Running with Dad

Apple of My Eye

2012-01-22T18:57:00.001-08:00

I carry in my wallet the last thing my father ever wrote to me. It was a note from Christmas 2002 that read, "Merry Christmas. Your still the apple of my eye. Love Dad" My father always wrote in such beautiful cursive handwriting; this was chicken scrawl. He was losing his ability to write. Less than 4 months later he was dead.

My father was a quiet man, a man of few words, giving power to those few words. Growing up, I knew my father loved me, and yet, I didn't really know in my heart. Even many years ago as I read these very Christmas words, I didn't truly comprehend what they meant. Until today. He's been dead for almost 10 years now, but today, I opened my wallet, saw his note and thought, "well, what does that mean?"

Do you know what it means to be the apple of someone's eye? I looked it up...

Precious
Cherished
Protected
The Center of Someone's Life
Beloved

This is what my father was communicating to me as he was dying. He's been gone for a decade, but today, I was given new understanding of the depth of his love for me. My heart has been stretched and filled in new ways these last 10 years, especially since meeting my husband and becoming a mother to two apples of my own eye. Perhaps today, my heart is more open to receive such a father's love. What an amazing blessing. How lucky I am to have had such a father's love... to have such a Father's love.

Ordinary Days

2011-04-05T20:00:00.000-07:00

His 9 year anniversary came and went without much more than an acknowledgment of the day. Then, 3 days later, on an ordinary Tuesday, I had a friend over for lunch; I took my son for a haircut, and I found myself missing my dad. When he first died, the focus of my grief was on MY loss - I no longer have a dad, my relationship with him will never have a chance to get any better, etc. Then I married Rob and my grief was focused in relation to this new man in my heart - my husband and dad never met, will never know each other, will never have relationship. And it stretched out to my relationship with my father in law and my initial struggle to really let him into my life because of this loss. Now that I have 2 children, who have taken OVER my heart, my grief seems to focus on my children never getting to know their maternal grandfather or having relationship with him, and there continues to be such sadness there. Perhaps as we get older, our relationship with our parents grow through the relationships they have with the people most dear to us. I miss things about our relationship - I miss seeking his advice, sharing with him about my life, having a meal together, going for a walk, sitting together at the lake. But the picture becomes so much more alive (and therefore heartbreaking) when I think about the things he and my children could be doing together. I once had those things with my dad; my children never will.

Since my dad's death, other people have entered into my heart that I love just as passionately (if not more) than my dad and dad has taken second stage. But isn't that what is supposed to happen with our parents? Aren't we supposed to let go and move on to become healthy, capable adults? Aren't I suppose to transfer that love to my husband and children? And how can I if I am still pining away for a father's love? I don't need my father anymore as I did when I was a child. He is gone and I really am okay without him. But on these ordinary days, I WANT him in my life - to talk about my children, God, running, books, relationships. Perhaps my grief is maturing. Or am I just maturing? It's not all about me and my loss. I am not the only one affected here. Generations are affected by his death. I never met my maternal grandparents. They both died before I was born. The older I get, the more I realize what a loss this is. So much history, story, relationship buried with the dead. So today, 9 years and 3 days later, I'm wishing for just an ordinary Tuesday with my dad.

Fading grief is still grief

2011-01-08T17:06:00.000-08:00

It's been 8 years since my dad's death and he is fading. I still miss him. I still love him. I still long for him to have relationship with my children and with my husband. I still long for a continuation of our relationship as I have grown and changed and how that could have affected our relationship. But life has gone on and that is both a relief and a sorrow. I feel the sorrow most when I think about my children never knowing their maternal grandpa. I can envision them playing basketball and running together. Watching boats together on Lake Michigan. And I feel loss for them that they don't yet know to feel.

But life has gone on and life has let him go. And in the day to day, I don't think much about his absence. And that's ok. And it's also ok that the words, "goodbye dad" still get stuck in my throat. He is fading but I'm still holding on, even if most days, I don't realize that I am.

There is no and/or... it's both

2009-10-09T20:32:00.001-07:00

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.

