‘Dad’s Old Number’ Is The Perfect Song For Anyone Who's Lost Their Dad

'Dad’s Old Number' Is The Perfect Father's Day Song For Everyone Who's Lost Their Dad

The amount of times I've wanted to call his number, but couldn't.

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It's June now and Father's Day is right around the corner. Unfortunately for me, my dad passed away three years ago and this is my fourth Father's Day without him. My dad was my best friend and even though I have other best friends it's not the same.

My dad wasn't just a best friend, he was more like an older twin. And these past few years have been rough without him. I listen to the old songs he loves, especially Skynyrd, but no song has hit me like "Dad's Old Number" by Cole Swindell.

Cole Swindell - "Dad's Old Number" (Official Audio Video) YouTube

The song tells of a son who has lost his dad and calls his dad's old number just to have the new owner answer. I still remember my dad's home phone and work number. I honestly have no idea who would answer his old home number but I've met the guy who works in his old office and that's who would answer.

He's actually an old friend of my dad's and one of the last times I visited he gave me some pictures of my dad from the '80s when they worked together back then. It was a simple gift from him but meant so much more to me. There are other numbers in my dad's old office I could call and talk to when I need them because it's like a family and I grew up in that office.

When Cole Swindell calls his dad's old number he asks for the person not to hang up, that he's not selling anything, and didn't know what he was thinking when he called. He further explains that he forgot that the number isn't his lifeline anymore and that every now and then he calls them up, and the one ring hangups.

I haven't gone as far as calling the number but I've thought about it. When life got rough I had a couple of numbers I'd call. My dad wasn't always the best with advice but he was my dad. The other was my granddad who unfortunately passed back in February. And in watching Alabama Softball this past weekend I've just wanted to call and talk to either of them about how they fought hard but still came up short. Or to call and talk about how the Braves are doing. I and my granddad would talk about my daughter but I never got that chance with my dad and I wish I would've.

He ends the song in saying if he finds the right girl or gets that job that there's a good chance that the new owner of the number. For me, I understand because if I'd have called and talked to the person then maybe I would have a relationship with them. It happens all the time and can be good. I just read a story on a grandmother who would call the wrong number thinking it was her grandson and it was some other girl who she now has a grandmother-granddaughter relationship with.

For me, the song definitely gets me in my feels but it's because I know the exact feeling. For anyone who wants to go through with calling their dad's old number, I say go for it. You never know who is going to answer and what they will say. There are still good people out there and who knows it could be someone near you who has lost a dad or a father that has lost a son and it will help both of you. Happy Fathers Day to everyone whether your father is still with you or not.

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Working With People Who Are Dying Teaches You So Much About How To Live

Spending time with hospice patients taught me about the art of dying.

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Death is a difficult subject.

It is addressed differently across cultures, lifestyles, and religions, and it can be difficult to find the right words to say when in the company of someone who is dying. I have spent a lot of time working with hospice patients, and I bore witness to the varying degrees of memory loss and cognitive decline that accompany aging and disease.

The patients I worked with had diverse stories and interests, and although we might have had some trouble understanding each other, we found ways to communicate that transcended any typical conversation.

I especially learned a lot from patients severely affected by dementia.

They spoke in riddles, but their emotions were clearly communicated through their facial expressions and general demeanor, which told a story all on their own.

We would connect through smiles and short phrases, yes or no questions, but more often than not, their minds were in another place. Some patients would repeat the details of the same event, over and over, with varying levels of detail each time.

Others would revert to a child-like state, wondering about their parents, about school, and about family and friends they hadn't seen in a long time.

I often wondered why their minds chose to wander to a certain event or time period and leave them stranded there before the end of their life. Was an emotionally salient event reinforcing itself in their memories?

Was their subconscious trying to reconnect with people from their past? All I could do was agree and follow their lead because the last thing I wanted to do was break their pleasant memory.

