where he served as a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne Division. In spite of his humble roots, his early life was one grand adventure. The Army took him out of Boston, and stationed him in Germany and Austria for years. His love for that life is clearly documented in the few photographs I have of him as a young soldier: parachuting out of airplanes, skiing in Austria, and competing as an amateur lightweight boxer.

Once home from the Army, he soon met my mother and fell in love, married, and settled down at the age of 28 to a quiet life as a cabinetmaker, with four children, a mortgage, and an ailing heart.

Dad as young soldier, family man, and fisherman.

My father was a man who loved his family, his children, and spent all of his time with us. He was an avid fisherman and loved boats. His skill as a cabinetmaker allowed him to refurbish a couple of old wrecks, and we spent many evenings and weekends skimming a pond, bass fishing. Other nights we swam in his favorite fishing holes while he fished from shore, casting for catfish. Winter presented no obstacles, because he loved to ice fish, and I recall many afternoons out on the ice practicing my skating in the bitter cold while he dangled for a catch.

My mother worked nights and Dad watched over us. We played games, swam in the city pool, worked in his wood shop, tended to his garden,  and listened to Red Sox and Bruins games, or the classical music he loved: Bach, Beethoven, Mozart. I grew up in a  musical house. The last gift he gave me was an acoustic guitar, and he took me for lessons every Thursday night. It was precious time alone with him, sharing something we both loved. Foolishly, I gave up on the guitar shortly after he passed. 

My father went to work every day, six days a week, to a job he didn't always want to go to, but he shouldered his responsibilities like a man and made sure a paycheck came home with him every Friday night. He was a daily presence in his children's lives, doling out love and fun generously, and discipline reluctantly. He shared what he loved with us, and taught us an appreciation for many precious things: nature, music, family. He gave of himself, his time, and his talents. Toys and trinkets would never make up for his loss. 

We thought we'd have him forever. His death was a shock. But he left us with something not everyone gets, no matter how long they have their father: The blueprint for how to be a great dad.

AlzAuthors: Tara Reed, What to Do Between the Tears… A Practical Guide to Dealing with a Dementia or Alzheimer’s Diagnosis

On my son’s 19th birthday we got the news from the neurologist: your dad not only has vascular dementia but also Alzheimer’s.

Earlier in the day I was sad that I wouldn’t be able to light candles on my son’s cake since he was over 3,000 miles away starting his freshman year of college. After the call, I was glad he wasn’t home so I could cry and release some of the grief and anguish I felt.

It wasn’t as if it was a surprise to my family but rather a confirmation of our worst fears. My dad had not one but two kinds of dementia and the road ahead would not be easy. He didn’t believe there was anything wrong either – which at the time created a lot of anger and conflict as he believed we were all trying to control him when we were simply trying to keep him safe and get him help.

I felt frightened, powerless and overwhelmed by what was to come. Normally an action-oriented person, there was so much that was out of my control. One of my biggest lessons from this journey has been learning to know what I can and can’t control and to be at peace with it.

I cried... a lot. But then between the tears, I went to work looking for things I could put on a to-do list. What did we need to figure out, what plans needed to be put in place, what costs did we need to anticipate or decisions should we discuss in regards to future care?

I made lists. I called family meetings. I learned as much as I could about Alzheimer’s and how to handle the unusual behaviors we were faced with from a man who had been so solid and consistent his entire life. 

Something inside me knew, even then, that I would one day write and share what I learned with others. I wanted to help other families create some order in the chaos and be as prepared as possible for the journey ahead.

I share practical things that can be done to make the journey a little smoother. Things to do between the tears because there will be many, many tears. 

Many have shared how helpful my book, What to Do Between the Tears… A Practical Guide to Dealing with a Dementia or Alzheimer’s Diagnosis in the Family has been to them and others wish they had it when there were in the beginning stages with their loved one.

While there is no way to change the outcome of dementia or Alzheimer’s, I believe that with the right support you can change the journey. I am now working on more resources to help family caregivers, especially in regards to the Emotions of Disease. Learning to move through the grief, anger, worry and other negative feelings to more positive emotions like feeling resigned, courageous or connected is an art form and one that I am sharing with anyone who will listen.