Varying Sadness

2009-06-25T20:02:00.000-07:00

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.

Another D-day anniversary

2008-03-24T20:48:00.000-07:00

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.

Presenting...

2008-01-07T20:13:00.000-08:00

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.

Happy Valentine's Day Daddy!

2007-02-14T13:10:00.000-08:00

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.

Running as a metaphor

2006-11-16T17:26:00.000-08:00

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.

If we were in a movie, there'd be a sappy love song playing now

2006-07-21T09:36:00.000-07:00

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...

Pictures

2006-07-19T11:22:00.000-07:00

July 10, 2006, 10:44 p.m. I am crying. It's been a long time since I've cried. I used to cry. I used to overflow often. Now I've become a controlled shutdown women and I do not like that. I know that is not who I am, down where the deep waters flow. But at 10:45 p.m., my throat is burning and aching from trying to hold it all together and hold it all in. The tears are seeping out now and letting go, even for the few minutes I allow myself, feels good.

I had been looking at pictures. You could call them before and after pictures but I don't have any "after" pictures yet. I'm still stuck in the "before" pictures. They were pictures from Maine - award-winning pictures, if I may say so, of the rocky coast and local hot spots we visited. Plus, many shots taken of Rob and of me and of his parents who we were vacationing with. We had just purchased a digital camera before the trip so we took lots of pictures. I think we ended up with 200 some pictures when we downloaded them to our computer! I have a love-hate relationship with the camera. I love taking pictures; I don't like pictures taken of me.

Looking through the pictures, I wanted to delete all the pictures of me. I'm mad at those pictures. Those pictures betray me. Those pictures reveal a truth I can no longer deny by taking down all full length mirrors in our home. Quick! Delete them! Shred them! As if those pictures were proof of some dark and sinful deed; as if they were taken by a private investigator catching me in the arms of a man other than my husband. How ashamed and embarrased I felt looking at those pictures. If anyone were to see them, my dark secret would be exposed.

And here's my dark secret: I've gained 50 pounds in the last 4 years. It's hard to even write that. Alot of things have contributed to my weight gain - mainly not being able to run anymore, emotional eating, losing my dad. I saw a woman in those pictures I did not recognize... a woman I did not like. And a woman I'm glad my dad doesn't have to see. But in every one of those pictures I hate, if I look closely, far off in the distance I see a lone shadowy figure. Zooming in, I see my dad in every one of those pictures. I see a large me and a tiny blurry figure of my dad.

Would you be disappointed by my weight gain, Dad? Would you feel like I had failed? I feel disappointed; I feel like a failure. And I feel sad that I feel those things about myself and that in my heart I believe my dad would feel those things about me. And while I'm crying about my weight, I know I'm crying about so much more than that. My weight is where my focus and my anger and my grief go until I'm willing to dive into the deep blue waters below. I see my dad in those pictures and yet I know he'll never be in another picture ever again. He'll never be in our wedding pictures; he'll never be in pictures holding our future babies. Why does my grief over losing my dad cause me to hate my body so much?

My week

2006-06-23T13:06:00.000-07:00

It's been a big body-work week for me... I did pilates 4 days, chiropractor 1 day, and physical therapy 3 days. I'm feeling pretty darn good though. Next week I have 4 more days of pilates, 3 more days of PT and a medical massage. Plus our counseling practice has really been taking off these days. I have 2 new clients next week and the possibility of 3 more referrals that are on their way! It really seems to confirm to me that quitting Barnes & Noble was a good move. I feel so thankful and so blessed.

Do any of you know if rebound headaches are for real or just a myth? (They should test that on Mythbusters!) This past week I had 3 migraines 3 days in a row. I took Imitrex each time and wonder if that brought on rebound headaches? I can't get a straight answer out of doctors or pharmacists about that (of course). Anyway, 3 migraines in a row like that is unusual for me. I usually get 1 or 2 spread out throughout a month. I don't like taking something as powerful to my system as Imitrex is. I used to take over-the-counter Orudis & that worked wonders but then they pulled it off the market because supply & demand weren't adding up. I am missing my Orudis!

