Happy Father's Day

My Dad was always around when I was growing up. He met my Mom young, and they had been married for nearly 23 years when he died. There are very few memories of my childhood that don't involve him in one way or another. He collected strays, welcoming people in to our home, feeding them even though we rarely had enough to go around. My parents always said that our family had the gift of poverty. 

As a Reverend and Chaplain his work entailed ministering to our community, a job which he took to heart. I learned the importance of volunteering and public service from my Dad. I still remember the way he looked in his Navy whites, even though I was tiny the last time he wore them. Towards the end of his life he had shifted from leading churches to ministering to inmates. He led a service every week for men who were not able to attend Sunday services because of their past history. Dad never condoned the crimes these men had committed, but his faith in a forgiving God was unwavering.

I don't want to paint a perfect picture of him, which is easy to do when someone is gone... but today is a day to honor him, and so I will just say that I couldn't have asked for better. Missing him is something I will live with until I go home for good and get to walk the streets of gold together. 

God didn't stop there though. For the past 6 years I've had a pretty awesome Step-dad. Our relationship was rocky for a long time, and honestly we are still learning each other. The best thing about Bill is the sheer volume of his love for my Mom. He is always there for my sisters and I when we truly need him, and he pushes... pushes us to try harder, to be more independent.. to break the mold. 

Bill is a retired Marine and is very involved with the AA in our area. It's funny how my Mom found someone who is incredibly differently, but eerily similar to my Dad. Bill has never treated my sisters or myself as anything other than his girls. And when it comes to the grand-babies... he has that touch. As much as my nephew L looks my Dad, many of his mannerisms are Bill's.

Although my precious nieces and nephews will never know the man I grew up calling Dad, they have a Grandpa any child would be delighted to love.

Happy Father's Day!

7 Years

I was in the shower worrying about life, wondering how things could be different... I felt a jaw-dropping wave of peace and warmth. I heard a voice telling me that everything would be alright, never give up, remember the sunshine.

A while after getting out of the shower the phone rang downstairs. I knew. I told my Grandma I didn't want to take the phone call. She told me I had to come to the phone.

I walked down the stairs and took the phone, the kitchen was dirty and the back door was open to the Missouri sunshine. The phone felt greasy, holding it was hard. It was Mom. "I am so sorry baby, I wish I didn't have to tell you this on the phone... Dad died."

The fridge door was suddenly holding me up. Grandma Momo reaches for me, her parents have been gone longer than I've been alive, she understood.

She bought me a plane ticket home as I packed. We sat in the backyard and talked, and didn't talk... Waiting for it to be time to go.

My Grandpa had died 6 months before, we had celebrated his life recently. Momo told me to be strong for Mom. Don't cry, don't make it any worse for your Mom.

It took 3 planes and all day to get in to Seattle. The airline was very sweet and gave me priority boarding so I could find a quiet place to sit. While boarding my first flight I stopped at the gap between the plane and the walk way.

It was raining. May 31st in Missouri. Rain has meant something more to me since. I got off the plane in Seattle and hugged my sister Becky until my arms were tired. Mom was next, then Nicole (foster sister), and then I noticed my Mom's best friend Rebecca. I remember being grateful she was there because it meant none of us had to drive.

We started the 3 hour drive home while they filled me in on what happened. It was sudden. Unexpected. When we got home I laid down on his side of my parents bed, face buried in his pillow and cried.

I broke my promise not to cry. Sometimes you just HAVE to cry.

It's hard to believe its been 7 years. Becky was days away from being 19, I was two weeks from 22. Nicole is in between the two of us. We were kids.

Becky is married and has 2 babies, and Nicole is married with 3. I am divorced with cats. ;)

My parents had a tendency to adopt our friends. I think it was something to do with Dad being a Pastor and Mom being a nurse. Their mission in life was to help people.

One of our friends posted on Facebook today about missing Papa Phil and the impact he had on her life. She is a strong, beautiful woman and the fact that my Dad had something to do with that means so much.

People try to tell you that grief gets easier with time... I'm not sure that its easier.... But rather that it becomes a part of who you are and you learn to accept it.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Confessions

I opened up to friends today about how bad things have been mentally in the past few months. While getting that off my chest was refreshing, it left me feeling a lot more vulnerable. It's hard to find balance on how much is too much when it comes to being completely honest. Thank God I have some amazing friends, and a wonderful family! Even though I felt bare afterwards, it was nice to clue these women who mean so much to me in to what is going on.

My life right now is different than I imagined. I drive a decent car, live in a pretty (albeit small) house, and manage to keep my bills paid and generally have a smidgen left over for a movie or a book every few paydays. I don't need much, and generally don't find myself lusting for material things. I have a support system that many people dream of, and I am on my way to a healthier me.

And I still find myself spiraling down deeper in to depression. Which makes me feel guilty. And then comes more depression. It's a vicious cycle. Occasionally I break free, but never for very long. Sometimes I spiral up, so far up that I lose control and find myself slamming back so hard that it undoes everything I've previously achieved.

How do you tell people that even though you're happy, you are depressed? I feel like such a whiner when I say that. When someone asks me how I am I smile and say it's OK. It reminds me of when my Dad died, and very few people really wanted to hear "it sucks, I cry all the time and when I do manage to smile, it hurts"... I know from experience that grief gets better. That gives me that depression will too.

Dad has been gone 7 years at the end of this month. How vastly I've changed in those 7 years. I'm a grown up now. I know he would be is proud of everything I've accomplished and the woman I am. I do not miss him less now, but I don't wallow in grief either. His absence has simply become a part of who I am. Some days I wonder if I'd be who I am now if he hadn't of died. Scratch that, I KNOW I would be different. Part of my success is fueled by a pledge to honor his memory and live a full life.

