I don’t know where to start or how to share what I’m experiencing today.

I suppose the best way to start is just to say it.

My Dad died.

Full background — My parents split up when I was one month old. He lived in Los Angeles most of his life and I grew up in Michigan. So there wasn’t a lot of contact between us. He didn’t have visitation/parenting rights … or if he did, he didn’t press to exercise those rights. I would try to write him letters from time to time to let him know how I was doing, but sometimes those letters were returned to sender. When I asked him about why letters or Christmas cards were returned, he didn’t seem know. “I guess it all depends on who checked the mail that day, I suppose,” was his response.

Quinton Dewey Worthams was alum of the Ohio State University, where he ran track for the Buckeyes. He was a Marine Captain, part of TBS 5-68, going on to serve two tours in Vietnam. He married Ernesta Whitlock at Kanley Chapel on WMU’s campus — I was their only child. After the divorce, he remarried and had three other children: Quinton Worthams, II, Robert Worthams, and Jennifer Worthams.

In my 51 years, I saw my father in person less than 20 times. Social media and the iPhone allowed us to communicate more frequently than when I was growing up. But that’s not the same.

The first time I met him in person was in the mid 80’s. He was coming through Michigan for some reason and he stopped by Grandpa and Grandma’s house and gave me my first computer. An Atari 800XL.

Next time I saw him was the summer of my 7th grade year (or maybe 8th grade year) when I was visiting my great Aunt Harriet in Pasadena. I was able to spend a couple days with him and met my half-siblings and my step-mother. That started the tradition of Jennifer calling me to sing “Happy Birthday” to me every couple of years thereafter.

We didn’t see each again until my college graduation in 1998.

He came back later that same year when Niki and I got married — at the same place that he married my Mom.

It’s interesting that as I write this, I’m having to go back to old wedding albums and memory cards to get the pictures that help put my thoughts in full context. Beware the rabbit hole of wedding photo album or photo albums in general!

My sister Jennifer died in 2009 and that was a crushing moment for him. He called me that fall when the car accident happened and I went to support him during the funeral services in Atlanta and Los Angeles. It’s true when they say that fathers and daughters have a special bond and her death left an indelible mark on him. Her death inspired him to start a foundation in Tennessee, where he later moved. The Jennifer D Worthams Foundation, a nonprofit to support formerly incarcerated women attending college with educational scholarships and support. It made sense, as Jennifer was going to be a teacher.

We started communicating more after that. Emails. Texts. IM’s via social media. There was still a distance, however, a wall that we couldn’t fully overcome. Maybe that’s the Marine in him. Maybe it was my uncertainty of what I wanted/needed. Maybe it was just too much time of not being in each others lives.

I dunno.

He started annual cross country trips after Jennifer’s death to keep in touch with his Marine buddies and his kids and grandkids. With Robert in Atlanta, me in Michigan, and Q II in Los Angeles, it gave him a chance to spend time in the Toyota RAV and to play golf in lots of different places.

He loved to golf.

Before he moved to Tennessee, we were able to visit him in California. We did a day at the Santa Monica Pier, another day at Universal Studios along with Q II and his kids. He got a kick out of helping Cristiana make a glass of pure lemonade from his lemon trees in the backyard.

2016 LA Trip Pics

The last time I saw him was during his latest road trip with my two nephews. I could tell he was getting a little tired. I mean, who wouldn’t get tired trying to go cross country with a teenager and an almost teenager!

But he did well. The Marine in him would not let him quit.

The last thing that we did together during his visit was to attend the 10:30 a.m. Sunday Mass at St. Tom’s. I was scheduled to be the MC and Niki was scheduled to be an extraordinary minister of the Eucharist. It was his first Catholic Mass. I couldn’t sit with him so Niki and Cristiana helped guide him through the Mass. He enjoyed it and may have violated a canon law because he was so into it.

Heh. The last thing I did with my Dad in person was going to Mass. That hits me pretty heavy.

We weren’t close.

But he’s still my Dad.

There’s an emptiness I feel today. It’s always been there because my Dad wasn’t always there. I’ve been blessed with a great step-dad and a great Grandpa and other father figures throughout my life, so it’s not like I was abandoned or adrift without having a Dad. And I don’t blame him or harbor ill will towards him. It just is what it is.

I’m sad but I’m not crushed like what my brothers are feeling.

I perceive a weight on my shoulders because I’m the eldest of Quint’s kids and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.

Robert is taking the lead on arrangements and I’ve offered to help in any way that he wants. Just because I’m the eldest doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly in charge. There’s no order of succession to follow or anything like that.

But for today, what I know is this:

My Dad died.

I’m the oldest child of Marine Captain Quinton D. Worthams.

I don’t know what else there is to do.

Saints of God, come to his aid! Come to meet him, angels of the Lord! Receive his soul and present him to God the Most High!

Eternal rest grant him, O Lord. Let perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

Semper Fi!