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.

Anger

I am so frustrated at him and angry at his wife. My dad worked hard for 64 years before he died. He fought himself out of desperate poverty~where he would hide at lunch because he didn't have one~to become a home owner and come into his marriage with enough money to buy 7 acres outright. He was married less than four years when he died and she got everything. Everything. She even was giving away his golf clubs before I stepped in and asked for them.

Upon his diagnosis, I am told, he was most worried about me and what would happen to me. He knew that I didn't have siblings and much family, he wanted to know that I would be emotionally (and financially) taken care of. His wife reassured him that I was family and not to worry. He didn't.

It has been two years since his death and my kids don't even know who his wife is. Augie hasn't even been acknowledged by her. I am just so disgusted I can't even see straight.

Her lack of compassion and empathy sickens me.

Love

I find myself murmuring softly to my children, "Grandpa would have loved you so much." I repeat it over and over, thinking that maybe I can get through to them how much they are loved. It pains me that they will never know him, never see his energy~calm when needed and child like when excited. He was always so thrilled when I arrived to visit him. Jumping around, carrying my bags in, grinning ear to ear. I was loved. Not having that unconditional love is one of the things that pangs the most in my life.

Christmas is nearing and the holidays without him don't get any easier. His loss has scarred me and I now have fear in my life. I fear parting from my mom or kids or friends and wondering if I will see them again. Sometimes I wonder if I have PTSD from him dying.

Georgia and Theo (ages five and three) are talking alot about death. We have developed the Lion King belief system where "the great leaders of the past become stars in the sky." They seem to understand this and I hope with all my might that it is true. At times I look to the sky, telling him how horribly I miss and love him.

Happy Birthday Dad

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."