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.