Migraines could have been a result of all the body-work I did this week too...
I'm looking forward to nothing but leisurely walks & doing some stretching exercises this weekend and that's it for weekend body-work. I'm taking it easy the next few days.
Hope you all are enjoying your summer! Have a wonderful weekend!

Father God

2006-06-22T13:03:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading Donald Miller's latest book, To Own a Dragon. It's Don's reflections on growing up without a father. It's mostly about father-son relationships (or a lack thereof) so I didn't get as much out of it as his other books but there was one thing that stood out for me. He was writing about God fathering us and he wrote that our Father in Heaven is not afraid to be close to us. That thought stunned me. I've only known a father who was afraid to be close to me. But God is not afraid to be close to me. I may have been afraid to be close to my dad and I may be afraid of being close to God but if God isn't afraid, then He can win me over. How much I wanted that from my dad.

Father's Day

2006-06-22T12:02:00.000-07:00

Father's Day came and went this year without much emotion. It wasn't until 6:30 p.m. on Sunday that I really remembered it was Father's Day. Sure, all day I knew it was Father's Day but then at 6:30, as Rob & I were driving home from a relaxing mini-vacation-weekend-up-North, it dawned on me, it's Father's Day. And I am father-less.

On our way home, we drove through a little town called Ellsworth. Population: 471. It's where my dad grew up. We drove past his school, his swimming hole, the Post Office his parents ran and past the yellow house on a hill where he lived. But the memories I have of Ellsworth aren't of my dad. When I think of Ellsworth, I think of my grandparents. That's why we made the trip to Ellsworth every summer. To visit my grandparents. (my grandma's famous goulash, banana bread and cinnamon buns were added benefits). So Sunday, on Father's Day, I could drive through my dad's hometown and not feel connected to the fact that it was Father's Day and I was driving through my dad's hometown and my dad is dead.

Another Father's Day of not feeling... Four years now. At 6:30 p.m. on Sunday, I remembered it was Father's Day, and for a brief moment, I felt what that meant for me. And this is where I went with it... I thought about the future, when my husband will be a father and how that day will change in meaning for me. And I thought about my father-in-law and how for the last two Father's Day that I've been married to his son, I haven't been able to wish him Happy Father's Day. I can't even talk to him on Father's Day. And that connects me to my grief. That makes me sad. I don't know how to have a father-in-law on Father's Day. That connects me to my grief over my dad because that's something that's going on right now in the present. My dad died over four years ago. But today, I'm in touch with my grief because I'm not able to celebrate my father-in-law on Father's Day. What a loss that is for both of us.

Ah, Sweet Hope

2006-06-14T22:25:00.000-07:00

I met with a Physical Therapist at a Sports Med Clinic today. I may be able to one day run again! It's going to take a lot of work but I finally have some direction. To start, I'll be doing physical therapy 3 times/week for a month. The few beginning exercises I did today revealed how weak my hips, knees and ankles are. So, I'll be doing strengthening, flexibility and stretching exercises, and I'll be getting custom-made orthopedics for my running shoes to fix my alignment. Even if that doesn't help my running, all of those things will be so good for my body. And, I actually have a lot of hope that in the long run (no pun intended), it will help me to run again. There's no guarantee I'll be able to run 5 miles a day like I used to but just being given the hope that I may not have to give up running entirely, and that I won't necessarily need surgery, feels really good.

This is all new to me. I've never had anything physically wrong with me. Despite having an active childhood doing gymnastics and running, I've never had a broken bone or even a sprain. The only surgery I ever had was a year ago when I had my wisdom teeth out. And now, for the first time in my life, I've been made aware of this body of mine. All my life I've stood with my back to the mirror and now, I turn slightly to take a peek. Can I finally be through with being disconnected from my body, with ignoring my body, hiding my body, and living as if - believing as if - I can just put on a pair of sunglasses and be invisible; that no one will notice this body of mine attached to my pretty green eyes? As if that's all I had going for me. Even those I hide behind sunglasses.

