A friend asked me today where I was in my grief journey regarding the loss of my dad. I am touched that he asked me this as it has been 7 years since my dad's death. Not many people acknowledge after that length of time that I could still be grieving. Yet when you lose a loved one, no matter how much time goes by, it never stops being a loss.
In response, I told my friend that ever since having my son, I have entered into a new layer of grief... there is great sadness that my dad will never know my son; that my son will never know my dad; great sadness that I can't experience my dad as my son's grandpa. And at the same time, now that I am a parent, and have experienced the kind of love a parent has for their child, I have realized how much my dad LOVED me. Not because of anything I did or didn't do but simply because I am his child. (And I don't stop being his child, just because he's gone). There has been great comfort and healing in that.
And peace. A peace that has been given; a peace I've had to receive. I am grateful for the peace. And yet, in conversation with my friend today, he asked, what happens to the longings for your dad... longings for him to still be a part of this life and a part of your son's life in the midst of this peace? And I realized, the longings are still there. They don't go away just because there is peace. Nor would I want them to go away. So there is sadness and there is peace. Seven years.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Varying Sadness
I miss you, dad. I thought as the years went by, I'd miss you less and less. But actually, I am missing you more now, seven years later, as life goes on without you. It's a different kind of sadness now... there's still sadness with longing and regret, but also sadness with peace. It's more of a "quiet and reflective" sadness rather than the chaotic, choking sadness of the early years. I don't know if I'll ever feel at peace about your death, but I think I'm letting you go. I think I'm saying goodbye. And there is great sadness in that.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Another D-day anniversary
My dad’s D-day anniversary is next week. How can it be 6 years already? I don’t know if I’ve even said goodbye to him yet... do I need to?
How would my life be different now if he were still alive? Would our relationship be different? What if he had never been sick? What if he had been sick but got better?
"Dad". The word still catches in my throat. I think it always has. It’s such a powerful and meaningful word even when a dad has been absent (or perhaps more powerful and meaningful if dad was absent?)
My husband is now a daddy. I love watching this whole new side of my husband with our son... playing together, laughing together, burping together... ahhh yes...
"Da-da" was my son’s first word. 3 in the morning we heard him say it through the monitor. That was worth waking up to, who cares what time it is!
This Father’s Day will take on a whole new meaning now that my husband is a father. It’s only been recently that I’ve been able to celebrate my father-in-law on Father’s Day. It was like the day was too sacred and I didn’t want anyone to take my dad’s place. Like walking down the aisle alone on my wedding day. If my dad wasn’t there to do it, no would else could take his place. Now I watch the wedding video and watch myself walking down the aisle alone and can’t believe I did that. I’m still glad I did; it still feels right. We got married on the beach so maybe it would have been harder having to walk alone down a church aisle? But now I think, what if he had been there? What would that have been like? What’s it like for a father to walk his daughter down the aisle to "give her away"? What would that have been like for me? It’s still painful to think about that, about what I missed.
During the last several years, my mom has been writing a book about my dad’s sickness, death and her first year as a widow. I’ve been editing her book. She has her story to tell; I have my own story to tell. I’ve known for awhile now that there’s a book inside of me about my dad, "the man in my life who got away". I just have to write it.
Today my mom was asking me what I remembered about all of us kids saying goodbye to my dad when he was in hospice. And I remembered taking hold of his hand, my father’s hand that was so familiar to me and yet now was paralyzed, along with the rest of his body. I could hold my dad’s hand but he couldn’t hold mine back. Fitting I suppose. My dad’s hand looked very familiar but did not feel familiar. I never knew what it was like to hold his hand. We just didn’t do that. My father was not an affectionate man, we barely hugged. But suddenly he was dying and I was holding his hand? I remember how awkward it felt. And I never did said goodbye.
How would my life be different now if he were still alive? Would our relationship be different? What if he had never been sick? What if he had been sick but got better?
"Dad". The word still catches in my throat. I think it always has. It’s such a powerful and meaningful word even when a dad has been absent (or perhaps more powerful and meaningful if dad was absent?)
My husband is now a daddy. I love watching this whole new side of my husband with our son... playing together, laughing together, burping together... ahhh yes...
"Da-da" was my son’s first word. 3 in the morning we heard him say it through the monitor. That was worth waking up to, who cares what time it is!
This Father’s Day will take on a whole new meaning now that my husband is a father. It’s only been recently that I’ve been able to celebrate my father-in-law on Father’s Day. It was like the day was too sacred and I didn’t want anyone to take my dad’s place. Like walking down the aisle alone on my wedding day. If my dad wasn’t there to do it, no would else could take his place. Now I watch the wedding video and watch myself walking down the aisle alone and can’t believe I did that. I’m still glad I did; it still feels right. We got married on the beach so maybe it would have been harder having to walk alone down a church aisle? But now I think, what if he had been there? What would that have been like? What’s it like for a father to walk his daughter down the aisle to "give her away"? What would that have been like for me? It’s still painful to think about that, about what I missed.
During the last several years, my mom has been writing a book about my dad’s sickness, death and her first year as a widow. I’ve been editing her book. She has her story to tell; I have my own story to tell. I’ve known for awhile now that there’s a book inside of me about my dad, "the man in my life who got away". I just have to write it.
