Repeatedly Losing Him

My cell phone has been crapping out on me & I've needed to replace it for awhile now. But I was afraid to because I didn't want to risk losing the precious voicemails I had on my phone from my father. I went into the AT&T store last week and expressed this concern. An old acquaintance who works there removed my SIM card and showed me they would still be on there...no problem! Great! So I ordered my new phone which arrived yesterday.

I took it into the store to activate it but the person who had helped me last week wasn't there. So someone else helped me. I didn't think of bringing up the voicemails to them because I'd seen for myself just last week that it'd be ok. Unfortunately, something went wrong and the voicemails ended up being deleted.

I feel like I lost him again. Today I've been consumed with depression and grief. My heart is broken. The voicemails are gone. I have an old voicemail on my other phone where he wished me happy birthday. I should be grateful I have that one. But I'm still deeply saddened that I don't have all of them anymore.

I'm ready for this all to be over and for us to be reunited once again. I wish I could fast forward life and just get to the end...the celebration. The homecoming. I don't know if someone who hasn't lost deeply can ever truly understand feeling pulled in both directions; wanting to be with the ones we love here and now all while longing to finally be home and be complete.

I really need to find a way to pull myself together and make this Christmas a happy one for my kids.

Holiday Hurdles

We've made it through the one year anniversary of his death as well as our second Thanksgiving without him. For awhile I thought I was doing okay. I'm not so sure anymore. I think I was just pushing everything down by making myself so busy with work, but the grief is still there waiting for me...like an unwelcome guest who doesn't take the hint to leave. It makes itself known during the quiet moments and in the 'holiday' spirit. And it comes sometimes in sudden rushes that leave me saying out loud, "What the fuck?!" Of course, no children are present for those statements. Other times when the kids are around and it hits, I'm either decent at shoving it down quickly so they can't see or I make an unnoticeable exit to my room where I lock the door, go into my closet, wrap my dad's shirt around me like a hug, and bawl. Those moments leave my face red and even after finally calming down I have bloodshot eyes. That's when my kids ask, "what's wrong Momma?" The only answer I can ever give while keeping it from bubbling up again is, "I'm okay. Just missing Grandpa." They usually give me a quick hug and then go back to playing.

Thanksgiving was a hard one again. It was my holiday with my parents; both of them. To not have him here hurts. As we were eating, I could almost hear him complimenting my food like he used to and telling me I did a good job. My dad never withheld praise from me. He was one of my biggest supporters and encouragers. I'm sure I felt overwhelmed by my shortcomings before his death, but not having his voice there cheering me on is like having part of your support system removed. What you feel about yourself takes a hit when a voice of praise is silenced. You have to fall back on memories of your loved one's words to remind yourself that you're not doing as poorly of a job as you feel like you are.

We would've laughed at the rolls this year. Anna did a wonderful job helping with them, but I mucked it up and burned the bottoms of them. He would've made us laugh with some comment about breaking his teeth I'm sure. But then he also would've complimented my turkey and my gravy. I remember the first Thanksgiving I hosted was when we lived in Stayton in 2004. It felt perfect. My turkey turned out perfect. My gravy turned out perfect. My parents were there and it was perfect. I hosted 9 Thanksgiving dinners with my parents coming to our house. We had a wonderful tradition going; until it was ripped away.

Christmas and New Years are the next two hurdles to overcome. He made both special for our family. I remember him stringing lights on our house in Palm Desert; taking us to the store to buy Christmas presents; going caroling in what seemed like cold temps (now I know different since moving from the desert); Christmas light hunting in the car with hot chocolate; and even when I got "too big" for Christmas light hunting and would complain about having to go only to love it as usual. You know, I watch sappy Christmas movies on Hallmark & Lifetime to convince myself the holidays can be happy still. But those shows are all pretend. And when the show ends, I'm reminded reality is much harsher than that...so onto another sappy Christmas movie to temporarily fool myself once more.

