This is what I wrote on my other blog, the family one that is sanitized and doesn't let people know how much pain I am. How every freaking day I well up and tremble and miss my father. I cry today because I think it is so desperate so pathetic that I cling to food in memory of him. It seems so cheap and hollow and, yet, I look forward to such normal behaviors like baking a cake because that is all I can do.
Today was my dad's birthday. He would have been sixty-six. It seems like so much more than two years have passed. Possibly a decade at least. We have had many changes with moving, another baby, and Jon switching offices. I suppose all that we have had going has helped ease his passing. My life is a constant reminder that there is a time for everything and it was time for his to come to a close. Before he died I asked him what his favorite meals were. I knew that I would need something to cling to, to remind me of him long after he was gone, and now I try and recreate those meals knowing how much he would enjoy them.
Earlier in the day the kids and I baked a pumpkin cake with cream cheese (and fresh whipped cream) frosting. The kids helped and were excited to make a cake for Grandpa John's birthday. I think he would have been proud of them and who they are. He would have enjoyed seeing them busy and capable in the kitchen.
Last year on his birthday we celebrated with a large chocolate cake. I assume we had a surf and turf dinner because that is what he had mentioned as one of his favorite meals. Tonight we just had the surf and enjoyed a bounty of Caesar salad, an appetizer of cold shrimp and cocktail sauce, french bread, whole grain rice, sauteed spinach, and King crab legs soaked in butter with fresh lemon. The kids were in heaven and they kept asking for more shrimp and crab.
We went around the table and said something nice about Grandpa John. Theo said, "Hi" and Georgia followed his lead and said the same. I reminded Georgia how much he adored her and thought she was just the funniest and most energetic child around. Kate said that she liked how he was always willing and ready to play games with her, like softball or card games. I told how I am always grateful that he took me to see small parts of the world like Disneyland, Mexico, ski resorts, Washington DC, and how we golfed at Pebble Beach (When I say that I golfed there, I say it very loosely. He golfed and I mainly drove the cart).
Happy birthday, Dad.
Grief is grueling and painful. I continue this blog half heartily because I know that someday one of my friends or family will lose a parent and maybe this can help them. Maybe it will be there to remind them that two years later you will still be crying--and just maybe that is okay. It hurts. It stings. I am jealous of our new neighbors because her mom lives four doors down. I am envious of people who live in the luxury of knowing their parents are there. I live with regret and sadness that my dad and I never got "our" time together. First, my parents were divorced then I was busy with college and raising Kate. When my life had finally eased up, I found myself newly married with three more children. There just wasn't anymore time.
I was driving down the road the other day and wondered when there was going to be time. If he were still alive, would it be now? I regretfully say no. I am still too busy with a toddler and kids being kids to travel much to see him. My fantasy begins in about five years where we go on trips together with my family and he enjoys showing them sights that he always wanted to show me~like the Grand Canyon. Someday when I get there I will quietly cry alone and raise a glass and think, "This one is for you, Dad. Oh, how I miss you."
