Four Years....

A Dream....

It finally happened.

I had a dream about my Dad.

I haven't had a dream about him since he passed away....But early this morning I was having a dream that I was in a restaurant with a group of people.  I was talking with someone that was trying to present themselves in a way to be very impressive and then through conversation I figured out that I knew them from a job that I used to have and they weren't as impressive as they were putting on....In fact they had completely misrepresented themselves.

I got up and went to the restroom and when I came back out, everyone was leaving.  I was looking down gathering my things when I heard my Dad's voice.

He said my name and when I looked up in shock, there he was across the room.  He looked at me and smiled in a way that was acknowledging of my surprise, as if to say,

"Yes, it's really me."

He was extremely thin ~ the way he was before he passed away, and yet his face held brightness and energy.  He was wearing something strange that while the rest of my dream is clear and vivid, I struggle to recall & describe.  It wasn't normal clothing, but instead something almost robe-like that was belted.  It accentuated how thin he was, and yet it didn't seem unusual in my dream.   When I ran across the room and hugged him, his embrace was strong and tight.  The way it was years before he passed away.

It felt so good.  And so real.

And then, it was like it was too good ~ my brain had to remind myself that it wasn't real ~ and like a nightmare, I startled awake.  Wishing very much that I hadn't, and that I could have enjoyed the company of my Dad a little longer.

I laid in bed telling myself the dream over and over so I wouldn't forget any of the details....and I was too afraid I'd forget so I couldn't fall back asleep.  So I decided to come downstairs and start my new year with a fire and a quiet house and record these details because even though it wasn't real, it felt meaningful.

I can't think of a better way to start 2012, than with a hug from my Dad.

Oct. 20

As we move through life we collect days of meaning and significance.  They don't pass without a celebration, or recognition somehow.  Of course, the obvious: a wedding date, birthdays, and those small meaningful ones perhaps only known to one's self...a dating anniversary with a spouse.  A friend I know has a smile on the yearly anniversary of a life saving surgery.  And there are those dates that bring pain somehow, but refuse to pass by unacknowledged because of the memories they hold, and the significance they bear on our life.

The anniversary of a death of a loved one is one that I know is etched on many people's hearts.

My heart knows when October 20th is approaching even when I try not to focus on it, or think about it.  It's hard to know what to do with that day.  I realize it's different for everyone, and it will probably even change for myself over time.  Someone told me shortly before the 20th arrived that they just don't let themselves think about the day they lost their loved ones.  And honestly, I don't dwell on it.  Life is far too busy, and there are too many happy and wonderful things to focus on to do that.  But for the last 3 years it has helped me to stop and acknowledge it for what it is. 



I drove home the day of the 19th and realized I was on the road at the same time that I had been 3 years ago.  A simple coincidence that I would have preferred not to have noticed.  I went to bed late the night of the 19th honestly, with a really heavy heart. Truth be told, I stayed up late and shed quite a few tears.  I just really miss my Dad.

I woke up early on the 20th feeling the same way. The day holds difficult memories. That morning, Katie and Mom cut flowers from Dad's garden from the same plants that he tended to. I thought it was a wonderful idea to take his own flowers to him.



We headed to the cemetery and arranged the flowers.  Matthew took this photo of us ~ he did great!  Look in the background...there's Katie visiting the kids' favorite grave.  Isn't that funny?  They love that headstone and their routine is to run out of the car to my Dad's grave and then run on to that one.  We do make sure they don't remove anything ~ it's usually full of pinwheels and things that the kids love to see.



Mom teased the boys a bit about things Grandpapa might say to them if he were here. The other night at dinner, Dan leaned back in his chair and said, "Tell me something, Matthew...." Then smiled.

My Dad used to say that all the time.

He was nosy. Not in a gossipy way, but in a really truly caring about people sort of way. I don't remember him often saying it to me, probably because I willingly volunteered a lot of information, but I do remember him often saying to Dan and Mike , "Tell me something, Dan...." and then he'd ask a question. The memory of it still makes me smile.

We headed to Red Robin for lunch where Mom let the kids get milkshakes.

Dad loved milkshakes.



And then we met Grammie at the park. The same park that I went to as a child and loved.



And this sight just made me laugh.



I had a ball taking photos of the kids in a setting where their happiness just shone through.



