Year One

I feel like I've gone through the past year on autopilot. I can't believe it's been a year since my dad passed away. Many months I felt like I was stuck in a dream, feeling like this isn't really happening. I've filled my days being strong for my mom and my kids. Because confronting and accepting the pain that is there is so scary to me. Pushing the pain below the surface is exhausting but it makes every day for everyone else a little easier. When I do have an outburst of emotion I'm either in my car alone driving to or from work or sitting in my office listening to a song that reminds me of my dad. I took a lot of strength from my dad and to lose him was crushing. I've found myself idolizing my dad. Why? Maybe because he was my parent and I respected and loved him but also because I can't bear to criticize him in anyway because he isn't around to defend himself. But I read something the other day: "It's important to keep in mind not everyone is perfect, and it's OK to have negative memories as well as positive ones." Man, that's hard to do.
I've gone through the day my dad passed away (also the weeks and months leading up to his death) and I've thought about what I could have done differently. I left my parent's home that night around 10pm thinking I would go back first thing in the morning and spend the whole day with my mom helping her take care of dad. I received a call around 3am. I knew I had messed up, missed my chance to spend his last living moments with him. This absolutely kills me. I wasn't there for him, I wasn't there for my mom in the very last moments. That night before I left dad opened his eyes one last time and said, "Love ya kid." He wasn't awake all day, but he was able to whisper that as I touched his hand one last time. Why didn't I say, "Love you." Why didn't I hug him? I had to get out of the room after he said that and as far as I could tell he was sleeping again before I even stood up. When I got to my parents house around 3am the morning of September 28, my mom was lying beside dad. She looked up and me and said, "he's gone." I immediately jumped into strong mode. I led my mom out of the room while the hospice nurse took care of some things. I called the funeral home. I waited for them to arrive all the while standing in the corner of the kitchen not even looking at my mom. Not shedding a tear. I left them in the house, led them to the bedroom. My oldest son was comforting my mom. I sat in the corner of the kitchen while they wheeled my dad out. I put the garage door down. I turned the lights off. I put mom in her bed and gave her a drink. I went to bed. That's when the dream started. The dream that has lasted the last year. Turn on autopilot and go. I can't do anything to bring him back, so must move forward. I'm not going to lie. It's been a tough year. The next days after his death were filled with filling out papers, getting funeral arrangements taken care of. Trying to make mom move forward. It's been difficult to say the least, but we were busy. The cards poured in, the visits from family and friends kept coming. It's like you're sleepwalking. I can't remember who all came to visit. I can't remember what all was said, it's like a fog. But I know I was busy. Then came the viewing and the funeral. So many people came to pay tribute to my dad. Again, it was like a dream. I remember standing for hours, watching the line grow and grow till it was out the door and around the corner of the building. So many hugs. So many tears from people. But I couldn't cry. Again, it was like a dream. And in dreams it's hard to scream or cry. I delivered the eulogy. I didn't work hard on it, it came to me one day while sitting at work before my dad had even passed. I knew it was coming, but I had no idea that I wouldn't actually be ready for it.

Below is a copy of my eulogy:

"Dad is gone. I was wondering if it would be any less painful if dad died at a later age, after a very full and complete life? Maybe...I think part of the grief I feel is because dad was so vigorous and full of life before he got sick. His cancer robbed him of that vitality long before it took his life.

As I thought about the daunting task of paying appropriate tribute to my father, I was at times overwhelmed at where to begin. To chronicle and praise my father’s achievements would be impossible: he quite simply did a lot and excelled at it all. And he wouldn’t have liked that anyway, he would have viewed it as boastful. I also thought about my fondest memories of my dad, but knew immediately that I had no hope of getting through those without sobbing incomprehensibly.

I thought about what dad would have wanted me to do today, and it quickly became clear. Life, for my dad, was always about lessons - lessons taught and learned. He looked for the lesson in everything he did, and he relished the opportunity to share them. And while he certainly could make any setting feel like a business meeting it was always clear that he did it out of an intense curiosity, a joy for human interaction and a belief in constantly trying to make the world a better place through mutual understanding.

