This picture is a wonderful memory with my Dad, on the deck of our old family home in Maryland. The backdrop of the Potomac River, just as I remember it. Now our family living in Florida, I do not get to visit him and the rest of my immediate family as often. While the geographical barrier separates us, I am grateful for technology that keeps us in communication. I write this post today, on Father’s Day, to shed light on the wonderful man that raised me.

My father, Joe Carl Ashworth, is the most brilliant and simultaneously the gentlest soul I know that walks this earth. He is full of knowledge, an avid reader and the best editor I know. He does not judge and loves unconditionally. His sarcasm and biting retort in itself is kind without the harsh undercurrent. He is quick on his feet, a lawyer by trade and can talk his way out of any situation. He is a father of three, a loving husband and caretaker to my mom. My dad taught me so many life lessons over the years. Some very difficult ones. I learned from him, silently, watching. Now, as a mother to two girls of my own, I have a new found understanding of what it means to be a parent. What it must of felt like to him raising us so many years ago.

My father has always been my biggest supporter, especially when I wasn’t well. I remember when I was sick in 2013. Part of my psychosis was my belief at the time that my father had passed away. I believed this to my core, so much so that my dad had a newfound name, of “Ghost Dad.” I spoke about him in the third person, believing him to be gone. I referred to him as such, telling other family members what had happened. My sister and others tried to convey the reality, but I failed to understand. My psychosis was so paralyzing but also I believed it to be so real. Now to this day, I think that part of that psychosis, and even in my subconscious somewhere, that the people I love most are targeted in my mind when I am not well. When I am not well, he has always tried his hardest to support and understand me. He fought for me when no one else would. He was my first advocate, and never wavered.

Today, my father is 73 years young. He lives with bad knees and some minor plaguing things such as living with one enlarged kidney, diabetes and high blood pressure. I hope for the day when my dad doesn’t live in daily pain from his knees. I hope for the day that he is recognized for how hard he works, and has worked every day of his adult life. I am grateful for all he has taught me and continues to do. I love and respect this man so much, and can only hope to live up to the greatness he instills in everyone he meets. Thank you dad for always believing in me. Thank you for all your useless pieces of information that I try so hard to hang onto. Thank you for showing me the beauty in life and for all you continue for us to this day. I love you, Dad. Here’s to many more years together.

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