I have cried nearly every day for five years. I cried in the forest this week on a field trip with my daughter's second grade class. One of our barefoot guides started gently singing to get the kids to quiet down and listen. One of the lines was, "I am one. Am one with the earth. My roots go down to the earth." It moved me to tears. The thought of being part of a bigger connection, finding meaning in that connection within nature, flooded me.
I think back to all the feelings I had while he was dying. I was worried about him but mainly for myself and my kids. Five years later I worry more about him and how scared he must have been. How sad he must have been. I imagine the pain he must have been in. I mourn for him and not being a person who said to him, "YOU must be so scared." I cringe at knowing that I was one of the people he needed to comfort while he was dying.
I miss him.
Desperately.
I talk to him over and over and all I can squeak out past my swollen throat is, "I miss you so much."
His 70th birthday is coming up next month. It upsets my stomach knowing that such a milestone birthday will never be had. I mourn for him and for me and for my kids.
As my youngest (age 4) would say, "Dad, I love you so, so, so much!"
Friday, October 3, 2014
Friday, July 4, 2014
5 years ago
It has been five years--and, thank goodness, I am beginning to be in a better place. A place where I can remember my dad without sobbing and a place where I can reference the man he was in conversations without choking my throat.
It is still, very, very, hard.
We went to Disneyland last week and I thought about him as I was walking in the entrance. I thought about how he would have wanted to be there with us and how he was the one who took me as a child. I wanted to ask him questions about how I acted and which rides we rode together, and felt my loss knowing that I never can find those answers.
Life isn't fair.
I miss him.
I have a need to get to a forest and explore with my children as we walk together. I have a need to celebrate him and commemorate him through nature and being at peace with nature and the continuation of life.
Last week I had a dream and saw him. His image was so brief but he was smiling at me, eyes crinkled up and a huge grin on his face while his hands stretched out beckoning me to him. I ran to him and hugged him so hard I almost knocked us over. I pressed into his hug and felt my arms around his back and never wanted to let go.
I love it when I dream about him. I like to believe that it is him visiting me from the world beyond. It is him saying that he is okay and that he is still with me. I find comfort in these dreams.
It is still, very, very, hard.
We went to Disneyland last week and I thought about him as I was walking in the entrance. I thought about how he would have wanted to be there with us and how he was the one who took me as a child. I wanted to ask him questions about how I acted and which rides we rode together, and felt my loss knowing that I never can find those answers.
Life isn't fair.
I miss him.
I have a need to get to a forest and explore with my children as we walk together. I have a need to celebrate him and commemorate him through nature and being at peace with nature and the continuation of life.
Last week I had a dream and saw him. His image was so brief but he was smiling at me, eyes crinkled up and a huge grin on his face while his hands stretched out beckoning me to him. I ran to him and hugged him so hard I almost knocked us over. I pressed into his hug and felt my arms around his back and never wanted to let go.
I love it when I dream about him. I like to believe that it is him visiting me from the world beyond. It is him saying that he is okay and that he is still with me. I find comfort in these dreams.
Friday, March 28, 2014
Dreams--sadness
Before my father passed, I didn't know about sobbing dreams. I had had nightmares and night terrors--dreams of intense anxiety and confusion. Dreams where I was running for my life and didn't know if I would live.
And now I have heart swallowing crushing dreams of sadness. Last night I dreamt that I was saying goodbye to my Dad all over again. He was lying in a bed and the tears poured down my cheeks as I stroked his forehead saying over and over, "I love you." My body was exhausted from crying and not breathing well. I sobbed until I couldn't catch my breath. The sadness is overwhelming.
I didn't know pain like this until he died. I knew fear, anxiety, frustration, and anger. However, this pain, this bone crushing all consuming pain is far different than I have ever known.
During the day I feel like I am managing my sadness better. This summer marks the 5th anniversary of his death and I am finally at the point of being able to talk about him and look at pictures of him without crying. I don't have night terrors of sadness often, thank God! But when I do, they bring me back to this place of loss.
I never knew true loss until his death.