Alzheimer’s leaves a mark on everyone it touches – it’s a journey no one chooses but one you can’t get off once you are on it. You can, however, impact what your journey looks like.

Wishing you as much peace and joy as you can find while you walk this road with your loved one(s).

About the Author

Tara Reed is an artist, author, speaker and the creator of PivotToHappy.com – a website dedicated to helping people with a loved one with dementia or Alzheimer’s navigate the journey. Tara is personally affected as her father was diagnosed in 2012. She has been living the journey and also holds professional certifications from the Alzheimer’s Association in Basic Dementia Care, Activities of Daily Living and Dementia-Related Behaviors.

A Father's Legacy Infuses His Daughter's Writing

In the 1970's people did not always have cameras at hand, and so my family has very few pictures of my father. Here are a few of the very precious shots we have. Dad in the Army, Dad as a young, single man, my family at my First Communion, and Dad holding his big catch, an 8 1/2 pound bass, the catch of a lifetime. He passed away shortly after.

Today is my father’s birthday. Theodore “Ted” (Bunky) Kasica would be 85 if he were alive. I was 15 when I lost my dad to cardiac arrest. Yes, it was a shock, and it still is even as 39 years have passed since that dreadful day.

One of the greatest gifts my father gave me was the blueprint for what makes a good father. I think of him often when I’m writing because many of my stories involve fathers. His lessons infuse my character development in many ways. 

In Collection, the first in my Daisy Hunter stories, Tom Hunter, father of five and one on the way, is much like my father: a house painter, a dreamer, a lover of books, a gentle man who does not like to make waves. 

In my YA sports novel Swim Season, Gordon Keane has divorced his wife and left his daughter Aerin. Remarried and the stepfather of two girls, he juggles two families, failing to please everyone. Still, he tries.

In Blue Hydrangeas, Jack Harmon, ever the protector and provider, deals with his wife’s Alzheimer’s on his own, stubbornly refusing to accept his son’s help because he’s so “busy” and has his own family.

All of these men are reflections of my dad.

My father became a cabinet maker after failing at his own paint and wallpaper business because he was too easy-going, and often let people delay payment or worked for next to nothing. With four children this was a disaster, and he was forced to take a job working for someone else. He hated it. But with a growing family and a mortgage he had no choice. He made up for his disappointment by going fishing as often as possible, following the Boston Bruins and Red Sox, reading his books, and listening to his classical music.

Dad was a paratrooper in the United States Army, stationed in Germany in the 1950’s. He was a boxer, a skier, a big outdoorsman. My husband, who never had the opportunity to meet him, once said while I was bemoaning his missing out on so much life: “Your father lived more in his short life than some who live double his years.” He was so right. 

Dad was stable and reliable. His work day ended at 4:30 pm and at 4:35 pm his station wagon pulled into the driveway. My brothers and I spilled out of the house, shouting “Daddy’s home!” and searched his pockets to see if he’d brought anything home for us. Most often not, but there were times when he had penny candy for everyone. When he couldn’t produce candy he made up for it by playing games with us, taking us to the local swimming hole for night swimming, or for a ride to the park to feed the ducks.

In the 70’s life was easier and families spent time together. My mother worked nights to supplement their income and Dad was in complete control. His idea of a good time was to go outside. We went fishing and swimming in summer and ice fishing, skating and tobogganing in winter. 

In the house we helped him in his wood workshop where he made furniture and toys. The house always smelled of fresh cut wood. Every time I smell this scent I’m brought back 40+ years to life at 91 Auburn Street and my father’s table saw. 

He could fix anything: his car, the plumbing, the electrical. He rebuilt a bathroom, put in new floors, turned a small room off of our dining room into a teenage girl's dream bedroom. He rebuilt rowboats and took us fishing in them.

He kept a garden and let us help plant, weed, and harvest.

For a man, he had the prettiest cursive handwriting. He used it to write my mother romantic love letters.

 

Our weekends were for family. We went to the beach, amusement parks, and visited aunts, uncles and cousins on both sides, sharing meals and making memories. 

The most vivid recollection I have of my father is that he was there. My parents were melded together through thick and thin. Only death could tear them apart.  

His legacy is an inspiration for life. I married a man just like him. I create men like him.

If only he knew.