Monthly Archives: February 2016

Rituals, Rememberance, Closure ( if there is such a thing ).

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For whatever reason my father didn’t have a funeral or memorial. In his younger years he used to talk about having a funeral but as he got older, and I think watching those around him, attending a few of his friends funerals, and many long discussions with my mom he just said to hell with it. So, he did not have a viewing, no memorial, no funeral and he was cremated. His ashes have been returned to my mom and that’s that.

This created a problem for me. I wasn’t there when he died. I didn’t get to see his body after he died. There was no wake, there was no ritual. And I have come to the closest person that thrives on rituals. Isn’t that weird what you discover yourself during a life-changing event?

So, while I respect his last wishes a lot about his death left me with many unanswered questions. Many circles were not closed for me. In essence, I really didn’t have any closure- if there is such a thing.

Each year, I go to a place in my city called the Grotto.  This place is actually The National Sanctuary of our Sorrowful Mother, popularly known as The Grotto. It’s a Roman Catholic outdoor shrine and sanctuary located in the Madison South district of Portland, Oregon, United States.  The cool part about it is it doesn’t matter what faith you are is just a very cool place to go and sit, reflect and think. 

It’s extraordinarily peaceful.

I go each year and light a candle for my brother-in-law who was tragically lost his life in a car accident many years ago when he was 17. I didn’t know him unfortunately, so when I began dating his brother, who is now my husband, I began to think about ways of honoring his memory. When I learned about the grotto, after the first time I visited and saw that you could light a candle in memory of a loved one I begin lighting a candle and saying a silent prayer every time I visited.

It’s no secret I’ve been having a really hard time. I have begun grief therapy. I started this blog to journal about my feelings. But there’s just something missing other than the fact that my dad is dead and he’s never coming back. I knew that I was struggling with the fact that there was no closure but I couldn’t figure out how to fix that. 

And then yesterday happened.

Typically, we go to the grotto around Christmas time. This year we didn’t have that opportunity because my dad was really sick and it was a bad time, and we just didn’t get the time to go. So yesterday after lunch my husband said Hey, why don’t we go out to the grotto today, I know you want to look for something for my mom because it’s her birthday and why don’t we just go.” So we did, and I said “We should light a candle for your brother.”  We all agreed upon that and then there was this silence. It wasn’t awkward we were all just quiet. Like they were waiting for me to say something.

After a minute or two it dawned on me that I could get some sort of closure here at the grotto. My eyes became wet and the tears just silently fell down my face as I stood by my husband who took my hand and I figured out what I wanted to do. I asked the boys if they would get me not one candle but two candles. And they nodded and said of course we will.

I lit the candle and placed it in the holder and felt the first start of closure.

Here’s remembering you dad. I love you.

  

I’m so sorry for your loss…or something like that.

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I know, right? 

It’s kind of like at Kroger or Whole Foods when they ask you if you’ve found everything all right?  

It’s expected, they are supposed to ask.

I hate I’m so sorry for you loss. It’s not like I lost my car keys, my wedding ring, or a gold bracelet. 

I’m really sorry would just suffice. There’s really nothing else to say.

A month, 4 weeks, 30 days, 720 hours, 43,200 minutes…

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Hey Dad, it’s me –  
It’s been a month, 4 weeks, 30 days,  720 hours, 43,200 minutes. You get the idea.

God we miss you. All of you. The good and bad. I want to know so many things.

Did dying hurt? Were you scared? Are you okay? Do you finally believe we all love you? Even now that you’re dead? What do you do now with your time?  Do you see us? Do you watch mom when she sleeps?  Can you read our thoughts? If you can I am sorry for thinking angry thoughts about you. 

When I close my eyes and think about you it’s with a cup of iced coffee, a cigarette, and sweat dripping off your face because you’re working outside on one of your many projects.

What have you missed? A lot and nothing. 

Mom seems to be hanging in there, she’s a trooper. She’s remembering you when you as  whole and healthy. That makes me happy. My siblings seem to be doing okay but to be completely honest I have’r really asked lately and I need to be better at that.

I don’t sleep well dad. My sleep is interrupted with dreams of you. My anxiety is on high alert, and my mind is experiencing a fog.

Spring will be here shortly, another season.

The deal is whether we like it or not life is going forward. Time is marching on and I can’t stop it no matter how hard I try.

I can’t remember what your voice sounds like anymore. I look at your photo everyday because I never want to forget what you look like. I fond myself mid-dial calling you to ask about preparing chicken and then realizing you were no longer here.

I just miss yo Dad. All of you. 

It’s been a month, 4 weeks, 30 days, 720 hours, 43,200 minutes. You get the idea. 

 

And today there was a little sun.

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I spoke with a bereavement (better known as grief) counselor today.  Her name was Jaquelyn, and she was very kind.  When I first heard her voice I thought I was talking to someone in their early 20’s — and she could have been for all I know.  That I guess doesn’t matter.

