Tag Archives: Dad

I hope you had the best seat in the house in heaven.

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You would’ve loved it dad.  More importantly, you would love her.  We all love her.  She’s amazing.  She’s genuine.  She’s down to earth.   She’s funny.   She’s as beautiful as she is kind.  Speaking of kind -She’s kind, so very kind.   She loves mom, and she’s so good to mom.  She’s truly like a sister and that feels incredible.  It’s like she’s always been a part of our family – and a lot of the time I forget that you didn’t have the opportunity to meet her .  Most importantly, he loves her to the moon and back. They complete each other like two puzzle pieces, like peas and carrots, like bacon and eggs, like the ying and the yang.  I haven’t seen your boy this happy in decades.  There’s a sense of peace, tranquility –  they are truly soulmates.  Yes dad you would’ve loved it.

 

 

Day 746 but who’s counting.

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Dear Dad – I’m late in regards to writing to you, and for that I’m so sorry. I don’t even know if you read this, but in the off chance that you do place know I do think about you a lot. I just always voice it.

So much has happened over the past two years that it’s hard to keep straight and articulate.

Lots and lots of loss.

Loss of friendship, jobs, family members, opportunities, relationships, pride, health, control, confidence, and self respect to name a few. The list goes on and on and on.

I know that I am exhausted mentally and physically in regards to all of the loss. It’s been occurring since June 2015 – I don’t know how much more a family should have to suffer. And frankly, I’m afraid to even think about it because I don’t think I can bear one more thing.

Or- maybe, just maybe this is just the way it is, I’m just noticing it, and I need to suck it up because huge loss like this is just part of the world in which we live in.

I will say that two years out since you have departed planet earth things at least from my perspective have gotten a little easier. I still miss you horribly. But I don’t have that gut wrenching – oh my God – I don’t think I can get through another day pain that I did when you first died. It’s been replaced with a longing of sorts. Still wanting to make sure things are right between us but trusting you know that I loved you to the ends of the earth. And if the universe works like I think it might – you know my thoughts because you can feel them, and there is such a fine line that separates those of us walking the earth and those if us who have departed earth – I just can’t help but think you know how we feel inside about those we love.

Mom is doing really well – I’m really proud of her. She is thriving dad. She’s busy, she’s surrounded by her kids, and while she misses the hell out of you, I think she’s relatively happy. And that’s all we can ask for. Every day with her is a gift.

So dad- we are living life. I wish I could say we are living life to the full list but you know what – that’s our deal. And I’m working on it. And I love you. And please don’t ever forget that.

If your dad died…

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If your dad died I just want to say to you I’m just so sorry. Really I am but the truth is there are no good words that are going to help you right now or bring you comfort, because frankly regardless of what kind of relationship you had with your dad – when your father dies it just fucking sucks.

My dad died January 20th, 2016. We knew this day would come we just didn’t expect it to be that soon I guess – but really are you ever prepared for the death of a parent? I know I wasn’t.

I used to think that moving into your own place, buying your first car, getting married, having a child, your first job – all of those things are all about being a grown-up. However, I don’t really think I became a true grown up until I lost a parent. I had so many what the fuck moments after my dad died that it’s impossible to keep track of all of them now.

My father‘s death was complicated. Maybe not so much for him – I believe he died very peacefully without struggle. At least I was told he didn’t appear to have struggled, and looked very peaceful in death.

For me what was complicated was that I don’t feel like everything that needed to be said was in fact said. I think that when I reflect upon his death there were a lot of things that were left unsaid. And I hope he’s not struggling with that piece of this like I am.

So what am I left with now? He’s dead and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it. I just hope wherever he is he is at peace, he’s happy, and loving himself.

Life goes on for those who are left and what’s my blowing is how fast the time goes by at least for me – I can’t speak for my mom or my siblings.

There are things that I’m starting to forget which makes me very sad – like the way he sounded when he said my name. Or the way he used to call me number one from Star Trek. The way he smelled – he was old school and he wore aqua Velva and in the days that he smoked the combination of aqua Velva and cigarette smoke with just so my dad.

Our family is very different now – I wouldn’t have admitted it or year ago but now that we are going on your two I feel comfortable in saying that our family dud not disintegrate, fall apart, or become disenfranchised. We have all come together as a solid unit cleaving to one another and it’s been incredible.

I sometimes wonder if my dad is sad about that. And I hope he’s not.

But if your dad has died today again I’m really sorry and I’m just gonna prepare you for some really sad days ahead – lots of time for reflection – a lot of tears on those first birthdays, holidays and other important days that you will be remembering your dad on. But I’m going to tell you there is another side to this – and you’ll get to it. It does get better – you’ll always remember him regardless if he was the son of a bitch or not – but he was still your dad. And it’s really OK to love and miss him.

20 months. Is that even possible.

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Dad- I feel like an asshole. I promised myself and you that I’d write here regularly. I didn’t want to forget. I wanted to remember. But like most things in my life the idea is great but the follow through isn’t always fabulous. You know those good intentions.

If I’m being honest – perfectly honest I fool myself sometimes that you’re not really truly dead. Like today for example. And then I’ll think about you- something you said or did and I’ll have to stop and say okay he’s really gone, and he’s not coming back.

I’m sorry I haven’t been coming here regularly. I guess this is kind of like a gravesite of sorts.

The first year the flowers or rocks appear all the time and as more time passes the visits get less and less.

Is that the way it’s suppose to be?

It doesn’t seem like it’s been 20 months, sometimes it feels like 20 minutes and I can’t breathe.

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.

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s been 14 days and 2 weeks.

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The past 14 days have been a blur of sorts. Everyone has returned to work, and their lives. The obituary is done. Dad has been cremated. Mom is busy cleaning and putting the house back together. I still continue to dream.

Last nights dream was I was the only one in the house who had a clue that dad was dead. Everyone was flitting about as if he wasn’t. I was standing there trying to yell in my dream hey dad what are you doing here you’re dead. And I was panicked because nobody was acknowledging  what I was saying.

I don’t want to dream about him anymore for a while. It’s way too upsetting. I’ve been having panic attacks, not sleeping well, i’m feeling anxiety, and angst. Cripes, i’m feeling anxious just writing about this.