I felt honored to be able to spend time with them, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was intruding on their final moments, moments that might be better spent with family and loved ones. I didn't know them in their life, so I wondered how they benefited from my presence in their death.

However, after learning that several of the patients I visited didn't have anyone to come to see them, I began to cherish every moment spent, whether it was in laughter or in tears. Several of the patients never remembered me. Each week, I was a new person, and each week they had a different variation of the same story that they needed to tell me.

In a way, it might have made it easier to start fresh every week rather than to grow attached to a person they would soon leave.

Usually, the stories were light-hearted.

They were reliving a memory or experiencing life again as if it were the first time, but as the end draws nearer, a drastic shift in mood and demeanor is evident.

A patient who was once friendly and jolly can quickly become quiet, reflective, and despondent. I've seen patients break down and cry, not because of their current situation, but because they were mourning old ones. These times taught me a lot about how to be just what that person needs towards the end of their life.

I didn't need to understand why they were upset or what they wanted to say.

The somber tone and tired eyes let me know that what they had to say was important and worth hearing. What mattered most is that someone who cared was there to hear it.

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To My Dad, On My 18th Birthday

Thank you for loving me, and for being my guardian angel.

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Dear Dad,

Time really flies. It seems like only yesterday that you were still here, in person. I'm almost eighteen now, and I can't help but thank you for what you've taught me, even if you aren't here in person to teach it to me. Even though I was forced to learn the lessons you wanted me to with a different man. But what you taught me was something that no one but you could have. You taught me how to let go and how to be myself. How to let go of that bad grade on that one test, how to let go of dead pets, how to let go of the mean words that can sometimes feel like a thousand knives, how to let go of you.

The first thing you taught me wasn't a lesson that I should have learned as early as I did but I'm thankful that the terrible thing that happened to you could teach me something other than grieving. You taught me how I could let go of the bad, negative things holding me back. In freshman year, I went through a series of depressions for about five months. My sadness about your death made me want to join you because it felt as if I couldn't live on Earth and be happy. But it was all you who taught me that it was time to let go, that I couldn't change anything that had happened to you, but that I could change what was going to happen to me.

By your death, you taught me how to let go of everything bothering me. I will never let go of you, but I had to let go of the sadness attached to you. No one could have taught me that better than you. So no matter if it's letting go of a comment someone said to me or if it's a pet dying, or a bad grade on a test, I think of you, in my head, telling me that it's okay to let it go. This lesson is so important and I'm thankful that you taught it to me so early because later on, the loss is still going to hurt, but already knowing and being able to let go is going to help me a lot, so thanks, dad.

You also taught me how to be myself.

After you left this world when I was five, I didn't know that meant goodbye forever. But as life went on and I got older, there was that one crashing day when I stopped wishing for you to come back, for you to be here; it was the day I knew you never could come back. So, I started channeling who I was, the little girl you left behind twelve years ago. You taught me how to "grow into my own skin", how to be myself. I missed out on many father-daughter moments, and I'm going to miss out on many more to come. When I was bullied in middle school and freshman year of high school, I thought of you pushing me through, telling me to keep going. You told me that it was them that needed to change, not me. You taught me to be me and to never change myself for anyone else.

So thank you, thank you for teaching me a life lesson that many don't learn until their thirties. You won't be there when I graduate high school, when I leave for college, to walk me down the aisle, or when I have my first kid. But it's okay. Although I'll never not miss you and never not want you here, I am thankful for the things you've taught me. I can let go now of all the things that bothered me, that I don't want to know. I can let go of you. I can let go of what happened and your death, and the path of sorrow you left taught me that. Thank you for listening, for being patient, for always watching over me. Thank you for always telling me that I can do it. Thank you for being my dad. Even if you can't fulfill the duty in person, you've already exceeded it in my heart. The ache will never go away and I'm still learning how to cope with the grief sometimes, but you taught me how to let go better than anyone. I love you forever, thank you.

With love, from your daughter.

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