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.

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.