I've taken my body and my health for granted. But pain has connected me to my body and for that I am grateful. My body fell apart because of my neglect. Now I've called in the troops to help me - a chiropractor, a medical massage therapist and a physical therapist. I'm like a celebrity. All I need now is a cook, a housecleaner, a make-up artist, personal trainer, personal shopper and an agent.

How about, all I need now is to take off my sunglasses and turn to face the mirror.

Letting go

2006-05-18T18:37:00.000-07:00

It's called Chronic Compartment Syndrome and it is defeating me. To run is to bring on the pain. At no other time do I feel the pain in my legs. Only when I run. Usually within the first half mile it starts kicking in... the tightness, inflammation, pain, up and down the sides of my calves and into my ankles and feet. And when I stop running, it fades away. I was diagnosed with it a couple years ago when I went to a sports medicine doctor. I stopped running, hoping rest would heal. But now, it's back to haunt me.

Everyone tells me, just stop running. Logically they say, "If the pain comes when you run, stop running." "You can bike or swim," they tell me. I smile and nod my head when what I really want to do is scream at them. Are there any other runners out there who know what I mean? Any other form of exercise is not the same. Biking or swimming just won't cut it when I have runner's blood flowing through my veins. I grew up on running like I grew up on God and nothing else will do. Logic? This has nothing to do with logic. There is no logic in love or loss or a cancer that ate away at my dad's body until there was nothing left to feed on. Running is the only connection I ever had with my dad, and nothing else will do.

There came a time when my dad had to let go of running. Not only running, he had to let go of everything. I just have to let go of running. He had to let go of his very life. I just have to let go of him.

Delayed for now

2006-05-14T13:00:00.000-07:00

I've been running for a week now - just one mile, but each time I increase my speed (From 13:14 to 12:21. I'm happy to be getting faster but oh how I long for those 7-minute-mile days). Now though, I've had to take a couple days off. My body is not allowing me to exercise. Sunday I woke up to my back going into spasms. Today I'm feeling better but my back is still pretty locked up and sore. So I rest. I stretch, I drink lots of water. I heat and ice my back. And I grieve.

Track Work

2006-04-16T16:35:00.000-07:00

I haven't been doing a lot of running since my last post. I've been enjoying long walks, bike rides around Spring Lake (it's 15- miles around on the bike path), and I've been doing a Yolates class at the Y twice a week. But today, I watched a couple home videos of my high school cross-country races and got all inspired. It was so fun to see my high school running buddies (and quite embarrasing to see myself at age 14 and 15 with all my crushes on the guys, and my crazy silliness. Actually, it was quite fun to see. It reminded me of a playfulness and lightheartedness I'd like more in my life today). I'm still in touch with my best friend from high school. We ran cross-country together and actually met for the first time the summer before our freshman year at our first cross-country practice. I still remember it like it was yesterday. It was a typical Maryland hot and humid day in August, a couple weeks before school was to start. And we were both nervous about starting cross-country and starting high school and we clicked instantly. 15 years later we're still in touch, mostly through phone calls and emails. She's still living in Maryland, married and pregnant with her first child now. It was fun to see her on camera. I should send it to her. She'd probably get a kick out of seeing it. (Hi, Holly!) Anyway, I love that after all these years, we're still in touch. That means a lot to me.

So after watching myself in my glory days, I decided to head to the track. Running on the track is like coming home for me. For years and years my dad and I would run around and around the high school track in my hometown. Today, even though I can no longer run at my dad and I's track, running at the Grand Haven middle school track, I felt like my dad was there, in the stands cheering for me. I was able to do 2 1/2 miles. I did 1/4 mile warm up, 2 miles of sprinting the straight-a-ways and walking the curves and another 1/4 mile cool down. The weather was beautiful, though it was alittle windy. No complaining here though. I'll take sunny and warm and windy over rain, snow, and cold. I think winter is finally behind us here in Michigan and I can already see the effect spring weather is having on me regarding my exercising and my mental health. I just feel happier and lighter with blue skies and sunny days.