Okay, so not a lot of happiness here.  But I love this of the Bug. She was mad that the squirrel she was chasing ran up the tree.






And as the day went on, there were emails. Texts. Calls. Flowers. Comments on the blog. And as I received them the heaviness in my heart lifted. And I truly felt lifted up by all of you, sweet friends and family. And I was touched to know that even after 3 years...this day wasn't faced alone.



And there was joy.
When you see enough of this, you can't help but have it spread to your own heart.
And therein lies the blessing of children.





And there were a lot of simple pleasures.
And no dropping off and picking up.
And no rushing to the next thing on the list.



But there were lots of seed pods falling from the trees.




And little boys waiting to catch them.



And as I took all of this in...



The day started to feel like a gift.



And I said quiet prayers of thanks for these sweet moments.
Amazing friends.
For a precious Dad.
And for healing.

Small Gifts

I can't go to bed tonight without saying thank you.

Thank you for the calls, texts, emails, comments on the blog, beautiful flowers, and hot chocolate/pumpkin ice cream (which I am enjoying as I type this).  :)
I have been very touched all day.
Truly.
After 3 years, I honestly didn't really expect it.
But I felt uplifted  by your thoughts and prayers throughout the day today and incredibly blessed by the friendships in my life.

We spent two hours outside at the park this afternoon and enjoyed some sunshine.  It was wonderful  Of course I took a couple hundred photos that I'll be more than happy to share later.

As I was there I couldn't help but to think that while it didn't start feeling this way, the day ended up feeling a little like a gift.

I went to bed pretty sad last night.
I didn't sleep well.
I woke up feeling sad as well.

But as the day went on my spirits were lifted by all of you.
And to have some unstructured time outside with the kids...watching them run and chase squirrels, catch seed pods falling from trees, climbing on the play structure...chasing butterflies....

A gift.



I know if I would have stayed home and forced myself to comply with the demands of our schedule for the day, pushing thoughts of my Dad out of my mind...I would have had a gnawing ache in my heart all day.

Instead, it was really good to stop and acknowledge the day.  Feel the loss.  And be blessed.   By friends.  By small kindnesses.  By sunshine.  By time with Mom. By a day without a tight schedule.

And while I woke up feeling sad, I'm going to bed feeling grateful.
Grateful for the relationships in my life.
Grateful for the the Dad that I had.

Thank you, dear friends. 

Three Years

As of today, it has been three years since my Dad passed away.

I've written a lot about my Dad and how special he was to me.  And I've shared about this journey that has been long, and honestly at times, much more painful and difficult in ways that I could not have anticipated. 
But also rich in lessons.  In life and in faith.

I miss my Dad deeply right now for a variety of reasons.
I'd love to be able to sit and talk with him.  There is a lot that I would love to have his counsel on.  There are many small things I'd like to share.  And big things too.
I miss being understood the way that he understood me.
I miss being loved the way a Dad loves his daughter.

And I'd simply love just one more hug.

Or more.

More time.  More conversations.  More memories.

I find that tears come to my eyes a little easier during the month of October.

This year finds me feeling pretty drained, tired, a little more introspective and a little less like sharing. 
I'm weary of sounding sad and depressed about this and prefer this year to just hold the rest of these thoughts and feelings close to my heart.

I'm spending the day in Richland with Mom and will return home early Friday where an upbeat and fun weekend awaits.

But as for today...
my heart grieves.

Dad's Birthday

(On a side note, after we took this picture, Katie had us cracking up.  For some reason instead of "cheese" she said, "We're having a baby!!!"  ~ We're NOT.  I have no idea why she said that!  It was so funny).

On Tuesday we packed up and went to the cemetery to take flowers to Dad's grave.
It was his 83rd birthday.



The Bug wasn't satisfied with the lillies we brought and found some lavender growing nearby.



This little one was still quite tired, and thus pretty emotional.
Hence the bear and blanket.



There are always moments at the cemetery when the boys appear quite thoughtful.
I know Matthew misses my Dad.
And I know Andrew misses knowing my Dad. He said that he doesn't remember him and often says that he really, really wants to see him.

But then, they are also very comfortable there, and often run and play and are quite happy. If it just made them sad I wouldn't make them go.



