Imagine

Kate, my oldest child, has declared that she wants to be a doctor. My dad would be so proud of his granddaughter. He was always proud of her and I wish he were alive to see her coming into her own person, to see her on her own path.

It is funny how life works out. I had Kate as an eighteen year old community college student teenager. I am certain he was shocked, disappointed, afraid, and even angry. He never told me these feelings, but I am sure he felt them. He watched me move in with my daughter's father, leave him, get engaged to another man, leave this man, struggle 8 years through college, work nights as a waitress, and probably worried the entire time about how she and I would turn out.

He never told me he was worried. But, boy, the tears he shed when I graduated first from community college and then again from a University and then again from my master's program---well, those told me how proud he was of me. I am so thankful that he was able to see my accomplishments. See me get married (finally!) and work as a teacher and have more children. He was able to hear that his granddaughter was a straight A student and that she joined various teams and was brave and coordinated and thoughtful.

He loved us both. And he laughed heartily at the energy my second child possessed. She was a different cloth entirely and he enjoyed her zest.

I only wish he could have seen more. Lived and died with the peace of seeing how it all unfolds. Seeing all of his grandchildren get educations and begin their lives. It pains me that he didn't see more.

Despite this...with a deep breath...

I must remember that he saw enough. He saw my graduation and financial independence. He saw my marriage and glimpses of a future life with my hardworking husband and abundance of children. He got to see a future for me that I imagine entailed my new roomier home (he left off with 5 people in a 3 bedroom, 1 bath home) and Kate attending college and my 'zesty' children growing up.

I imagine he saw my smiles and much peace around me.

Holidays

Oh my, the holidays and feelings of missing my dad hit me at the most unexpected times. Tonight I was at the salon getting my hair colored and cut, when tears began forming in my eyes.

There I am, sitting in the chair with my head bent back into the sink, stylist scrubbing the dye out--and I began thinking of him and how I can't believe he is gone and how I miss him and how horrid life can be without him.

The stylist said, "Are you doing okay? Just zoning out?" and I cleared my throat and with a chirpy voice replied, "Yes, just relaxing!"

What can I say? Sometimes the pain surprises me on how close it is to the surface.

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In other news, this is the first year I didn't send a Christmas card to his wife and her daughters. I may choose to take the high road and send one, but it didn't go out with all of the others. I am so disappointed in how she has treated our family (last year sent one DVD--Smurf's movie for Christmas) and her lack of awareness. My dad died having bought the land she lives on, leaving a time share, and stocks, and car...and she sent one DVD to his grandchildren.

She isn't a generous person, and that hurts. She isn't an attentive person, and that hurts. Some younger child version of myself finds surprise that there are "grown ups" out there who can be so thoughtless. I sometimes get trapped in thinking that as people age, they evolve and grow and become better extensions of themselves.

She has taught me otherwise.

November 1st

Today is my Dad's birthday. To celebrate this occassion I try to cook foods that were meaningful or remind me of my dad. The foods give me a way to introduce the kids to him and a way that they can have memories of him. Last year we went with his favorite meal--or so he told me weeks before he died--King crab and steak. This year I paired the meals down and made crab salads for lunch and then we went out to a new restaurant in town called Gobble. One of the few questions I asked him while we were preparing for his death was what his favorite holiday was. He paused and then said that it was Thanksgiving and so I figured that a Thanksgiving themed restaurant was the way to celebrate. The food was ehhh and on the salty side, but my dinner seemed fitting as it reminded me of the Thanksgiving dinners I ate at his home. Dinners that were okay but nothing interesting or on the cusp of culinary brilliance. I remember one Thanksgiving where he served canned peas. Shudder.

On our drive home the kids and I had a nice discussion about Grandpa John. How much he loved them and planned to take them to Disneyland and how he enjoyed taking walks through the woods with Georgia and picking vegetables in his garden. I told them how he never once turned me down for a board or card game and how he loved all animals and treated them with kindness. Theo replied, "Me miss him" and Georgia wanted to know the details of when and where he died. I didn't think I would be having a discussion about morturary's or cremation with preschoolers but it came up about where his body was now and why we can't visit him.

Theo said, "Me sad."

Me too, buddy. Me too.

Tonight we lit our Christmas lights in honor of him. Kind of like birthday candles for a man who would have been sixty eight years old.

Cheers to the man who took me golfing on Pebble Beach, taught me to drive a stick at age thirteen, and loved me so much that tears leaked from his eyes when he saw me. I love you Dad.

Roots

Today I was reading Facebook and came across a post by Linda, my dad's youngest sister. She posted a picture of her spider plant and how it is over twenty years old. Immediately, tears pricked my eyes and I felt a twist in my belly as I remembered the plants my dad had.

And, how odd it is that I miss his plants.

As time goes by, a feel less and less connected to him and more desperate for the things he may have touched. His books (Karen gave those away), his clothes (donated), his stuff. His lifetime of stuff that I most likely will never see again.

