Category Archives: Dad

365 Days. 52 weeks. 12 months. 1 year.

Dad, Death

You know it’s weird. I have read so many different times and in so many different places that the first year after the death of someone you love just flies by. And now I’m living it, and they are right, it does fly by at the speed of light.

It’s been a year of mourning and grief. Some days are easier than others. But whatever learned about grief is that it just never goes away. About the time I think I have a handle on it it seems to creep in those cracks and crevices like mold or moss.

I realized that my dad’s death was harder on me than I could ever anticipate and because of that and everything else that’s going on in the world today I need to pause and be still for a while and just take the time to reflect and reassess a few things.

But I do want to remember my dad today – and I would love it if you would remember him with me.

A year ago today at 6:20 am PST my father Chuck left this planet to continue his journey on another plane. Sitting here thinking about him I am remembering the things I’ve been told over the years and would have come to know about him as an adult.

My Dad Chuck was born in North Dakota to a single mom by choice. She was ahead of her time. He would have been 80 last August. He was always Chuck – never Charlie and never ever Charles.

He met my mom in August of 1956, the first time she laid eyes on him he was on a motorcycle being a goofball. I think it was truly love at first sight. He said the first time he saw her he was smitten. In 1958 they married, and in September of 1959 he was drafted in the US Army and boy he was pissed. They are we would take him to Europe where his tour was in Germany.

By 1963 I came along, then in 1966 Lisa came on the scene, followed up by my brother Cris in 1968. I remember the day my brother was born – we were all so excited it was a boy, and our family was complete, and my father exhaled.

Life in our family like most families had its many ups and downs. Dad worked hard and played hard – his business was water and for the rest of his professional life revolved around fresh water irrigation systems, fresh water pumps, and the waste water industry.

He traveled a lot. Alaska was the place he spent the largest amount of his time. I can remember as a kid my mom loading us all in the car and those many trips to the airport waiting at the gate in great anticipation looking for him as he would walk up the gateway into the airport. We would run screaming, leaping into his arms and showering him with hugs and kisses. He was always happy to see us – but he was never home very long. Before we know it it was time to take him to the airport he was off on another adventure.

He and mom lived in their house on the lake for 27 years. So many memories are wrapped up in that house. Dad was an avid hunter and fisherman in his younger years. He really loved to travel and was a great photographer. What he really became was the most amazing cook ever. We would regularly exchange emails full of recipes. And any time I had a question about food he was my go to guy.

Dad loved to read, he loved historical novels and anything to do with World War II. I don’t think he was ever without a book. For as tough and crusty as he could be he had a heart of gold. He did a lot of volunteering for the senior services of King County. He would drive senior citizens to and from various appointments. He always lent an ear to his friends who needed help. He always tried to be a hard ass when I came to the animals but he sure loved his beloved Bombay cat, friend and companion “Thomas”. That cat originally was found for my mom but that cat turned into my dad’s cat 🙂

The center of his life revolved around my mom. He was married to her for 57 years. They were like peas and carrots with a dash of hot sauce thrown in for good measure.

God we loved him, we all loved him so fiercely and fondly referred to him as “The Lion” of our family.

A giant of a man has left our planet a year ago.

He is still loved so very much, and we will miss him every single day.

I love you Dad,

#1

And today there was a little sun.

Dad, Death, , , , , , ,

sun_rays_through_clouds_2-wallpaper-1366x768

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

Dad, Death, ,

iloveyoudadanditscomplicated

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He wasn’t a saint…

Dad, Death, , , , , ,

  
When people die a lot of the time they are remembered as saints. “Oh that Bill Smith, he was a saint, he was just a good guy perfect in every way.”

We know that’s not true. But really – are we going to stand around and say ” Yep, that Bill Smith was a son of a bitch, a real asshole.” Nope we induct regular people into the sainthood after death.

I’m going to really try not to do that with my dad or to my dad. I think he would have hated that phony bullshit.

The truth is I loved the guy deeply but Jesus Christ we had a very complicated (often with a lot conflict) relationship.

And he certainly wasn’t a saint. Not by a long shot. 

He was a human being.

I want to have the ability to write these long flowery posts about my father. I’m not going to hold my breath.

I’ll just write it as it comes.

How dare they go on about their business…

Dad, Death

  

Today it’s been three days. Three days since I learned my father died at 6:08 AM on January 20th, 2016

The obituary is complete. I hope I honored him well.

The funny thing is the world is continuing to revolve around us. I saw people today drinking their Starbucks coffee. And I thought to myself “how dare you enjoy your goddamn Starbucks coffee my father just died.”

The flowers keep coming and they’re beautiful. But one day the flowers will stop coming, The cards will stop coming, the visitors will stop coming, and everything for them will go back to normal.

Nothing will ever be normal for me ever again.

My dad is dead.

Obituary Hell

Dad, Death, Life, , ,

I’m taking on the responsiblity of writing my dad’s obituary. 

Words like brutal, painful, raw, and excruciating come to mind.

Remembering and honoring my dad is incredibly important to me.

I can’t stop crying.

He’s never coming back.

I’m already forgetting what his voice sounds like.

I stood in his closet and smelled his clothes.

My poor mom. She lost her friend of 59 almost 60 years.