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.

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.

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.

Dream

I had a dream a few nights ago about my dad. I just remember him standing 'there' and I can't even remember where 'there' was. I wish I would have wrote it down the minute I woke up, but I didn't and now I have lost the memory.

He has been on my mind a lot, always never far from me.

This week I talked aloud about his death to my new friends at Augie's speech class and even though I felt a lump, I didn't tear up. I consider this a victory and a turning point in my evolution through this grief.

I feel like I am starting to lose him and now want to write all the little details about him before they become lost.

I miss his bear hugs and hearty greetings.

I miss him calling me Az.

I miss him playing card games with me.

I miss him making me iceberg lettuce salads with ranch dressing, crushed saltines, tomatoes, and cheddar cheese.

I miss his eager enthusiasm towards animals and rafting and his garden.

What an absolute tragedy losing him has been for me. His death has made me stronger and more appreciative of family and friends. But it has also damaged me. Aged me. Saddened me. My father's death has made me more worried and desperate that I will be given another loss before I have healed. I imagine a world with him in it and realize that I will never come close to living that life again. I am not welcome at his home, I am not a part of his extended family. My children will never receive gifts from his garden or be taken down the river on a river rafting trip. They will never golf with him or be spoiled by him like he spoiled Kate--trips to time shares and swimming in a hot spring, trip to Disneyland, gifted expensive toys that we couldn't afford like a Harry Potter Lego set or remote controlled cars.

My loss is deep and now an undercurrent of who I am.

Remote Controlled Cars

My dad bought these cars for Kate, probably 8-10 years ago. I remember him saying "You can't just have one car. You always have to have two" as we went out to a local Radio Shack and picked them out. He insisted that we needed one that went fast and one to offroad with. At the time, I was shocked at their $50 price tag and surprised that my dad was spending $100 on toy cars.

I am now so grateful that I kept them and that my little kids can play with them. Today I told them about how Grandpa John bought these for them to play with. I hope that they can feel or at least have one more story of who my dad was, through these cars.

He would have been tickled to see them playing with them and probably would have ran out to buy a third for Augie. He would have loved playing cars with them because he was that kind of grandparent.