I recently saw Whoopie Goldberg say on Jimmy Fallon's show, "I just need a minute!" Yeah, me too. I just need a minute to not push myself into work as a way to ignore the pain inside. I just need a minute to breathe when surrounded by quiet without feeling the hurt. I just need a minute to feel secure again and not question when the next shoe will drop. I just need a minute to feel whole again without feeling as though part of me is gone. I just need a minute to feel joy without it being tainted by the ever-present sorrow. I just need a minute. And I wish that minute could be spent with my dad.

A Teenager with a Tattoo

This weekend I took a trip with my mother to Jacksonville, FL to meet Gino (her biological father) and also to attend her half sister's wedding. I was pretty excited about the trip and being able to meet more relatives. Ever since Dad passed away, I'm finding myself placing more priority on the relationships in my life. You never know when someone will be taken away.

During the trip, the topic of tattoos came up and it reminded me of how loving my dad was. When I was 18 years old and a freshman in college, a friend of mine was coming to visit me at my dorm. About a week before she arrived she called to tell me she'd just gotten a tattoo and that I would be getting one when she came to see me. I thought, "whatever" and quickly forgot about the conversation when the phone was hung up. She didn't though. Within a minute of her arriving at my dorm she asked if I was ready to go. I said, "Go where?" and she reminded me of the tattoo conversation. Peer pressure got the better of me and off we went to MPG Tattoo in Salem.

I had no clue what I wanted to get, but finally decided on a palm tree as that represented my love for the desert and where I was born. The tattoo healed nicely but I chose to keep it a secret from my parents for fear of what they would think of me. As a younger teen I remember joking with my dad and asking if I could get a tattoo, to which he responded, "Yeah but only if I get to decide what it is and where it goes." Shocked I asked, "Really?!" And then he laughed and said he'd have "stupid tattooed on your forehead."

Since my palm tree is pretty small in size, I was able to cover it up with a bandaid whenever I'd visit home. Then one day I decided to tell my mom, but I made her swear not to tell my dad. I knew that would be incredibly difficult for her because they shared everything. But I was tired of feeling like I had a secret and needed to share it. I have no clue if she ever kept that secret or not because neither let on that they'd talked about it.

After some time I decided I was no longer going to hide it from him and I just needed to be brave. I took the bandaid off my ankle, walked into his room where he was laying on the bed watching tv, and then laid down on the bed too. I quickly lost my nerve and got up to leave the room, but then he asked, "what is that?" He'd seen the tattoo in the mirror they had in their room. So I showed him and waited for the smack down I felt sure I'd get.

But it didn't come. Instead he showed love without judgement. No judgement whatsoever! He didn't even say he was disappointed with me. All that time I was worried for nothing! I wish I'd realized sooner the deep love my dad had for me. I would've shared more freely and lived with less fear of being a disappointment to him.

There is so much I would redo if I could. I think that's why investing in relationships now seems like such an important thing to do. I don't want to live with regrets in any of the other relationships in my life. I just wish it hadn't taken losing him to realize that.

Where It All Started

A couple weeks ago, Levi and I packed the kids up and took them on a plane ride to Tennessee.  There we would introduce our children to their Mamaw (my dad's mother) for the first time.  After he passed away, the family decided too much time had gone by since we all gathered together.  So we decided to do a family reunion.

What a long week it was.  It was great seeing my dad's side of the family, especially my Mamaw.  However, we were ready to come home by the end of the week.  The last time I was on the roads we drove down, was with my dad during our trip to Tennessee just a couple years earlier.  My Mamaw had been sick and in the hospital.  Since we didn't know if she'd pull through, I made the decision to accompany my dad who would be going to see her.  I do not regret one second of that trip I took with him.  I loved seeing him "in his element" which he definitely was when among his siblings and mother.  His smile, laughter, jokes.

During that trip we worked together as a team to improve Mamaw's house some.  We scrubbed and cleaned; he crawled under the house and fixed the set up for the dishwasher; he installed the faucet I bought.  All while spending what precious little time I unknowingly would have with him.

One of my fondest memories from the trip with him, was on the drive back to the airport when it was time to leave.  My cousin was driving us to the airport and the song "From the Inside Out" by Phillips, Craig & Dean came on the radio.  We sang it out loud together.  That song now reminds me of that trip and that special moment with him praising our Lord.