And now I have heart swallowing crushing dreams of sadness. Last night I dreamt that I was saying goodbye to my Dad all over again. He was lying in a bed and the tears poured down my cheeks as I stroked his forehead saying over and over, "I love you." My body was exhausted from crying and not breathing well. I sobbed until I couldn't catch my breath. The sadness is overwhelming.
I didn't know pain like this until he died. I knew fear, anxiety, frustration, and anger. However, this pain, this bone crushing all consuming pain is far different than I have ever known.
During the day I feel like I am managing my sadness better. This summer marks the 5th anniversary of his death and I am finally at the point of being able to talk about him and look at pictures of him without crying. I don't have night terrors of sadness often, thank God! But when I do, they bring me back to this place of loss.
I never knew true loss until his death.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Dad Dream
In my dreams I am excited to see him and I know he is dying. I don't have dreams where I already know he is dead and I am astonished to see him. I don't race to him.
Instead, my dreams focus on spending as much time with him, knowing the end is coming. My behavior is cautious and determined. I can feel sadness and desperation in my dreams, thankfully his death is never a surprise.
Probably how I was when he was dying. I was aware of not making him sad. I was cautious in how I talked and if I worried or taxed him. I was trying to look out for him, but ended up keeping us at arms length. This is one of my biggest regrets.
Last night I dreamed that I was going on a personal yacht with eight people. I didn't know the others, and felt it was a field trip of sorts, with young adults and a few older folks manning the boat. I was in the back of the yacht looking forward at my father. He was still bald but his dark brown wavy hair had grown long down his back. It curled like mine and it gave me pleasure to notice how similar our hair is. He was standing mid ship with one leg jauntily placed on the back of a chair. His hair was blowing with the motion of the boat and he had a large smile on his face. He looked very, very, happy.
I wasn't able to talk to him on the boat and, instead, watched his joy.
When we docked, I was in charge of some of the others and didn't know where he was. I knew that he was near but couldn't see him. Off the boat, we walked alongside a canal. On our side of the canal was grass and trails. We looked out to the other side of large multi-story apartment or condo buildings. My dad told me that he liked to visit these at Christmas because they decorated well with wreaths and lights. I remember making a note of this and knowing that I would come back to visit this spot after he was gone.
After returning to the boat, we rode home, and I didn't see him. We all disembarked and I was in charge of securing the yacht to the boat slip. The rope fell through my fingers and the yacht slowly drifted away. I screamed and panicked and cried for help.
What does this all mean? This dream speaks to me of anxiety and my loss. My bright spot is being surprised by my dad and how he has changed. The most important part was seeing his joy.
Instead, my dreams focus on spending as much time with him, knowing the end is coming. My behavior is cautious and determined. I can feel sadness and desperation in my dreams, thankfully his death is never a surprise.
Probably how I was when he was dying. I was aware of not making him sad. I was cautious in how I talked and if I worried or taxed him. I was trying to look out for him, but ended up keeping us at arms length. This is one of my biggest regrets.
Last night I dreamed that I was going on a personal yacht with eight people. I didn't know the others, and felt it was a field trip of sorts, with young adults and a few older folks manning the boat. I was in the back of the yacht looking forward at my father. He was still bald but his dark brown wavy hair had grown long down his back. It curled like mine and it gave me pleasure to notice how similar our hair is. He was standing mid ship with one leg jauntily placed on the back of a chair. His hair was blowing with the motion of the boat and he had a large smile on his face. He looked very, very, happy.
I wasn't able to talk to him on the boat and, instead, watched his joy.
When we docked, I was in charge of some of the others and didn't know where he was. I knew that he was near but couldn't see him. Off the boat, we walked alongside a canal. On our side of the canal was grass and trails. We looked out to the other side of large multi-story apartment or condo buildings. My dad told me that he liked to visit these at Christmas because they decorated well with wreaths and lights. I remember making a note of this and knowing that I would come back to visit this spot after he was gone.
