It is with sadness that I write about the hardest life lesson of my life; the
death of my beloved Dad.
Although my Dad had lung cancer, he was not at all expected
to die so soon. He only found out in mid-January and he only shared the news
with me in mid-to-late February. He was only 70.
When people ask me if it was
expected, I am not quite sure what to say.
All of our parents must die and we know this, but I was not at all
prepared for the sadness. I cried for days. I cried wherever I was, with
whoever I was with, doing whatever I was doing. It mattered not. I wanted my Dad back (and still do).
It has been exactly 23 days since my Dad transitioned. I am
told by others that have lost a parent that it doesn’t really quit
sucking.
I recently read an article on
how to deal with people who have suffered the loss of a loved one. It
basically said to let them know you are there for them, let them talk, share
your memories, say their loved one’s name and resist the urge to talk about
your own loss. I agree with all but the last point.
Many people have shared
their own story of losing a parent with me since my Dad died. Along with their
story, they always give the best and tightest hugs. I love hearing parent/child
love stories and I appreciate knowing that someone understands what I am going
through and has felt the depth of grief that I am experiencing.
Humans need other humans that understand.
As I was driving to work today, I was thinking about how
out of the blue, the sadness hits me like a punch in the stomach and I very
much feel like a little girl again who needs my blankie and my daddy. I am an
eternal optimist but the only silver lining that I can see is that my Dad didn’t
suffer long and that he didn’t have to settle for a reduced quality of life for
a lengthy period of time.
My dad was very physical his entire life. Physical work,
creating, fixing and helping others is what gave him purpose. The outdoors and
time spent with his loved ones is what gave him joy.
The day my Dad left this earth was a sunny Monday in May
(Mondays are hard).
I was on sitting on
my front step talking to my sister on the phone waiting for word, when a
cardinal appeared. This cardinal was not at all ordinary. First, it sat on the branch above my head
staring at me until it got my attention. Then it flew across the street into
the grass and it literally strutted back and forth in the grass like a chicken.
Then it stared at me again looking proud as a peacock. I couldn’t help but
laugh and describe to my sissy what I was seeing. Then the cardinal flew back
onto the branch above my head.
I closed my eyes. I took a deep, deep breath. Unbeknownst to
me, my sister was doing the same.
“He’s here now!” she exclaimed. “The cardinal is here,
looking at me through the window!”
I looked up. My cardinal was gone.
My sister went on to say that she never sees cardinals at
her place. A few minutes later, her cardinal flew away. A minute or so later,
my cardinal reappeared. He found a worm and sat down in front of me and ate it.
I didn’t even know that cardinals ate worms and my backyard bird feeders were
recently filled to the brim with seed (It turns out that certain types of
cardinals will eat worms during mating season).
My Dad, however, was very much
a meat and potatoes kind of guy. The last thing he enjoyed, that he lost through
chemo, was his appetite. It must have been the last straw for him.
Sigh.
I have had many other signs of my Dad since the initial cardinal experience. A ton of
cardinals but also electrical abnormalities, whispers in my ear, and even a
shooting star.
I talk to my Dad a lot, mostly in my head but sometimes out
loud. I have tried to call him, twice. He didn't answer. I find myself saying, “I love you, Dad” out loud, A LOT. I have also said,
“Dad, you big dummy” when I am missing him so much, and I can always see him
smirk in my mind’s eye. I feel him. I know he walks with me and with his other
beloveds as well.
I have changed a lot because of this experience. I am more sympathetic, because I have an understanding that I didn't have before. I am more thoughtful. I try to really "show up" for my own loved ones At the same time, I also honor the part of me that is protecting the fragile little girl inside who is still grieving and moving through this process.
I am learning who I am now, without my Dad's physical presence.
Planning my Dad’s service was hard. We kids tried to do what
Dad would have wanted, which made the decisions easier. Quite frankly though,
Dad helped me get through the process. I kept thinking, “This is not hard
compared to what Dad went through” and it kept me moving forward; it still
does.
I wrote a personal reflection of my dad and my beautiful
daughter, Leah, read it during his service. I share it with you here so that
you can have a small glimpse of who my dad was:
My Dad
I am lucky, I have a lifetime of memories with my
Dad.
My
Dad was playful.
My dad often came out to play with us kids when we were
little. He played pump, pump pull away, red rover and tag, among other games.
He bought us toys that scared my mother to death such as a mini bike, a three
wheeler and even a pony.
When I told my dad that I wanted to learn to do a front
handspring, he literally showed me how. I have to admit that it wasn’t the most
graceful thing I have ever seen, but he also explained the dynamics of how to
get over and I was doing front handsprings by the end of the day.