On this trip, when I'd drive by certain things I'd remember having first driven by it with him.  Just knowing he'd once been in that place was a comfort yet also painful.  He was born in Jellico.  I thought he loved it there, but my mom told me otherwise.  He wanted out.  I don't blame him.  There is so much brokenness there.  So much poverty, addictions, and a general attitude of having already given up on a better life.  It's beautiful as far as nature goes, for sure.  But the people all seem to be downcast.

While visiting my Mamaw and my aunt, there were moments I could see my dad in each of them.  Their mannerisms, the way they talk, jokes they tell, looks they give all are incredibly similar to how he did things.  Again, it was a comfort to see that and remember him but it was also painful.  I wonder if they see him in themselves as clearly as I did.

Sometimes when I'm missing him, I look at and rub my hands.  They are not like his, but my skin holds part of him in it...in my DNA.  It's like he's not completely gone.  Part of him remains in me.  I try to see if my face holds any similarities, but unfortunately, only our blue eyes are similar.

It has gotten late and I'm unable to think of any clever way to wrap this up.  So I'll just do it.  The trip was well-worth it and I hope our kids will remember being able to go there and see where their Grandpa lived as a child.  I would've loved to have him with us.  His presence was definitely missed.

First Fatherless Father's Day

Today is Father's Day.  If I had not known on my own, I would've known by the several people who kept pointing that fact out to me as the day drew near.  With compassionate hearts and good intentions, I heard quite a few, "This Father's Day will be hard for you I'm sure" or things similar in tone.

Maybe I'm a bad person for thinking of it this way or maybe I haven't figured out the correct way people should grieve, but for me Father's Day is no different than any other day.  I miss my dad just as much today as I did yesterday or the day before.  I don't view Father's Day or Mother's Day like many people.  I think of them as silly, commercialized holidays courtesy of Hallmark and all those department stores.  In fact, after learning this was my viewpoint a friend forwarded me an article last month that said the creator of Mother's Day would probably be very upset to see what it has become.  I totally agree.  And if you ask Levi, over half of my Mother's Day this year was spent being irritated that we even have such a stupid holiday.  I simply can't stand either day and this is not a new development for me.  It's a view I've quietly held for a very long time.

Maybe I should feel guilty, but with this as my perspective, I never made much of Father's Day even when my dad was alive.  I'd call him, but I never made a big deal out of it.  Maybe I'm a bad daughter.  Too late to change that now.

So if anyone is concerned about me today, please know Father's Day is not one of my trigger days.  Thanksgiving, Christmas, and his birthday are...but not Father's Day.  Bringing up the fact that he is gone and telling me how hard today must be for me does not offer me any comfort.  It simply points out a truth I already am aware of; that he's not here.  Thank you for the concerns, the prayers, and incredibly compassionate attempts to be supportive.  I do appreciate it.  But I really am okay today.

There's No Place Like Home

"A home is built with lumber, nails, and concrete....and filled with love, kindness, and pleasant memories."

I'm not sure where that quote came from, but it was one our company was using on letterhead before we took over ownership.  I'm left thinking of this quote today as we said our final goodbye's to the first home my parents ever bought.  This was their long-awaited dream.  Home-ownership.  No more paying other people's mortgages, no more living in small and cramped apartments.  A home of their very own which they took pride in.  This dream was finally realized just over a few years ago.  Not very long to settle in and enjoy to the fullest.  It was torn away rather abruptly the same time my father was.  This shared dream suddenly became a painful memory while at the same time being a reminder of all the wonderful memories that were had there and the ones that would never be.