So I am exercising - the walks and bike rides and Yolates is about losing weight and getting back into shape. The running will continue to be about my dad. I know he was proud of me, out there on the track today.

I used to

2006-03-30T20:16:00.000-08:00

I used to be a runner. But I can't call myself a runner anymore. After all, a runner runs. With deserved pride, runners earn their title through sweat and time and miles. I walk; I jog. I can't yet call myself a runner.
I used to have a father. Having a father means you talk together and spend time together. Being a runner means you actually run. I want to run again, like I used to. I want to have my father back, like I used to. If I become a runner again, maybe I can get my father back.

I should be running

2006-03-21T19:06:00.000-08:00

Every day I've been getting outside and attempting to run. (The hard part is changing into my running clothes and putting on my running shoes. Once I do that, there's no talking myself out of it). Most days I don't actually do much running. I hold my dad's watch in my hand but I don't use it because right now isn't about how far I go or how fast I go or whether I'm getting more running in than walking. Right now is about listening to my body and connecting with my grief. I take a deep breath and listen. I block out everything but the wind singing in my ears and let that carry me away. And walking feels really good. I'm silencing all thoughts that I should be running right now or I should just push myself when what my body is really saying is to ease into this. And then all of a sudden, my body actually feels a physical eagerness to begin to run. So I run. And I stop when I want to and start again when I want to. Again and again. And when I start tripping over my pride when a biker or a car comes into view, I have to remind myself what this time is about. I have to remind myself, this isn't about losing weight or getting back into shape. Those will be added benefits. There will come a time to push myself, but not today. Today is about listening to my body, connecting with my dad, breathing and moving through my grief, and coming back to life.
I walk down a long stretch of road and pass a cemetery on my left. But I barely notice it because my eyes are feasting on the sun setting over the lake.

Do we ever really know our parents?