The kids love this particular headstone that Andrew is standing at. They always run there when we go to the cemetery. Andrew decided to take the watering can and water their flowers too. :)

We then went out to lunch and had a little cake that Mom brought just to remember Dad and celebrate his life. It was lemon, because Dad always liked Lemon.



While we were in Richland Dan decided to grow a mustache.
Here he is talking to Andrew about his mustache at lunch.
I told him I did not like it.
So as I was driving to the restaurant with my mom and would look into my rearview mirror, Dan would smile and stroke his mustache.
Lord, help me.
He loves to tease.

Then when the waitress said, "I'll be back in a minute to take your order."
Dan replied,
"I'll be right here...growing my mustache."

He is so pleased with his mustache.

He asked a friend at church tonight if when he saw Dan, perhaps he momentarily confused him for Magnum PI.

I'm certain the day doesn't pass without at least 50 mustache references. :)

Those of you who know Dan can imagine it, I'm sure.
We're currently in a stand off over when the mustache needs to go, as I'd like a family photo at the beach....without the mustache.

Stay tuned, for the ending to that one!

(I'm sure no clarification is needed for those of you who know Dan and I well...but this is really all in good fun.  Dan has a great sense of humor and we joke around a lot).

I'm sure Dad would have gotten a kick out of the whole thing.  He enjoyed Dan's sense of humor as well.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Pausing to Remember

I was disappointed to miss our church's Service of Remembrance this year.  It was the same afternoon as our outing to The Nutcracker.

Last year when I went the pastor said that we were gathering to "give a voice to the grief" that the holidays can summon.

I know I speak for many when when I say that the arrival of the holidays means the arrival of grief which saunters in unexpectedly and attaches itself to my heart.  I carry the unseen weight around as closely as I carry my Holiday "to do" list.

I really do love celebrating the holidays, especially with the children.  Trust me when I say that my home is filled to the brim with holiday cheer and anticipation.  And I love that.  But for me, there is a silent sorrow that occasionally seeps out.  Like standing in the kitchen and crying a little too hard over the fact that Richard Attenborough was declared to be "Santa" in the 2000 version of Miracle on 34th Street. 

So, I'm pausing here this morning.  While my house is quiet to remember my Dad.

I'm remembering just a few small things about him at the holidays.

Before his health declined he would sit at the head of the holiday table and tell stories.   He told great stories.  His own amazing life experiences provided a healthy supply of material.  Truly.  My Dad led a very interesting life.  I wish I could talk with him more about it now as an adult.

I'm remembering his way of opening presents that used to drive us crazy.  He'd predict (often correctly, which made it more annoying) his gift before opening it.  Then he'd carefully remove the paper, sometimes slicing the tape with his pocket knife so as not to tear it.  Then he'd open the box, peek inside and say "thank you" without showing anyone else the gift.  We'd all complain, "Dad!  Show us what's inside!"

Then, because he was so practical, he'd often say something like, "Mary, you didn't have to do that."  But he really meant it.   It was very difficult to buy gifts for him.  He really didn't want anything.  He was very practical and was not a materialistic person.  He truly was just happy being with his family.

Because of that, one of the funniest things he did (which will sound rude, if you don't know my Dad but he didn't intend it that way at all).  Was when he opened a gift from my Mom that he felt was too extravagant and he said, "Oh Mary!  We'll take that back."  I remember all of us just laughing  because it really was so rude, but my Dad was just an extremely practical person. 

He was probably the only one who could rival me in Christmas Cookie consumption.  Although Kaitlin is showing promise.

We will have a lovely Christmas.  I know that.  There will be plenty of joy and happiness here.  Let's face it, there already is.  But I ache for my Dad.  And I just had to pause for a moment to remember him this holiday.  

I'm also thinking of my friends & family that also carry their own sadness this holiday.  I'm praying for God's comfort for each of you, and a moment of peace for you too, to pause and remember.

Merry Christmas, Dad

Dan and I traveled home for a very quick trip this past weekend.

Just one night to help out with Mom's holiday decorating.   The holidays are still a bit of a tough time...
doing holiday chores that Dad used to do...
seeing boxes with his handwriting...
all conjure a now familiar ache.
But I think once we're in the swing of the festivities with the kids it'll get easier.
It's hard to feel sad when the children are so full of joy.
They are so good for my heart and I know they help Mom too.