A few weeks back, a friend spoke incredible words of healing to my soul.  I truly believe the Holy Spirit was at work in that moment and spoke through her.  There was a thirst that was quenched and the despair that had begun taking over my heart was suddenly lifted and hope occupied its space.  I haven't cried much since that conversation.  The incredible hope inside me made the sorrow seem so small...so temporary.  There was anticipation for what awaits me that kept the tears from falling.  But today they fell.  As I helped my mom clean her house and load up her car with the last of her belongings (including my dad's ashes), memories kept flooding my mind of time spent in their house.  Each room brought its own set of memories.  The room where the kids had their toys and would sleep in when spending the night.  The bathroom I'd force the kids to use before our long drive back home. The back yard where I could see the handiwork of my dad and mom both in trying to take a once neglected yard and make it special.  The family room where the kids would be sent to watch movies while the grown-ups talked in the living room.  The living room where most of our visiting took place while sitting on the couches.  Where we shared Christmas.  Where my parents first met Mei.  Where Angel slow-motioned fought with my kids.  Where my mom and I sat in shock and disbelief at the reality that was unfolding after the evening of October 8th.

So many memories.  Such a short amount of time.

When all the work was just about done, my mom took my dad's ashes on one final walk through.  As she did, I continued to sweep but then also began to sob.  The last room she took him to was their bedroom.  The place he spent his last moments on this earth.  I could hear her break down and cry.  I went to be with her and we stood there hugging and crying.  There is something hallow about occupying the same space where someone passed from this world onto the next.  Something precious.  But also something incredibly painful.  A finality.  A trying to grasp onto the past moment to hold it dear, but it being a completely futile attempt.  He's gone and there is no going back.  All that is left is the memories and a hope that the story is not yet over.

With the car packed, Mom and I headed south towards her new life.  Pretty soon we'll be able to move her into her new home where new memories can be made.  But we will always be grateful for the few years we were able to make memories with my parents in their home.

Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk

This morning as I was helping Mei and Cam with getting cereal, Cam went to get the milk from the fridge. As he grabbed the over half full gallon, I had this worry flash that he'd drop it. Along with that came an image from my childhood of when I dropped a full gallon of milk.

When I was probably 7 or 8 years old, I was helping my dad bring groceries from the store to our car. I was designated with the responsibility to carry the full gallon of milk. I felt sure of myself and if my dad had any doubts in my ability, he didn't show them. As we came up to the car though, I lost my grip on the handle of the container and watched helplessly as it slipped from my hands. The full gallon of milk hit the asphalt just right, causing an explosion of white liquid and a splattering and gushing of milk to come from the cheap plastic that once held it. I was mortified. Not only embarrassed that everyone around could see, but filled with fear that my dad would go livid on me for being a failure at my one small task. My eyes felt huge as I looked to him for what would happen next.

Thankfully, the fear was unwarranted as I had the best dad in the world. He didn't yell at me for my blunder. He didn't even chastise me about how I should be more careful or how I just cost them money by wasting an entire gallon of milk. Smiling, he reassured me that it was okay, that accidents happen, and that we would just go back in the store to get another. He showed mercy.

The pain of him being gone has not eased up any in the past 5 1/2 months. The rawness and sudden screaming and crying are fading. But the pain is very much there and it almost feels like it's worse at times. But I'm grateful my dad left me with a wealth of good memories from childhood, that I flash back to at random moments during the day. If only I knew I loved him as much as I do, I would've made more time to show him while he was here.

April Fool's

My dad had an incredible sense of humor. He loved to laugh and he loved to make others laugh. When my sister and I were younger, I remember one April Fool's Day where he had us race to see who could get our shoes on the fastest before school that morning. He had us sit down on the ground while he placed our shoes directly in front of us. I was sure I'd beat my sister in getting my shoes on quicker. The count down started, "Three...two...one...go!" Both Angel and I shoved our feet quickly into our shoes only to discover they were filled with shaving cream. I don't remember being angry at all; only finding it extremely funny.

I think this year I'll do the same trick to my kids. Although, I've told them this story so we'll see if they figure it out first. I can imagine Zach would not like it at all; he's very particular. However, I think it'd be a fun way to honor my dad's great sense of humor so it's worth it.