2006-03-17T23:27:00.000-08:00

I can't remember a single time my dad ever raised his voice. He was human though, he must have felt anger from time to time – was running his emotional outlet? I remember him crying twice as I was growing up and both times rocked my little world something fierce. The first time I saw my dad cry, it scared me so much I ran away from the dinner table. But when my dad became sick, he was a whole new man, he was free and open with his emotions, as if he was beyond the fears he had lived with his whole life. That must have felt so good to him. Towards the end, we cried on the phone together once. That's actually one of my favorite memories now – it was so raw and real and rare and redemptive. We didn't have many of those moments before he got sick.
I'm seeing more and more how I've become like my dad – so private and emotionally shutdown. It surprises me to see this. I never experienced my dad as an emotional person. Some of you who knew my dad before I did may be able to give me some insight into how he was back then. Was he ever emotional? Are there times you remember my dad angry? I don't know, maybe there was a switch for him or a shutting down. Or maybe he was always that way. For me, I know there has been a major change in me because up until the past 5 years, I've always been emotional. Shutting down is the opposite of who I want to be – the opposite of who I am! When I think about who I want to be (and hopefully who God is changing me into), I see myself as a butterfly or a wild flower – full of life and free with my emotions, free to give and receive and love and live wildly from my heart. That's who I feel I'm meant to be. I guess flowers have to grow before they bloom but right now I feel like a wilted flower. And even though I may not be a caterpillar anymore and I'm in the body of a butterfly, I don't fly. I don't show the colors on my wings. It's been so long that I don't know how to fly anymore. I don't try anymore. I feel much safer on the ground.
Was my dad's lack of emotion a protection for him? I don't remember him specifically talking about the fights between his parents - the yelling and pots and pans flying across the room - but I heard the stories from my mom. Did those fights just happen once or was it an ongoing thing? And I know a few of the scenes in my dad's life that hurt him deeply that he never seemed to get over. It's like one day he decided, I will never feel that scared again as I did as a little boy hiding behind the sofa while my parents fought. Or I will never be hurt or rejected again as I did when my girlfriend showed up at the school dance with another guy or when only a few of the classroom seats were filled when I taught a Sunday School class. Rather, he walked away from the dance and never spoke to the girl again. And he never taught a Sunday School class again.
I can see how shutting down has been a protection for me. But what am I protecting myself against? How have I refused to allow another to affect me? I was created sensitive and emotional and intense. I was created with such a depth to my emotions. I feel things so deeply. So what has happened to those feelings? I grew up feeling such a huge need for my dad. Such desperation and longing and pursuit... for what? I know my dad loved me. I always wanted more though... more of what? I just always felt this huge gaping need that I directed towards my dad. And yet as close as I wanted to be to him, I was even more scared of actually being close with him. I had a very ambivalent relationship with my dad. That seems to follow me into all of my relationships and in everything that I do. Was my dad ambivalent?
I couldn't ask directly from my dad what I wanted because for one, I didn't know myself what it was I wanted, and two, I was too scared of actually getting it (or of being hurt or rejected if I did risk to ask). Perhaps the huge gaping need should have been directed towards God rather than my dad. But instead, I directed it towards my first boyfriend. And I was deeply, deeply hurt in that relationship. I know I certainly limped away from that relationship making deals with the devil that I was never going to be that vulnerable again. I was never going to “love” that fiercely and give my heart away so completely like that again. So I involved myself in relationships with safe men – those who were also scared of intimacy, those who wouldn't require me to give much of my heart. And when a man came into my life who could potentially affect me deeply again, who could bring me healing and comfort, who wanted to truly know me and see me, well, I pushed that away. I froze up and shut down. I pushed and pulled – don't get too close but please, don't go away either.
And then, I went to grad school and was invited to enter into my own story more deeply (my heart and my pain) and allow others into those stories with me. I began to open up some of those doors that had been closed for so long. I stopped hanging out on the back porch waiting for those who were gone to return and instead started responding to the invitations at my front door. I stopped leaving my fence wide open for anyone and everyone to walk on in and tromp all over my rose bushes and liter all over my front lawn. I met Rob and was able to trust a little more and open my heart a little more and risk a little more. But then, my dad got sick and two months later he's dead.
And I'm back to square one. And now it's been four years. Four years of wondering, why am I so disconnected from my dad's death? Why do I feel like my life hasn't changed at all even though he's gone? Why have I not felt much of anything about his death? And now, if I were to open up that can of worms, what would come out? Yet, I'm finally at a place where it's worth it to me. Feeling dead and being stuck where I'm at is no longer ok with me. I want more. I want more for my marriage, for my counseling practice, for my relationships with family, friends, and God. I want more for my future, for the children I hope to one day have. I want more for me. I'm meant for more. I don't want to be on my deathbed before I realize and take in how loved I've been all these years. I don't want to wait until I'm dying to be able to express my feelings and give freely of my heart and my love. My dad was completely paralyzed and couldn't talk in the end, but as he was dying, he gave more of his heart and his love to me than he had while he was alive and well. I don't want to wait until everything is taken away from me – my health, my voice, my body, my life, my very breath. I want to begin today. Today, I will feel more in the moment and allow that to show on my face... even if, at first, I have to do it alone.

And what I keep coming back to, no matter how shut down I've become, God will not let me stay here. Without me knowing it, behind the scenes, he keeps fighting mightily for my heart. He's the One who's giving me desire for more and a heart for redemption and healing and life. And I'm so grateful for that. The battle is His and He's already won! If I truly believed that, I would live so differently, so fearlessly, so trustfully. So why am I still so scared to goto Him? How long has He been sitting on the beach, waiting for me to join Him? I know He's there; He keeps inviting me there. If I show up, would my dad be there too?