We stopped by the cemetery on the way out of town.
It's important to me to remember Dad at the holidays and I won't be home again before Christmas, so I wanted to go to his grave and help Mom decorate and have the children participate.

There is a grave near Dad's that is always decorated with a LOT of stuff.
Kaitlin always seems to make a bee-line for it and takes the decorations.
(We're careful to put them back).
Her tutu is such a cheerful contrast in the serene cemetery....Her Grammie had that waiting for her to her sheer delight upon her arrival.
She saw it and put her hands to her cheeks and said, "That's for me!" :)

The kids liked helping hang the ornaments, and Matthew thought the tree needed a star so he decided we should improvise with the tea light.

I have to say, as a man who always did the best with what he had,
Dad would be quite pleased with this improvisation....

It really is such a tender time.
I'm happy to have traditions that still include my Dad's memory and the children.
Andrew was feeling sad that Grandpapa isn't here...

Me too.

Andrew stood at Dad's grave and sweetly said, "Merry Christmas, Grandpapa."

Before we left, without the prompting of anyone, Kaitlin stood and said, "I love you, papa."

I left town with a heavy heart.

And then we received the gift of a glorious sunset on the way out of town.

I can't help but to look at this and think of heaven...

...and feel comforted.

Remembering Dad

Mom and I went to the cemetery on the morning of the 20th to take flowers to Dad's grave. It was a beautiful sunny morning. We thought about bringing Dad's signature yellow roses, but decided on something that would live a little longer and chose an autumnal arrangement.

We met a friend there.  Carl worked with my Dad. He spoke at my Dad's retirement party and also at my Dad's memorial service.

And following Dad's passing, my Dad's friend, became my friend. He follows my blog (Hi, Carl & Jeannie :) ) and on occasion I will see his name pop into my inbox with a funny comment about something I've blogged about. Or perhaps a story of his own relating to what I've written, and sometimes a pearl of wisdom. He has great insights, a funny sense of humor, and his friendship is a treasure.

Carl is one of those rare people who aren't rushing through life but really approaches things in a thoughtful manner. He thinks, reflects, and records these thoughts. He arrived at the cemetery with one of his insights about my Dad. We stood at my Dad's grave while he read (he has the gift of story telling) and my mom and I listened, smiled and remembered....It was great to hear his memories of Dad from a different perspective than I had known.  It was a sweet gift that day to bring a vivid picture of my Dad back to my mind.  Thank you.
The cemetery that my Dad is buried at is beautiful. It was touching to see so many fall flowers decorating headstones. I took some photos of a couple of the statues there. This one caught my eye as we were coming in. It was surrounded by flowers and is beautiful. It's Mary holding Jesus after the crucifixion.

We all left and went to lunch, toasted to Dad and shared stories and memories about Dad as well as got caught up on daily life.

I noticed that this year there was a change.  The memories we shared about Dad conjured more smiles and laughter than tears.  This day was easier to face this year. And yet, I feel very relieved that it has passed.  I'm so grateful that I was able to be with Mom and take the time to remember Dad.  It made the day easier being together. I'm thankful for my husband who understands why it's important to me and supports me.  And my sweet mother in law who cheerfully looked after the children while Dan worked...and thank you friends, for the kind messages, the understanding words and comforting thoughts.  They were all so appreciated.

Two Years

I think this is perhaps my favorite photo that I have ever taken. I took it one afternoon when I was at my parent's house helping to care for Dad during his final months. It is a very poignant photo for me because while I didn't know it at the time, Kaitlin was 4 months old and my Dad had 4 months left to live. It's so striking for me to see my brand new daughter's face, so fresh and new with exactly as much life in her as my Dad has left in him.

I love the bold look in her eyes as if she's ready to take on the world, contrasted with Dad's tired gaze.

I love her bright smooth skin, perfect and new, against Dad's weathered complexion.

Perhaps what I love most of all is remembering the moments surrounding this photo. Dad was holding Kailtlin in his chair. Singing to her. Loving her. Just absorbing every minute with her as he did in those days. He had to give her a lifetime of love in a very limited amount of time, and I think he accomplished what needed to be done. I sat on the sofa next to them, snapping photos and just watching it all unfold. Relishing these moments that I knew would not last and just trying to remember it all. Dad lifted Kaitlin to put her face next to his. Just to snuggle and be close...she looked into the lens of my camera and I caught this one moment. And it now just brings tears to my eyes.