Happy Birthday Dad

Today (technically yesterday since I'm writing this after midnight), would've been my dad's 57th birthday. I took Mei up to a hematologist appointment at OHSU and then went to my mom's to spend the rest of the day there. After I gave Mei lunch, it was time for her nap and the only place to have her sleep was on my parent's bed. She didn't want to go in alone so I told her I would lay with her for a bit. What an incredibly difficult thing to do. My dad's bed. The same place, possibly exact spot, where he took his final breath. And there I lay. My heart broke at the thought of his passing. Of his vulnerability and helplessness. My strong, able, dependable dad...weak and fragile. To the point of death. I couldn't lay there too long because tears started falling and it was keeping Mei from sleeping. So I left the room, thankfully to be met by my grandpa's embrace. He gave me a hug and let me cry. Then my grandma took over and held me a minute while tears still flowed. I was able to pull it back together so we could get to work.

My grandparents and I worked on getting my mom's house ready to list until Angel and Mom later arrived. It was weird going through stuff on his work bench in the garage. Almost felt like I was violating his space and his stuff. Moments I would hold something and wonder what he had been doing the last time he had touched that particular item. Why did he choose to salvage that plastic mini Gatorade container? What purpose was he intending to use it for that will now never happen? A couple items I remembered seeing him use when I was younger and lived with my parents. Those were the hardest to come across because even though I knew I had no purpose for them, the thought of giving them away was painful. It's my dad's. I have no right donating it. He had it for so long. Yet there I stood basically saying, "You don't have use for this anymore Dad. I'm giving your stuff away."

When Angel & Mom got there, we had a nice dinner provided by and made by Angel. While we ate, Mom had her music going in the background. Suddenly, "I Would Give Anything" by Bread comes on. It's no use fighting back the tears. That song means too much and touches too deeply. So we cry a little and then get back to eating. After visiting until late, I drive home. Here I sit. Looking at some pictures of my dad; wishing I had more moments to share with him and still wondering how this is real.

Sometimes, I miss his voice and play a voicemail he left me on 8/21/13. I have it memorized by now. I don't usually play it once. It first has to be played once for each ear to listen to and most often about 10 times more in order to make the 13 second voicemail last longer. "Hi Hon. Sorry I missed your call. The phone was out, uh yeah the phone was out in the car. I forgot to bring it in. So anyway, just want to let you know I love you. Goodnight. Bye."

The last voicemail I have from him. I'm so grateful he said he loved me in it. There are times a person just needs to hear that and I've got a recording of it.

I hope Dad and Collin were able to see those who thought of them today. I hope they know how much they are loved and missed. There is a big void where they should be and the separation is so difficult.

Excalibur and Family Vacations

This weekend I'm in Vegas with a few friends and it's bringing back memories of when my parents took my sister and I to stay at Excalibur as kids.  My parents had told Angela and I that we needed to be out of the house for the day while it was being bug bombed.  I remember being in the car for such a long time and trying to figure out where they were taking us.  All they said was we were just going out for a drive while we let the fog settle in the house.  After a bit, my sister and I started noticing the license plates going by were Nevada plates and no longer California plates.  It was at that point we realized they were surprising us with at trip somewhere and we began trying to guess what we were going to do.

To our surprise we were taken to Excalibur here in Las Vegas.  My mom had packed our suitcases without our knowledge.  I remember my parents telling us we couldn't go in the casino part but having limitations on where we could go didn't put a damper on any of our fun.  My dad took us into the arcade area and I remember he bought us fabric swords, a crown, and a headband with flowers and ribbons.  They took us to the Tournament of Kings show where we enjoyed a show and ate a dinner of cornish hen with our hands and no silverware.  There is a partial memory that I wish I could make complete, but I remember being with my dad in one part of the hotel (maybe about to play an arcade game or see a movie...not sure) and I remember feeling so happy in that moment.  We were so happy.  They made that trip a memorable and joyful one for us.

As we walked in Excalibur last night, it was the first time I'd been inside since that trip with my parents many, many years ago.  The memories flooded in and the feeling of happiness I remember having with my parents was there all over again.  I looked in one of the stores for the swords I remember getting.  They had swords, but they'd changed over time.  I walked by the place where you can have your picture taken with medieval characters.  Just like we had done before.

