In loving memory of Floyd David Ploss, Jr.

[moosmom]

Daddy,

15 years ago today, you left me to be with Mom. On August 18th, I found your lifeless body in your apartment, clutching the phone. The "what ifs" have haunted me since that day, and it's a day that will live with me for the rest of my life.

I think of you every minute of everyday. My only reget is I never had a chance to say goodbye. You deserve for the sun to shine. I look forward to your cigar smoke letting me know you're still around to watch over me. I will see you again one fine day.

[phesina]

My deepest sympathy on this sad anniversary, Donna. I hope some precious memories are lightening your sorrow a bit. Your father and you share a deep and special love and always will, and you'll be together again, One Fine Day.

[pomtzu]

Hugs to you on this sad day, Donna. No one should have to die alone, but at the same time "what if's" have no answer. It serves no purpose to continue on that path, and it's time to bury the "what if's" for good.

Write all of these "what if's" down on a piece of paper, and read them over and over again for a few days, or even weeks, then shred or tear that paper into the tiniest pieces possible. Put the pieces in a bag or envelope, and take them with you on a ride to one of your favorite or serene places - like the beach or a wooded path or a park, or even the cemetery where your Dad is buried, if that's possible, and scatter all those pieces of "what if''s" to the wind.

I'll bet your Dad would approve and be very proud of you for doing that. I'm certain he knows that you live with all these "what if's", and he wants you to be free of them.

[mrspunkysmom]

My condolences on this sad anniversary of your father's death.

[Asiel]

Sending a bit of sunshine to help you through this sad anniversary moosmom. You've been given some very wise advice, please consider taking it to help you get over the "what if's". I hope tomorrow will be a better day for you.

[moosmom]

My Dad and I had a very special relationship since I was his primary caregiver for 2 1/2 years, watching him drink himself to death every single day. I tried getting him help, offering to take him to AA meetings. I even threatened him which did absolutely no good.

Four days before I found his lifeless body, he called me and said, "I'm dying". I shrugged it off and said, "Yeah Dad, I know." He told me, "No, you don't understand, I don't have long to live." That was the last time I talked to him. I never got to say goodbye.

Because of the newspapers stacked outside his door, it is estimated he was dead for 3 days before I found him. I have no idea how he knew.

I wrote him a letter just after he died, sealed it and put it in his lockbox. 10 years later I opened it and read it. All those emotions came flooding back.

He had the phone in his hand when I found him. Don't know whether he was trying to call me, or call for help (a "what if"??). I was supposed to go over there that Sunday to shave him and have him bathe. I called, but there was no answer. He had a tendency to not hear his phone so I didn't think anything of it. When I got home from work on Monday, the police were at my door. I always knew he'd either die in a horrific car accident going to the package store (I took his truck keys away but he had one in a secret compartment of his wallet) or they'd find him dead. I still struggle with the guilt of not driving over there when he didn't answer.

The coroner determined that he died of a massive coronary and severe liver damage.

Dad always wanted his ashes scattered on Long Island Sound. He told me if I didn't want to drive that far, I could just scatter them in New Haven Harbor and they'd get there eventually. It took me a year before I could part with them. When his cat Tigger died 3 years later, I scattered them in the same place as Dad.

I went to a fundraiser a few weeks back with renowned psychic Richard Jackson. I showed him a picture of Dad. He told me Dad was somewhere near the ocean, either Cape Cod or Block Island. When he was done, he turned around and said, "Oh yeah, and your Dad wants you to know he doesn't have to drink anymore." I was blown away!!! No one knew that! He also said that the cigar smoke I smell periodically (in my apartment, in my car) is his way of telling me he's around and watching over me! (no one knew that either!!)

My biggest fear is dying alone like my Dad. I've had keys made for two very close friends and my daughter. I've told them that sometimes, when I get into a funk, I will go underground till it passes. I've asked them to check on me if I don't return their calls.

I'm planning on writing another letter while I'm petsitting, to include the "what ifs". Then I'll shred it and scatter it where his ashes were scattered.

The funk has passed, like it always does. Thank you all for your kind posts.

[david p]

Donna, my sincerest condolences on the anniversary of your father's passing. I know he meant more than the world to you and you miss him terribly. I still remember when I visited you looking up at his portrait and his kind of looking down at me smiling, sort of approving? I'll try to call you tonight.

[Miss Z]

What a beautiful tribute to your much loved father. Though it may seem he died alone, he had your love, Donna, and no-one is ever really alone when they are loved.

Sending you big ((hugs)) at this sombre time.

[carole]

my heartfelt condolences dear friend, i know each anniversary must be painful for you, i am thinking of you,take care and hugs.