My dad loved to go camping and exploring, he enjoyed
spending days at the lake. His favorite place to be - was outside. Because of
my Dad, I was a tomboy who loved to climb trees, to get dirty, and to be
outdoors. My Dad always said, “a little dirt never hurt anyone” and boy, did he
mean it.
One of my favorite things when I was little was bundling
up and riding on the bobcat while my Dad plowed the driveway.
I remember one time I got in the bucket of the bobcat and
asked my dad to put me up in the air. He obliged and then he left me up there
while he went back inside of the house and had his morning coffee. I guess he
needed a break from me that day.
My
dad was an extremely hard worker and a dreamer combined.
He liked to do physical things, he liked to tinker and
fix things. When I tell you that he could look at a pile of junk and see
nothing but opportunity, I am not kidding.
When I say that he could look at a shack yet see a castle, you better
believe it. Nothing physical in my Dad’s world needed to be perfect, it only
had to be, “good enough”.
He taught me work ethic, how to count change back, how to
flip an egg, and the value of money.
My
Dad was kind.
My Dad’s friends and neighbors, loved and respected him.
He was often asked for help and he was helped in return. It always made him
feel good to lend a helping hand.
He was curious about the nature of people. He was a man
of few words but he was always listening and observing people. Many times he
was amused or confused with the nature of people but rarely did he stand in
judgment - although I did see him shake his head in wonderment quite often.
One time when I was very young, I was riding with my Dad
in the car and I was telling him a story about something that happened – I
don’t remember the details but I know I was mad about it. I will never forget
his response, he said, “Brenda, you can’t be mad at people for being stupid;
they can’t help it.” That was Dad’s way of telling me that people do the best
they can with what they know.
My
Dad loved animals.
I was never surprised to find out that not only was Dad
feeding all of the feral cats in the neighborhood but he had named them
too. He was very creative with the
naming, using names such as Blackey, Whitey and Tommy.
The Gopher Turtles in
Florida are protected. When Dad told me he had a couple living in his yard, I
asked him to text me pictures, which he proudly did. I named the turtles that
year and in keeping with Dad’s traditional naming, the big one was named
Smalls.
Like each of us, Dad changed in some ways as he lived his
days, but in many ways he stayed the same.
When Dad was younger, he used to say he didn’t plan to
live past 50. “Live fast, die young”, he would say. As the years went by, Dad
cherished the little things. He still loved the outdoors, tinkering, fixing,
playing volleyball or bocce ball with his family. He like to entertain his grand-kids with toys
that worked…just good enough. He liked helping his friends and neighbors and
getting together with loved ones.
My Dad was born on Independence Day, 1945
And in the spirit of his birthday, Dad did not like rules
nor did he think it was his right to tell others how to live. Dad’s
independence was extremely important to him. He was self-employed virtually his
entire life. He liked to run his own show, set his own schedule, and make his
own decisions.
Even when he found out he had Cancer, he kept it to
himself for over a month. His main concern was to remain in control of his life
and to be able to make all of his own choices.
I am so grateful that I was able to go for a visit and
care for him and laugh and cry and be mad with him. Dad gave it the good fight
but in the end, he decided that Cancer and chemo just weren’t for him.
My Dad gave me many gifts throughout my life, both
tangible and not…but the greatest gift he ever gave me was when he said to me,
“I want you to know that I am not afraid and I have left nothing left undone.”
And so in the spirit of my Dad, I pass his message of
love on to you with this song: I Lived, by OneRepublic
Click here for the video > OneRepublic I lived
I would be remiss not to take this opportunity to thank the
people that are getting me through this. First and foremost, my siblings and my
husband. Without them, I would probably still be in bed, crying my eyes out.
There is nobody in this world that can understand your position better than a
sibling when you lose a parent. No words are even necessary with them. Hold
tight to them, appreciate them if you have them.
My husband, always my rock. He
always just accepts me in whatever mood I am in. He always has hugs ready for
me. He is my super hero (and my always).
My girlfriends who show up at my door, bring me flowers or
wine, take me for a walk or a run, call me on the phone, give me hugs, and send me
cards.
My boss who told me to take however long I needed, take care of myself,
don’t worry about work. He lets me have the space to grieve.
My friends
and family that sent cards and gave to my Dad’s memorial fund.
The countless
number of texts and messages that were sent by people; close to me as well as acquaintances
that just cared enough to send a note because they had lost a parent and
completely understood. They continue to flow in.
I am available for hugs or just sitting with you. If you
have a story to share with me, please do. Thank you for all of your love and
support.
I hope that you spend your days and they all add up...
Be well.
In love & light,
Brenda