Today my mom was asking me what I remembered about all of us kids saying goodbye to my dad when he was in hospice. And I remembered taking hold of his hand, my father’s hand that was so familiar to me and yet now was paralyzed, along with the rest of his body. I could hold my dad’s hand but he couldn’t hold mine back. Fitting I suppose. My dad’s hand looked very familiar but did not feel familiar. I never knew what it was like to hold his hand. We just didn’t do that. My father was not an affectionate man, we barely hugged. But suddenly he was dying and I was holding his hand? I remember how awkward it felt. And I never did said goodbye.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Presenting...
Here he is dad, your little grandbaby, Keagan Willem Deckert. He's 6 months old now and not a day goes by that I don't wish you were here to know this amazing son of mine. You would be so in love with him. I can imagine you rocking him and singing to him and what a calm, steady presence you would be for him.
He's got your dimple on his chin. And he just may have your short legs... we'll see, time will tell :)
I miss you a lot Dad. I'm thankful I had you for my father. I'm not sure if I ever told you that. I hope I did. I'm sorry if I never did. I know I wasn't thankful for many years throughout our relationship. There was so much chaos inside of me. I'm so much more at peace now, within. I wish you were still alive so we could have had a more peaceful relationship. I'm discovering a "peace" where I'm at in my grief. There's sadness and longing, but also, peace. A peace about you and me that I haven't had before.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Happy Valentine's Day Daddy!
Dear Dad,
I am having a boy! You'd be so thrilled! If only you were still alive to meet your new grandson, to hold him and rock him and play with him.
If only you were still alive, our relationship would be so different - now that I'm older, now that I'm married, now that I'm about to become a parent myself.
If only I had been able to love you better while you were alive. If only I weren't so afraid. If only you weren't so afraid to love me better. But you are gone. And I'm learning, there can still be healing; there can still be redemption. And while I wish you were still alive, I know in my heart, you aren't supposed to be. I don't know why but I know it's true.
If you were still alive, I'd give you a big hug and a big kiss and I'd tell you I love you. And we'd go for a walk together on the pier and I'd tell you all about my ultrasound and my hopes and dreams for Baby Boy Boo. And as soon as he's able to walk, you'd want to take him to the track to run laps and Baby Boo would treasure that time with his grandpa.
Instead, I will tell Baby Boo about his grandfather and I will keep a picture of you in his nursery. And when he is older, I will bring him to your grave so he can know who this man is he was named after.
I am having a boy! You'd be so thrilled! If only you were still alive to meet your new grandson, to hold him and rock him and play with him.
If only you were still alive, our relationship would be so different - now that I'm older, now that I'm married, now that I'm about to become a parent myself.
If only I had been able to love you better while you were alive. If only I weren't so afraid. If only you weren't so afraid to love me better. But you are gone. And I'm learning, there can still be healing; there can still be redemption. And while I wish you were still alive, I know in my heart, you aren't supposed to be. I don't know why but I know it's true.
If you were still alive, I'd give you a big hug and a big kiss and I'd tell you I love you. And we'd go for a walk together on the pier and I'd tell you all about my ultrasound and my hopes and dreams for Baby Boy Boo. And as soon as he's able to walk, you'd want to take him to the track to run laps and Baby Boo would treasure that time with his grandpa.
Instead, I will tell Baby Boo about his grandfather and I will keep a picture of you in his nursery. And when he is older, I will bring him to your grave so he can know who this man is he was named after.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Running as a metaphor
It's been a long time and lots have changed since my last post. The biggest & most wonderful change is that Rob & I are anticipating our first baby July 1, 2007. This of course greatly affects me getting back into running at this point. I feel sad when I think about having a baby and my dad never getting to hold him or her, know him or her, play with him or her. It would have been such a wonderful thing for my heart (and for his heart as well I am sure). Then I get angry that he had to die...
So, I've decided that "running" with dad can be a metaphor as well as literal. Perhaps it always has been. Right now, during this period of my life, being newly pregnant for the first time, thinking about becoming a parent makes me think about my dad as a parent. He's gone, but perhaps becoming a parent myself will draw me closer to my dad in ways I never could have when he was alive.
So, I've decided that "running" with dad can be a metaphor as well as literal. Perhaps it always has been. Right now, during this period of my life, being newly pregnant for the first time, thinking about becoming a parent makes me think about my dad as a parent. He's gone, but perhaps becoming a parent myself will draw me closer to my dad in ways I never could have when he was alive.
Friday, July 21, 2006
If we were in a movie, there'd be a sappy love song playing now
Rob and I did something last night we said we'd never do. We didn't plan for it to happen... it just did. Looking back now, I don't even know how it happened but it did and there's no going back now. We are changed forever because of it. Was it worth it? oh yeah. Will we do it again? oh yeah. Last night, Rob & I ran a whole mile together. There we were on the bike path, running... together. Wheezing, nauseous, muscles screaming, yes, but running together! It was a landmark event for us. And, my compartment syndrome didn't flare up at all! I guess what I've been doing at PT has been helping. How good it is for couples to exercise together! I'm looking forward already to our next time... just not for a few days...
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