My dad and mom gave me and my sister a wonderful childhood.  Full of great memories.  This trip in particular is one of my favorite.  It was a thought out surprise.  My dad loved giving us surprises.  I've got more great memories of the thoughtful things he did to show me love, but I need to wrap this post up for now because we're about to head out to a show.

Boy do I miss my dad.

The Top Three Current Memories

Ever since he passed away, there are three images that have continually run through my head which I remember about him.  These three are frequenting my mind less and less, which I think is what prompted my worry that I would forget about him.

The first thing that runs through my mind is his hair.  The hair on his arms as well as the hair on his head.  My dad had very hairy arms.  I used to think I got my hairy arms from the Italian genes in me, but now I'm pretty sure it was from my dad.  I remember holding his hand and just looking at how hairy his arms were.  What an odd thing to remember, right?  As weird as it is, I miss those hairy arms.  They gave great hugs.  Strong hugs.  Comforting hugs.

The hair on his head was always oily, despite the fact that he showered daily.  I think it may have been a side effect of the anti-seizure meds, but I'm not certain.  Maybe he just was prone to oily hair.  I remember feeling bad for him that he had to deal with that.  Course even with oily hair, he was still very handsome.  I remember on my wedding day the fuss to try and get his hair to lay right.  It still ended up a little scattered, but the pictures turned out wonderfully.

The next image that runs through my mind is how my dad used to wipe the sides of his mouth with his hand.  He often had dry mouth, again a side effect from medicine I'm assuming, and would wipe the little white stuff off that sometimes builds in the corners of the lips.  He would do this by cupping his hand over his chin and lips and wiping down with his thumb and index finger as he opened his mouth at the same time.  I really don't know how to describe it accurately, but it's in my mind and I don't want to forget because it is part of how I remember him so I'm adding it to this post.  More for me than for my kids' memories.

The third memory is not so much an image, but a sound and image together.  It also is mixed in combination with the memory just listed above.  And that is his laughter.  His one of a kind laugh.  I wish I could hear it again, but somehow I know that if I were to hear it again I would know for certain who it belonged to.  Sometimes his laugh was accompanied by the wiping of his mouth after he told a funny story.  The mouth swipe and laughter combined with it became part of the storytelling.  

So those are the top three memories that I'm afraid are starting to fade.  I will keep running them through my head in hopes of keeping them with me.  They are little nuances of his that I don't ever want to forget.  Odd little memories perhaps, but incredibly important to me still.

Capturing the Memories Before They Fade

Over the past couple weeks, I've been slowly feeling like I'm forgetting things about my dad.  It's been only 3 months since he went home, so I'm not sure how I can be feeling this way already.  It makes me feel guilty and sad to think I may lose these memories which are all I really have left of him right now.  Hence the need for this blog.

A book by H. Norman Wright titled "Experiencing Grief" touches on this and gives the advice to write everything down before it starts to fade.  The first sentence of Chapter 19: Capturing the Memories, says, "Many who grieve are upset even more when they discover some of the memories of their loved one begin to fade.  The greater the distance in time from being with a person, the more this will occur."  I read this and started to cry because it makes normal what I'm feeling.  Maybe I don't need to be guilty if this is a usual occurrence among people who have lost someone they love.

He offers a way to remember our loved one by writing down all our memories.  He says, "One of the new roles you take on after the loss of your loved one is becoming their historian.  You may be the main person to convey to others who your loved one really was.....It's an exploration of a life lived rather than a history.  It's capturing the important elements of one's life, commemorating who they were, and giving a testimonial about them."  My children are young still and the things they remember about today will fade as they become adults.  I not only need to write my memories of my dad down for myself, but also for them.  I want them to know who he was.  I don't want them to ever wonder what Grandpa was like.  Especially Cameron and Mei.  Their memories are fewer than what Anna and Zach have to hold onto.

So that is the reason for this new blog.  If anyone comes across this blog and reads it, and happens to know who my wonderful father was, please feel free to share any memories of him you have in the comments sections.  I would love to have friends come alongside and join me in keeping my dad's memory alive.