After returning to the boat, we rode home, and I didn't see him. We all disembarked and I was in charge of securing the yacht to the boat slip. The rope fell through my fingers and the yacht slowly drifted away. I screamed and panicked and cried for help.
What does this all mean? This dream speaks to me of anxiety and my loss. My bright spot is being surprised by my dad and how he has changed. The most important part was seeing his joy.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Family Legacy
I think a lot more about family legacy, since losing my dad. I think of the generations before me and how soon they are forgotten. I didn't know my Linville side. His mom, Opal, died before I was born. His dad died when I was in middle school. I remember my mom taking me to his funeral but not much else.
I have heard stories of his family from my mom--how his father was an abusive alcoholic and how he had mistress's, said my mom with distaste. My dad didn't like to talk about his past and after one frustrating question and answer question, his wife at the time (Barbara) said, "Your father had a sad life and he doesn't like to remember it."
I know his mom was obese and diabetic and heart conditions. My mom says she ate her sadness and became bedridden with rampant diabetes. My father privately showed contempt towards overweight people. I don't know if this was due to the influence of his father shouting racial epitaphs across a street or due to his private frustrations with his mother, the person she had become.
I don't know if I could call them survivors. They certainly weren't victors in life, but they hung on. They married as pregnant teens and raised seven children. They existed through poverty and alcoholism and illness. Most likely they never traveled on an air plane or visited more than 2-3 states.The hand they were dealt (and their children) wasn't easy in life. I wish I knew more, but even if my dad were alive today, I don't think he would find the strength to tell me. He was an avoider of his painful past.
Just like my husband.
I have heard stories of his family from my mom--how his father was an abusive alcoholic and how he had mistress's, said my mom with distaste. My dad didn't like to talk about his past and after one frustrating question and answer question, his wife at the time (Barbara) said, "Your father had a sad life and he doesn't like to remember it."
I know his mom was obese and diabetic and heart conditions. My mom says she ate her sadness and became bedridden with rampant diabetes. My father privately showed contempt towards overweight people. I don't know if this was due to the influence of his father shouting racial epitaphs across a street or due to his private frustrations with his mother, the person she had become.
I don't know if I could call them survivors. They certainly weren't victors in life, but they hung on. They married as pregnant teens and raised seven children. They existed through poverty and alcoholism and illness. Most likely they never traveled on an air plane or visited more than 2-3 states.The hand they were dealt (and their children) wasn't easy in life. I wish I knew more, but even if my dad were alive today, I don't think he would find the strength to tell me. He was an avoider of his painful past.
Just like my husband.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Cleaning out my closet
Today I cleaned out my closet. You know, the kind of 'spring cleaning' one does but I am just getting to it in the fall, kind of thing. It felt good to purge, I spent hours trying on clothes, saying good-bye to my past life of tweed and courderoy wide legged pants, remembering my teaching interview outfits from ten years ago. It seems like a lifetime ago when I felt like a princess after shopping in nicer stores than just the Gap and Target. I felt like my world was so full of hope and promise. I felt on the cusp of having it all.
As I looked at my stream lined closet, a relevation hit me. My dad wouldn't recognize the clothes I now owned. He would never see me in anything in my closet. He wouldn't know me.
I immediately reminded myself how childish and dramatic I was being, of course he never would have noticed my clothes, he's a guy, and all of that...
But, I know. I know that I am slowly becoming unrecognizable to him. The grey in my hair, wrinkles at my smile, curve of my back are all things he didn't get to see. Would he have even noticed or cared? That question mystifies me, because I have no idea.
I am missing the grown up relationship I would have had with him. The kind where I would welcome his advice and listen to his thoughts. The kind of relationship where I could have asked him when he first grew grey and so much more.
His death is a kick in the gut and it literally hits me at unexpected moments. If someone would have told me that I would feel devastated after cleaning out my closet, I would have shook my head at them. Maybe a polite smile and nod and then, just as quickly, a sure dismissal.
I wish someone would have warned me.
As I looked at my stream lined closet, a relevation hit me. My dad wouldn't recognize the clothes I now owned. He would never see me in anything in my closet. He wouldn't know me.