So today, it seems most appropriate that, on my dad’s behalf I share with you two essential lessons that he imparted to me over the last 40 years.

1. Family First:

Dad was there for us, opinionated, ready to help. His love for his family, although rarely said in words, came through loud and clear in his actions. His last thoughts were what he could do to make sure mom, JD and I and our kids were taken care of. Dad’s dedication to and love for my mom is the stuff of fairy tales. She was his inspiration and his rock, and he was hers. Dad worked tirelessly to provide for mom and me, and raise me to be strong, moral and self-sufficient. When his three grandchildren, Kemper, Joey and Emma came along, dad was a grandfather in the model of his father. And for those of you who knew my grandfather, you know there is no higher compliment. It was sometimes hard to know, because dad rarely spoke about his feelings, when he was proud of me or disappointed. But in the end, I don’t think it really matters. He loved me, whether I succeeded or failed in my endeavors.

His last instructions to me were that we love and take care of each other.

2. Do It Now

It is an understatement to say that dad’s life was tragically short in time. I find solace, however, in the fact that dad didn’t waste any of it. He devoured life. He always had a project or an idea. If there was something that interested him, he would study it and master it, seeking out the experts in the field to hone his understanding.And I used to marvel at both his capacity for learning information, and the confidence and ease with which he would strike up friendships with highly talented people he didn’t know at all. Even more extraordinary was his ability to tell these experts that they were wrong about something on which they were the expert. Getting sick didn’t change any of this. In the last 2 years he approached life the same way he always had - living every day to its fullest.My dad’s example always reminded me that each of us does not know when we will leave this earth, so if you want to do something, do it now.

Dad leaves behind memories - all of our memories - of a hard-working man who was always there for his family and friends. I will miss his laughter, his bright smile, his stories that poked gentle fun at people, how he never complained how unfair life can be, his strength of will, and his unconditional love.

Dad would want to thank many of his family and friends for their love and support over his lifetime, but particularly, since he became sick.

May his journey continue in peace and the knowledge that he is loved and deeply missed.

But now we are at the year anniversary (is that the right word? Anniversary seems like such a positive inspired word). People forget you are grieving. They get on with their lives and it hurts. This doesn't make me angry, they have their own losses they are dealing with.  Some of them just can't relate to the fact that on some days, the pain I feel is still as raw as September 28, 2018.

Sometimes I will be doing OK and managing, when something catches me off guard. And then suddenly a surge of powerful emotions hits me like a tidal wave. When I watch a movie where someone's dad dies, or when a song comes on the radio that reminds me of him. It hurts. But these moments even though they are hard, sometimes they are the perfect way to let go of some of the emotion I've tried so hard to keep from bursting.

If you're reading this, and feel so inclined. Say a little prayer today for all the people that are missing someone. A prayer for strength and a prayer for joy in the memories.