Her words were wise beyond how young she sounded and for the first time in the past three weeks I felt a little lighter, my chest wasn’t as heavy, and I didn’t feel like every time I thought about my father and opened my mouth at the same time that I would sob.

We talked about a lot of things that led of to my father’s death.  Things that happened to me and how that has affected me since June of 2015.  As we talked about them Jaquelyn brought to my attention that these were all classified as losses of some sort – some small, some large, but they were losses.

We then talked about the last conversation I had with my dad.  He wasn’t happy where he was.  He said that the place was killing him when the reality was he was dying right before our eyes.  Dementia had begun and he wasn’t our dad anymore.  That was such a hard pill to swallow. I had asked my father what I could do to help him as he was so unhappy and he simply said “Please love me.”  and my eyes got wet and brimmed with tears and I said “Oh Dad, of course I love you, we all love you.” He then looked at me with his blue blue eyes and said “Please really love me”.  I once again said, “Dad we just love you so much.”

He then paused and tilted his head to one side like he always did when he didn’t believe what I was telling him and he said “Am I your dad?”  That took me aback, and I said “Of course you are my Dad, you’ve been my dad for 52 years!” and then he just looked at me and gave me a half smile.  It was time to go and so I kissed him and hugged him and never saw him again.

I wasn’t there when he died.  But I am told he had a gentle and peaceful passing.  “Not a wrinkle in his face” I had heard several times. I didn’t have the opportunity of seeing him right after he died and I will regret that to my own dying day, I wish I had seen him.

I had no closure.

The next morning around the same time that he had died that morning before I woke up with a start.  Someone was standing by the side of my bed.  I thought at first it was my mom, as I had said to her if she needed me to come get me I didn’t care what time.

But no, it was my Dad.  He was just standing there. No flowing robes, no angels, no music, nothing ethereal at all – it was just him in a pair of Khaki shorts and one of his normal button of summer shirts.  The only thing I noticed was he looked very healthy, and his arms were smooth.  There were no bruises, his skin wasn’t mottled.  There were no scabs, scars, no marring.  Just smooth and healthy.  I said to him in disbelief “Dad! What is going on?  Why are you here?”  And he just said:

“I’m fine, I’m really fine.”

I had a tough time catching my breath, but I managed, “How did you get here?  What are you doing here?  Dad!?”  and he once again just said very serenely “I’m fine, I am really fine.”  I jumped up to hug him, and to kiss him, and to just be near him and as I went to hug him I hugged the air, he was gone in an instant.

I made three giant steps to where my mom was sleeping and said very excitedly “Oh God, Mom, did Dad come see you, he was just here, I saw him.”  And then I recounted my experience and marveling over his arms and face that were so smooth.  We both were really leaning to having seen him – I truly felt his presence.

Anyhow, I am relaying this to this bereavement counselor and she says to me, “It sounds like your father had a very peaceful passing, and maybe he came to see you to tell you that he was fine, and he knew you loved him after all.”

I thought about this for a moment and then felt my chest relax, my neck relax, the bile in the back of my throat subside, my breathing relax, my back relax.  And I didn’t feel like sobbing.

The idea that my father died thinking he wasn’t loved was just too much for my mind, body, and spirit to handle and hearing her say that he probably knew was truly what I needed to hear.  And I am going to cleave to that every time I feel horrible, I am going to remember her words.

So for today I felt a little bit of sun peak through that veil of mourning, depression, and grief.

It’s been three weeks, actually 22 days.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When your dad dies and things are complicated

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It’s no secret that my father was a complex and complicated man. The guy struggled throughout his entire life thinking he wasn’t accepted or loved when the reality was he was incredibly loved — if he would allow it.

That’s the thing – he didn’t allow many to love him on their terms.  And the reason I know that is I’m just like him in that respect and it’s been a struggle of mine for the past 52 years. I want people to love me on my terms, but that’s not the way the world works.  People love, and often they love differently than yourself.

People love how they know how to love.  Some people are of few words and show their love through their deeds or in small ways that aren’t obvious.  Other people express their love through their words and what they say or what they do – and it’s obvious, while there are still others who are loud and proud and demonstrate their love for the world and those around them very loudly — and then there are those who say nary a word but love deeply because it’s just how they are.

My dad in his later years would say “I love you” and I loved hearing that from my old man.  But he never said he was proud of me and goddammit I sure tried to gain his acceptance and approval my entire life.

So when he died for me it was complicated.  He didn’t die angry with me and that was a huge relief because I was on his shit list a lot — I was the first born, the most like him, very vocal and pushed back a lot.  Just ask my mom – my middle name was  “I was a handful”.  I knew when he died he loved me, fiercely.  I was his #1 kid, and with that comes a deep impact that no other kids coming after we first borns will ever experience.

We are the first for our parents to love, be angry at, make mistakes with, watch leave the nest, and fuck up.  It just goes with the territory.

My worry and something that still haunts me is if he knew I loved him. And Jesus Christ I did love that guy to the moon and back.  I just hope wherever he is up there somewhere that he can feel the love I have for him, his spirit and his memory.

I will never forget him or that.