When I was little my Dad lost a lot of weight by running. He went on to join the Navy, and then left to become a pastor. The pounds came back and by the time I was a teenager he was morbidly obese. When he learned he was a Type 2 diabetic everything changed. He started eating right, walking, and doing his best to honor the body God gave him to take care of. (My Dad fought a lifelong battle with depression as well, he was someone I could always talk to because he got it.)

When I lace up my running shoes I am promising to do everything in my power to live long enough to meet my grandchildren. 4 years now a miniature version of my Dad has been roaming the earth, changing my families life forever. Sometimes I look at my nephew and stare, because it is like looking at my Dad. I dream about what it would be like to see them side by side, laughing and playing with each.

I want to be there when my (someday) kids have kids. So I am going to conquer the darkness and run in the light. It's funny how much peace training for this 10k has brought in to my life. Just 6 weeks of getting out and doing my best has given me a new reason to go on. The depression is still there. Some days it is still crippling. It won't always be.

Tonight I had a too few many cookies and treats at a potluck. At first I couldn't understand why I kept eating! Then I sat down and started to write and realized I was pushing food in to my mouth to give my brain something else to think about. Processing it and moving on is a much better solution.

So I am going to go home after work, sleep, and go out and get a few miles in before getting ready for another long night. And then it's the weekend! Hallefreakinglujah. My goal for this weekend is to go for a 6.2 mile walk. No running or jogging allowed, I just want to get out and walk a 10k. I will let you know how it goes.

Resolutions

Winter has hit the Pacific Northwest; the way my car swayed crossing the bridge coming home from work last night wouldn't let me forget that. I listened to the sound of rain pounding down on the roof of the motor-home running from one end to the other duct-taping washcloths to the ceiling in hopes of keeping the water off my floor. The weather took a turn on Christmas day, and hasn't let up since. There is a say about Oregon; Oregon has three seasons, rain, rain, rain, and road construction. Right now, it feels very true. It’s part of why I love this part of the country though.

Call me crazy, but I have a bond with the rain. It feels like communication from my Father, the heavenly one, and the one who is gone. The day my Dad passed away was beautiful and sunny in Missouri, until the moment I boarded the plan to go home to be with my Mom and sisters. As I passed through the "walk way" and onto the plane, I noticed the rain falling in the small gap between the two. I reached out to touch it; the feeling of wet on my fingers is something I have yet to forget.

For me, it was like his way of saying goodbye. On the day I decided to marry my husband (now ex) and move back to the Northwest from Kentucky, it rained. When I broke up with my husband, it rained. The day I moved in to my very first apartment, all by myself, it rained. The day my Mom and Step-dad offered me the motor-home as an alternative to living in a hotel, it rained. There are many other moments like these. Coincidence, maybe. In fact, as often as it rains here it would be almost impossible NOT to make some sort of life altering choice on a rainy day at least once in a while.

Still, the rain is special to me. I tried not to resent it last night as I found wet spots by the vents and ceiling lights. It's all fixable, and truly a matter of perspective. My original intention was to post about New Year's Resolutions, obviously I've strayed far.

Heavy on my mind lately has been something deeply personal, and the little drips from the ceiling were like an affirmation of how I decided to deal with these feelings. I am going to make this affirmation part of my New Year's Resolutions. I have only four this year, and like Sarah of Clover Lane, they are one word each. Hopefully I won't forget what they mean halfway through the year. I jotted them down in next year’s planner tonight, and hope to come back to this blog next year and celebrate achieving at least a few of them.

New Traditions

When my Dad passed away in 2006, I knew nothing would ever be the same. A vital part of my heritage was gone in a blink of an eye. The first years worth of holidays were nothing more than reminders of everything missing in my life. I struggled through them, along with my Mom and sister. We smiled, laughed, cried, and forged ahead. To say it has become easier, would be a lie. It's not easier, even after all this time... it's just different.

We've learned to be, without him. We have welcomed new people into our lives, including my Step-dad and brother in law. Each of them brought families of their own into the mix. Their own history and tradition... their own struggle and pain. Three Thanksgivings ago we celebrated with my handsome nephew, and this year my niece joined us at the table.

There is so much to be thankful for in my life. I don't know if my relationship with my Mom and sister would be so solid, if it weren't for the three of us banding together after Dad died. Who is to say my sister would have still meet her husband and had her two beautiful babies? As much as I miss his physical presence in our daily lives, I am thankful for the legacy he has left behind.

He wasn't a traditional man. He lived his life according to a deeply personal code of conduct that revolved around his relationship with God. We moved frequently as children, and often times celebrated the holidays at home, just the four of us. He taught us to cherish what existed in near proximity, to not get caught up in the commercial trappings of the holidays... and that sometimes, nachos and pizza for Christmas dinner is OK.

These things have carried on with us in the past 5 years. For Thanksgiving we celebrated with flat iron steak, french fries, and a fruit platter among other more traditional dishes. After eating we took pictures in the leaf covered yard, and then left the kids with Grandma to go start a new tradition.

My Step-dad drove us up into the hills, and we learned to shoot a 22. Neither my sister or I had ever shot a gun of any sort. Our Dad was a quiet, indoor sort of man whose love of books prevailed over all other pursuits of passions. My Ste-dad on the other hand is a more of an outdoors type.

How blessed are we to have been able to learn from two such wonderful men? I can tell you, squeezing the trigger of a gun was something I had never expected to do. Ever. I did, though. I even enjoyed it. Next year we will do the same thing...