I have not celebrated Father's Day with my dad in 23 years. He died on January 6, 1987. His death was sudden. One moment he was heading out with my mother for a day of exploring flea markets and a few hours later he had a massive heart attack and died.

I was 37 years old and yet the first word out of mouth when my sister called me with the news was, "Daddy." I had not called my dad, 'Daddy', since I was a child. Instantly and momentarily I reverted to that child.

I have wondered many times since my father's death why that instant return to childhood. Perhaps there is an instinctive, visceral connection to the man that provided the means to our existence. Or maybe the death of a parent throws in our face the irreversible loss of our childhood. Or maybe it was just my gut reaction to losing one of the most nurturing men I know.

My dad was a gentle, loving soul born at the wrong time. He was raised in an era where mothers were cautioned to not kiss or cuddle or nurture their babies to assure they would grow to be independent adults. He saw the ravages of war during his many years in the merchant navy. His ship was torpedoed and he spent months in the jungles of Africa as a prisoner of war. He was a hard drinking sailor, tortured by alcohol and driven by a deep love for his family.

I was lucky to have my dad in my life for 37 years. He wasn't affectionate but he showed his love by his actions. And somehow even with the lack of affection he exuded warmth and tenderness. He was fair and just and he didn’t have a mean bone in his body.

Dad would do anything for his two daughters and I have many sweet memories of my childhood because of him. Christmas was always for his girls. Every Boxing Day, just before dinner, he would play the new Christmas board game with my sister and I. It was our ritual. The memory is so vivid that I can easily conjure up the sense of safety and security I felt while nestled in the warm glow of the Christmas tree lights.

Every summer we would go camping, despite our mother’s loathing of the experience. Dad set up camp and with the confidence of the family protector made sure that we had the extras necessary for comfort. Together with my older sister he would construct tables made out of driftwood, hang a clothes line, and devise methods to keep food away from the tent and us safe from bears. I was usually found climbing trees while they were being resourceful and productive.

I remember the time he bought me a second hand bike for my birthday. He spent hours and hours fixing and painting and restoring this bike. It was never an easy bike for me to ride but I could feel the love that he put into making it the best bike possible.

I felt protected by my father, I felt I could count on him, I felt his tender nature, but mostly I felt loved. His sudden death meant that he would no longer be there to take care of his little girl. I think that is why I whispered, “Daddy,” when I heard of his death.

My Dad left before I had a chance to tell him how grateful I was to have him for a father but I carry him in my heart and will toast to him on Father’s Day.