I don't know what is more cruel--his quick death or the complete abandonment of his wife who promised him that our family would always be her family. My kids lost their grandfather but I lost my dad and the promise of seeing and touching his life, if only with him gone.

I could have at least pretended that he was still with me.

Christmas Lights

We always put up our Christmas lights by November 1st. November 1st is my Dad's birthday and my unofficial kick off into the holiday season. I put up the lights for him and his memory. I choose to be happy in the spirit of the memory of him. I bake a cake and tell stories and remind the kids how much he loved them.

I am getting excited and anxious thinking about this upcoming event. This time of year reminds me of him driving 5 hours the weekend before Halloween to bring us a giant (200) pound pumpkin that he grew. He was so proud of it and very happy to give it to us. It was a big surprise and we 'oohed' and 'ahhed' over it.

This was one of the last things he gave me before he died. Little did I know that he would be dead 8.5 months later.

I miss him and that he didn't get to see my new house and family. Not being able to share this life with him has been the hardest part of dealing with his death. I know that he would be so happy for all of us.

Sunflowers

Today we began preparing the garden for fall and winter. Jon cut off a few of the sunflower flowers and Theo wanted to know why.

"Why are you cutting them?"

Because there is a season for everything and we are preparing for winter. The sunflowers are dying.

"Are you going to cut down the last one?"

No, that one isn't ready yet. Wben it is ready, then we will cut it.

"But, why?"


This conversation brought pricks of tears to my eyes. My throat choked as I reminded him that everything dies and it was the sunflower's time. I then began thinking about if it was my dad's time. Did he die in the fall or winter of his life? He was sixty-four. Is sixty-four September, October, or November of a person's life?

I suppose none of it really matters but I want to know how much he---and I---were cheated. I want to measure my pain.

I always, always, miss him.

Am I better?

Am I a better person since my father died? I know I feel so much stronger and I feel older. I hope to say a bit wiser.

My father's death shook me. In fact, it still shakes me. I fear more and I hope I love more. I certainly have more patience with my mentally fragile mother. Before my dad's death I was angry. Angry at her irrationality and angry with her instability. She wasn't diagnosed with a mental illness until I was in my early 20's. Which means I spent a very good portion of my life feeling shaken by her, living my own private tornado with her.

Since my dad has passed, I have tried to become more patient. I invite her into our lives and this isn't something I did before. I encourage her to come and share and love us. I take pictures of her.

For many, many, years I wanted to erase her.

The gift of losing the one parent I didn't know but who felt wholly stable to me has been in walking closer to the storm. His death was the opportunity to really know that life isn't a guarantee. To experience loss and reach out for anything left tangible in the word of family. My mom is the only one and in an odd universe way, his leaving has brought us closer.

I only wish I could have been wiser and loved them both wholeheartedly. Loved them both without anger and resentment and distance.

Little House

One of my favorite shows growing up was Little House on the Prairie. I wanted to be Laura and live on a farm with horses and apple trees. Tonight, while perusing channels, I excitedly found old episodes--season 9, episode 1 to be exact.

I eagerly settled in to watch it and the episode opened with Pa selling the 'Little House' and moving to the city. Then Almanzo's brother, Roy, shows up with his daughter and we soon learn that he is dying. The tears began to flow and my stomach began to churn. I physically became sick to my stomach watching the episode enfold.

No one tells you this when you lose a loved one. No one tells you that your simplest/guilty pleasures can turn on a dime. That memories and life come crashing together in a horrible twist, stabbing you in the gut without warning.

I just miss my dad. I mourn for others who have felt this. I fear for my children someday feeling this pain.

4th of July

This morning, while making my bed, it dawned on me that it is a blessing that my dad passed on the fourth. A blessing because the day is forever marked with family and celebrations and festivity. I never have much time to curl up and cry and feel sorry for myself. On the fourth of July my family is always home, always surrounding me, and for that I am forever grateful.

I feel lucky.

I want to believe that this anniversary was a small gift from my dad, however true or not that thought is. It feels good to think of him giving me this.

Happy Fourth of July and may you, too, celebrate with loved ones on this day.

Disneyland

My dad was my Disneyland ticket. He took me when I was four years old and videotaped me running to the characters and hugging them. This was back in the days when a videocamera was the size of a small microwave and I appreciate that he loved me enough to tape me. I have since lost the tape but he showed it to me when I was a teenager and I remember the look of joy on my face as I ran, long unruly hair streaming behind me.

He took me to Disneyland as a preteen then again at the age of 22 with my own daughter, Katherine. Kate was four years old at the time and he always said that four year olds were the best to take to Disney. We had a great trip and all of us had hoped he would get to travel with my other kids to the "Happiest Place on Earth."