I immediately reminded myself how childish and dramatic I was being, of course he never would have noticed my clothes, he's a guy, and all of that...
But, I know. I know that I am slowly becoming unrecognizable to him. The grey in my hair, wrinkles at my smile, curve of my back are all things he didn't get to see. Would he have even noticed or cared? That question mystifies me, because I have no idea.
I am missing the grown up relationship I would have had with him. The kind where I would welcome his advice and listen to his thoughts. The kind of relationship where I could have asked him when he first grew grey and so much more.
His death is a kick in the gut and it literally hits me at unexpected moments. If someone would have told me that I would feel devastated after cleaning out my closet, I would have shook my head at them. Maybe a polite smile and nod and then, just as quickly, a sure dismissal.
I wish someone would have warned me.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Changing Seasons
The changing of the seasons hit me most hard. I feel my loss and recognize that another season has missed him. I think, because of this, I appreciate the changes all the more.
Today I sat in the back pasture wearing a tank top and jeans and feeling the warm sun on my arms. I let the horses out and they grazed feet from me. Three chickens decided to check on me and wandered close, no doubt investigating to see if I had food to spare. I smelled grass and manure and the heat of horses. I looked at all the memories we have shared these past three years in this pasture. I gazed at the dead tree stump in which a bobcat ate one of our first ducks on. The very same stump that the kids think is their mission to use rusty old shovels to pulverize it into a million splintery pieces. As I watch, a squirrel runs diagonally around it, life ever present.
This is the pasture where I encouraged my mom to get on Starr, without a halter or saddle. Mere seconds later, this is the pasture where I watched Starr run off with my 67 year old mother.
Our daughter took her first fall off of her Pony here.
How many times have I watched the children playing king of the mountain on our manure pile? How many times have I yelled, "At least put some shoes on if you are up there!?"
My dad is missing the very simplest of moments. I am missing him here. With us. Watching how pleased he would be, seeing him play with our kids.
I haven't dreamed about him in so long. I haven't 'felt' his presence. I do try and have faith that he is here but I wish for signs. I take comfort in believing that the signs are in the details of everyday life. The constant kisses from Augie, the sound of a flock of chickens running after you, the hawk cry that our daughter does to perfection, a tail wagging upon my arrival, the whinny from a horse demanding it is time to bring them in, and the feeling of pride when watching our son figure out a brain teaser puzzle. Life is all around me, and, by golly, I must take that as my sign to be strong and remain appreciative.
Because it is so very fleeting.
Today I sat in the back pasture wearing a tank top and jeans and feeling the warm sun on my arms. I let the horses out and they grazed feet from me. Three chickens decided to check on me and wandered close, no doubt investigating to see if I had food to spare. I smelled grass and manure and the heat of horses. I looked at all the memories we have shared these past three years in this pasture. I gazed at the dead tree stump in which a bobcat ate one of our first ducks on. The very same stump that the kids think is their mission to use rusty old shovels to pulverize it into a million splintery pieces. As I watch, a squirrel runs diagonally around it, life ever present.
This is the pasture where I encouraged my mom to get on Starr, without a halter or saddle. Mere seconds later, this is the pasture where I watched Starr run off with my 67 year old mother.
Our daughter took her first fall off of her Pony here.
How many times have I watched the children playing king of the mountain on our manure pile? How many times have I yelled, "At least put some shoes on if you are up there!?"
My dad is missing the very simplest of moments. I am missing him here. With us. Watching how pleased he would be, seeing him play with our kids.
I haven't dreamed about him in so long. I haven't 'felt' his presence. I do try and have faith that he is here but I wish for signs. I take comfort in believing that the signs are in the details of everyday life. The constant kisses from Augie, the sound of a flock of chickens running after you, the hawk cry that our daughter does to perfection, a tail wagging upon my arrival, the whinny from a horse demanding it is time to bring them in, and the feeling of pride when watching our son figure out a brain teaser puzzle. Life is all around me, and, by golly, I must take that as my sign to be strong and remain appreciative.
Because it is so very fleeting.
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