the small things

There are days when certain small things happen: A certain song plays on my Pandora station, someone says a phrase to you, a photo pops up on Facebook. These tiny things seem so small, but have such a large impact on the day.
This post is not bout me being morbid or is it about me feeling sorry for myself. Over the past six months since my dad died, I feel like I've made progress in the grieving process. But THEN, something tiny happens and it sends my day into a whirlwind. I've also come to realize that when someone you love dies, you don't don't just have to say goodbye to them at the time they pass, but also at every crossroad. I've discovered that there are endless firsts and tough moments to get through, not just obvious ones like holidays and big events, but many others that are equally challenging to struggle through under the blanket of grief.
Losing a parent has been the most difficult thing I've dealt with. It's strange that I have seen family and friends lose parents but haven't heard much from them about what it's been like. As I travel through the firsts and other moments in the midst of sadness and loss, I'm forced to let go, one finger at a time. Some milestones like my 40th birthday, Christmas and Easter have been super hard, but some of the most difficult ones to get past are one's I didn't see coming
When my grandfather died, I knew it was hard for my dad. He would talk about him and tell me childhood memories of him. But I never saw him cry or exhibit pain over the loss. I assumed that because my grandfather was elderly when he died, losing him was just a part of growing older and that people had it in them to deal with that.
I have had friends lose parents. They seemed very strong in dealing with it. I never head anything from them about the difficulties they faced dealing with the loss. Again, the impression I got was that it was a normal phase of life that we go through and we're built to deal with it.
Flashback moments have been hard. The first time someone else passed away after my dad had passed away was one of my friends' mothers. I was all dressed and ready to go to the funeral to support her, but couldn't get my feet to move. I stayed home and cried on the kitchen floor. When I hear about friend's losing their parents, I flash back to how I felt. Or when I see grandfather's holding their new grandchildren. I flashback to when dad was happily rocking my newborn son in the rocking chair at the hospital. The biggest smile on his face. He was so proud. There's the flashback of him singing songs and me realizing I will never hear him singing again except in my dreams. One of the toughest flashbacks is walking into my parent's home. Walking in there and knowing he's not there and never will be again. My mind is constantly pulled back to another time. Sometimes it is to a happy time, but more often it's to darker days that let me know I am still heavily in the midst of grieving.
I'm learning it's not as easy as people make it seem to be. It doesn't matter how old you are or your parents when they die, their passing is one of the most difficult things in the world to deal with. And it's crazy that people all around you tend to hold in their emotions while in front of others. People (I) seem to think that I need to be strong for others. I do this all the time. I don't want my kids to know I'm in pain over the loss of their grandfather, I don't think they've seen me cry over his loss. If they are around and my dad is brought up, I'll put on a strong face, and even a smile, and talk about him lovingly.
So has it gotten easier six months on? Nope. Not for me. I had a couple of good weeks where I felt the pain was easing. Most significantly, I stopped thinking of my dad as I saw him in the last hours of his life. Covered in blankets, skin sunken in, groaning in pain. That phase was the most difficult and unfortunately those images still enter my mind from time to time. About 2 months after his death I started getting more normal images of my dad when I thought of him. Smoking his pipe with me on his lap when I was a young child, my dad working in the yard (one of his passions), going arrowhead hunting and getting lost in corn fields with him. The sudden weeping hadn't stopped, but it became less frequent and less intense.
I experience stinging moments, the moments that rub salt into my wounds. The times when I am watching TV and the story line is one in which a character is dying or has cancer. When I close my eyes to go to sleep at night and all I can picture is the image of my dad's frailty at the end. The times when I'm searching for a contact on my phone and his name pops up. One saving grace for me has been bike rides. The first time I went for  ride after my dad died, I got about a mile from my house and the tears started. Being there on the road by myself, away from distractions and so aware of the empty space beside me, was tough. The first time we gathered for a family holiday, with one less. We can all feel dad's absence so strongly. The first time I did something that I knew he would be proud of and I had to feel his pride in my heart because I couldn't hear it in his voice or see it in his eyes. The time when I needed to ask him a question and he wasn't there to give the answer that only he knew.
But six months later it seems I'm going through another phase. It's the worst when I'm driving to work and alone and a certain song comes on or someone says something to me that reminds me of him (who am I kidding, I can mostly trace everything back to dad and relate it somehow). I've also been dreaming about dad a lot. In all my dreams, he's laying in his bed under blankets, sunken skin and groaning in pain. They are not pleasant dreams. Sometimes he wakes up and looks at me and says, "Love you kid." The last words he said to me when he was still cognizant.
I also experience stand-in moments: Moments when I have to do things my dad should've been here to do: Worry about my mom, tell his grandchildren he is proud of them, give my mom the advice she thinks he would be giving were he still here.
I wish people shared more things they go through when they experience happy and difficult times. Just to know that you are not alone, that other people have felt what you are feeling. So many things we go through are just a normal part of this journey and sharing those things and having people share them with you helps along the way.
Losing my dad at the ripe age of 39 was one of the most difficult things I've had to deal with. Being able to share with you all has made it just a tiny bit easier.