I have had his words about Disney in my head for years and intended to follow with this seemingly trivial piece of wisdom for my own family. Finances and moving and new babies put a crimp in our plans the past few years and our second oldest turned five last November. I felt that I had missed the four year old magic.

As life would have it, my stepfather unexpectedly paid to put up our family in a condo in Palm Springs for a week and I realized that Palm Springs isn't that far from Disney (2 hours drive). It almost felt meant to be, especially to travel so close to his death anniversary. So we scraped together a budget and a Disneyland plan and booked the trip. I felt like I was following my dad's life advice and wished he could have made the trip with us. I know he planned to take us again and this seemed a small consolation prize.

When I walked through the gates of Disneyland and looked at the plaque above my head that read, "Yesterday, today, and tomorrow" I welled with tears. I said some small words to my dad like, "miss you dad" and took a deep breath and put my sunglasses on. The knowledge of how he had once stood at that exact spot was powerful and overwhelming for me.

Within the park I insisted that we eat dessert at the Blue Bayou. A totally overpriced and underwhelming dining experience, but where he had taken me for my upcoming 23rd birthday on our last trip. I had hoped this meal would bring me closer to him but I felt no real connection. Actually it was more painful than anything and I felt foolish for having thought it would bring me peace.

Overall, Disneyland kept me busy and happy but I did find myself missing him at times. I gave in to a few tears here and there and smiled to myself when the kids rode Splash Mountain-twice-knowing that he would have enjoyed seeing their four and five year old bravery on display. I took some deep breaths on the Small World ride because that was one I remembered as a child and must have ridden it with him. I kept thinking to myself, "We rode this together. I am seeing what he saw. He was here!"

I miss him.

Three Years Ago

Three years ago Jon and I were sitting on the lawn of the Seattle zoo, listening to music from a concert, enjoying life and being out for an evening without the kids.

And then my cell phone rang.

My dad's wife told me that he hadn't spoken or eaten in five days and the hospice nurse didn't feel he had much time left.

Jon and I quickly made plans for me to drive down the next morning and I finished the concert with tears hidden behind my sunglasses.

This is always a bitter time of year for me. The fourth of July holiday is the annual reminder of my dads death and the days proceeding it. It brings back to mind my gut wrenching sobs on the drive to Oregon. My panic and disbelief and grief as I parked in the driveway and ran into the house looking for him in his hospital bed. I replay the movie in my head of all the sadness and watch the scenes unfold. And I cry. I still cry and it physically hurts.

I just wish he were here. I really, really, wish.

I miss him and his hugs and how much he would have enjoyed seeing me live my life.

I put on a happy face and never mention my grief. I choose to move forward and not display my pain in the hopes of encouraging the good in life to come. I don't know if this is right or healthy, but it is what I have done to deal with the pain. I know my dad would want me to smile and enjoy all life has to offer and celebrate the joys of the 4th of July with my family.

But, every year after dark on the 4th, I take a quiet tear filled walk by myself and talk to him amongst the stars, booms, and trees. I tell him how much I miss him and how I am hurting and usually I can't talk it hurts so badly but the walk brings me closure and a bit of comfort.

I just really wish he was here.

Dream

I had a dream of my dad last night. It was fleeting but I was preparing for him to visit me at my home. I was so, so, excited. I was racing around preparing in eager anticipation. I was ecstatic and just so happy.

He arrived and walked with a limp. He said something about his hip and arthritis. I was so eager to see him that I was in a rush to show him our property, to ask him to stay with us for a week, to show him the golf course up the street and encourage him to play. I was in a rush to get the words out to show him all that he hasn't seen.

His eyes were kind and crinkly but also watery and troubled. Like he had gone to war and survived. I imagine his eyes looked like they would have had he survived.



I woke up feeling satisfied to have had a dream of him but sad all the same. So bittersweet getting this glimpse of him, if only in a dream.

Wheelchairs

While I was shopping at the grocery store I saw a woman, maybe in her 60's, pushing her elderly mother in a wheelchair and pulling a shopping cart behind her. I wondered if she knows how fortunate she is. Does she feel the burden of taking her mom shopping or does she see the beauty in it? The love? The opportunity of having those moments. I envied her and smiled at her fortune.

What I wouldn't have given to have a life where I was needed in that way by my father. I hope that women feels gratitude because I would give almost anything to push my white haired father around a grocery store. To take care of him and know that we had a long life together.

I never got to see my father's hair turn white.

Spring Wind

I don't know if a day goes by that I don't think about my father. Sometimes his death is most pronounced in the statement by our five year old, "Grandpa John liked playing stickers with me" and sometimes it is in the spring wind rushing the trees or the smell of rain on the pavement. I wish he could be here to enjoy it all. The changing of the seasons always reminds me of the life he is missing. He should be here witnessing them. My life would be better if he were here. He deserved life and the tears that I cry for him are knowing how much he would have enjoyed all of this; kids, animals, travel and even rainy pavement.