Today marks the two year anniversary of my Dad's passing.  I am grateful to have the chance to go back to Richland to be with Mom and a good friend to remember Dad by going to the cemetery and out to lunch.  My Mom and I were together that night when we lost my precious Dad, and it is where I really wanted to be on this day.  I'm thankful for my mother in law who will be at my home playing my part--taking the kids where they need to be--so that I can do this.  I'm setting this post up to publish while I'm away.

It seems like such a long time since I've seen or spoken to Dad--I told a friend one day that sometimes he just feels like a really good dream....I miss him a lot. 

However, the second year has brought a lot of healing.  It's nice to feel as though we're really experiencing joy in our life rather than just going through the motions because we know we must move on.  It's nice to be surprised by a thought of him and find myself smiling instead of tearing up.   For this, I am grateful.

On Monday night after we tucked the children into bed, I had gone back downstairs to get something and when I came back upstairs Matthew was standing at the top of the stairs quietly crying with his hands over his eyes.  Dan and I were asking, "What's wrong?  What happened?"

No response.  Just crying.

Finally I said, "Matthew, what were you thinking about that made you cry?"

"Grandpapa."

Two years later he still cries for him, and I have to admit, I do too. I still sit in church and am moved to tears by the words of hymns and the word of God that touch me in new depths than it ever did before. And I find myself wondering, Will I always be this tender?

Do we ever stop longing for those that we've lost that played such a significant part in our life?  I don't think so. 

New routines are established, new traditions, new ways of doing things.  Their absence becomes as familiar as their presence once was and yet, the tears still come.  Even when I don't want them to. It's sometimes difficult to let the grief go because it feels as if I'm letting Dad go...but I know he's with me in so many ways.  In the lessons he taught me that I remember and apply daily.  The love that he lavished on me that I carry with me every moment.  And I'm so grateful to have all of that and really, so much more....

....but I'd love another hug.

....I'd love to have him wandering around my house looking for things to fix and ways to help out.

....I'd love to see him playing with the kids, remarking on their milestones and personalities, and loving them so deeply as he always did.

....I'd love to sit and talk with him about all that has happened since we've lost him.  I'd love to ask some advice and hear his counsel.  

....I'd love to hear him pick up the phone and say, "Yello?"  in his unique way of answering the phone, I'd love to hear his voice brighten when I said, "Hi Dad!" and hear, "Well hello there, Katydid!"  I'd love to hear him say, "I love you, baby" before hanging up. 

...I'd even love to have him telling me how to drive again.  I'd take it all in a heartbeat.

I was so blessed with the Dad that I had.  The relationship we had.  And today, I'm pausing to remember him and all that he was--and still is--to me.  I'm saying a prayer of thanks to God for a terrific father, and for bringing healing to my heart when I really did wonder if I would ever feel able to experience genuine happiness again.  

This is one of my favorite scriptures. Two years ago I clung to it.

"Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us" (Romans 5:3-5).

And today, I know it to be true.

Dad's Birthday

We celebrated Dad's birthday on Monday before leaving Tri-Cities. His birthday is on the 5th of July and every year on this day you could find us dressed in red, white and blue celebrating Dad.

After you lose a loved one you have to figure out what these days mean. Do you celebrate? Do you not celebrate? As each holiday/occasion approaches it has to be faced. It seems strange to not acknowledge a day that had been celebrated every year of your life. And yet, it's strange to celebrate without them...A new "normal" is somehow negotiated based on what feels comfortable. I don't think there's a "right" or "wrong" for these things. I think it's just what people find comforting.

For me, it means to acknowledge the day. The loss, for me, is greater if these days were to go unacknowledged. It would feel like somehow, I don't have a Dad. But I do. I have a Dad. He just isn't here. And my Dad is still worth celebrating. So we went to the cemetery and left some flowers and a birthday balloon.

Dan's Mom joined us as well. We were happy she could be with us.

Then we went out to eat. Mom brought a little cake. And we toasted to Dad.

The boys have asked me if they celebrate birthdays in heaven.

I don't know...perhaps the day he passed on from here is his birthday there....but I imagine somehow these days these make us feel special and loved here aren't even necessary there.

Happy Birthday Dad.

I love you.

K.D.