Remembering

It's June. And I'm missing and honoring my dad.

When June comes I can’t help but think of my adoptive father, Bill Womack. 

His birthday was June 14. Fathers Day came soon after. And as a gay man who worked to change the field of child psychiatry to better meet the needs of LGBTQ+ youth, he loved that June was also Pride month. 

So June was his month. And it still feels like his month, over two years after his death.

My dad and I were incredibly close. Best friends kind of close. He was the greatest listener (psychiatrists usually are), and my biggest supporter. He loved travel, jazz, Broadway plays and exquisite cuisine. Over the decades we shared countless meals, trips, shows and conversations. He’s part of why I love to go to new places (and stay in fancy hotels). 

After he retired, I helped him travel – to Texas, New York, Hawaii, Brazil, France, Portugal, the Caribbean. I’m so glad I did. So many precious moments.

His laugh was special – amazing, loud and infectious. As a child I never worried at large parties, knowing I could find him if I just stopped for a moment and waited. There it would be, that booming beacon. I think now that as an adoptee it was important for me to have that kind of security. He was always findable. He was always there.

Until he wasn’t. The laugh silenced. The dinners over. No more going over to help him weekly, then almost daily towards the end. The hole he leaves in my life is immense. There really are no words to describe how it feels. I’ve tried with poetry, in conversations - but I can’t fully capture it.

But I pull him close when I can, the memory of him. Every morning, when I sit down to meditate, I put on the gold chain he wore every day under his shirt – the one with the two buddhas he and a dear friend got in Thailand back in the 90s. A photo of us together when I was in my 20s sits on my desk, just past the James Baldwin candle that I light when I write. He’s laughing (of course) and I’m sitting next to and a little behind him, with my hand draped around his shoulder. I’m smiling and squinting in the sunlight.  

I like to think we’re still together in some way, that he’s next to me as I move through life’s challenges – buoying me with his laugh, reassuring me with his calm, supportive and loving energy. And sometimes I do feel him, the essence of him. Then I know he’s still looking out for me, still listening when I talk to him. Still giving me advice from beyond.

I’ll always be grateful we were given to each other, two only children who suffered losses early in life. The love and closeness we shared was such a blessing for both of us.

So it’s June. And this year I want to honor my dad by sharing a digital story I made about him in 2010, during a workshop I attended for work. I ended up giving it to him for his birthday that year. And 11 years later, I played it at his celebration of life.  

Besides being my dad, he was an amazing man - a survivor, a pioneer, someone who contributed deeply to his field, and who helped countless families in his community. He was definitely my hero, and I talk about one of the reasons why in this story. 

So here’s to you Papa. You will always be an indelible part of my life’s journey, and a deeply important part of my roots. I remember you, I miss you, I love you.