I miss you dad

2006-03-12T12:52:00.000-08:00

April 2, 2006 will mark the four year anniversary of my dad's death. At age 64 he died from brain cancer. Not one, not two, not three, but four tumors in his brain. For years they didn't make a sound. By the time he was diagnosed he was already in end stage. And died two months later.
When I think about my dad, I think about running. Running was his life. He ran and ran and ran - 5k's, 10k's, marathons, triathlons, Thanksgiving Day turkey trots. He ran in Chicago, Las Vagas, LA, Maryland, Pennsylvania, Michigan. He planned business trips and vacations around races. He ran until he had to use the walls to steady himself as he walked down the hallway to his bedroom. Then came a wheelchair and then, completely paralyzed, he lay in his bed or the hospital's bed or the hospice's bed and then, his coffin bed.
Four years and yet, it's still not real that he's gone or perhaps more so, the way that he left. It doesn't make any sense, as if one could talk sense into cancer.
When I think about my dad, I don't see him sick. I see him running or biking or during our summer vacations in Charlevoix, Michigan, watching the boats in the harbor, sipping coffee from 7-11. Or I see him in the evenings, at home in Maryland, after a long day at work, sitting in the living room, eating sardines and a glass of wine in front of the TV, watching Dan Rather on the evening news, or The Dick Van Dyke Show, or the Mary Tyler Moore Show, the Bob Newhart Show or the Andy Griffith Show. His favorites. Now, in my own TV room, in my own home, I watch the reruns and think about my dad.
When I think about my relationship with my dad, I think about running. I grew up running with my dad. And as all father-daughter relationships go, it wasn't without it's rollercoaster of emotions. I didn't always enjoy it. I didn't always want to spend time away from my friends to run with my dad; I didn't always want to get up early Saturday mornings to run races. And at the time, I didn't know it but looking back now I can see that I didn't have to. I thought I had to. But really, I wanted to. It was what we did, together. It was time with dad. So, I ran through middle school, through four years of high school cross country, through my college years, my first heartbreak, my eating disorder and too many sad relationships with boys. Then I moved to Seattle for grad school and me and my running shoes explored the city. And though my dad was on the east coast and I was on the west coast, it was still our thing, our connection.
Then my dad died. And I haven't run since. Sure, I've jogged a little here & there. I've tried to start up again here and there. But I haven't been able to stick to it. So now, many pounds heavier and totally out of shape, I guess you could call this grief. Or I should say, unexpressed grief. Grief I'm holding onto as a last attempt to hold onto my dad. So with this blog, I begin. I lace up my shoes, wear my dad's racing watch, and begin again, in hopes that this time, I stick with it. After all, it's still our connection. It always will be.

Back to running

2006-02-26T12:55:00.000-08:00

How did I get to this place? My face is that of the dead laying in a coffin: frozen, emotionless, lifeless. Can you see the fear, the anger, the sadness in my eyes? It's gotten worse lately, although Rob says I've always been a difficult person to read. That surprises me because I feel like everyone can see right through me, or at least that's what I'm afraid of. Is it true? Do you find me hard to read?
I wasn't always like this. Throughout middle school and high school, I was emotionally all over the place. I felt so out of control of my emotions and I hated that. When I laughed, when I cried, I was so embarrassed because I was so loud about it. With my Cross-Country friends I was known as “Little Miss Giggles” because I was always laughing, even on the starting line. I cried all the time too throughout middle and high school but usually alone at night in bed, listening to sad songs. But then, somewhere along the way, I went from crying alone to not crying at all. I went to feeling out of control of my emotions to completely controlling my emotions. It's like with an addiction where at some point, the addiction starts to control you. My control is now controlling me. That's why, last year when I got my wisdom teeth out, I wept when I was coming out of the anesthesia and it felt so good. I unabashedly wept... tears just rolling down my face and I didn't even try to wipe them away. I was completely free and out of control and I didn't care. It feels so good to be out of control like that. I wish I let myself be there more often.
So I've become an unreadable person. Laughter, I have no problem with. I laugh loud and hearty and that lights up my whole face. But anger and sadness, those emotions I don't know how to show on my face. I don't know how to let go and allow myself to feel those and express those and let others see that and be in that with me. I've been so afraid of letting others know how they affect me that now, no one can read me, including myself. I've lost connection to how I'm feeling when it comes to my anger and sadness. Why am I so afraid? I shock myself with how controlled I've become. And now, well, it's no wonder how shut down I am. This is what comes from controlling myself for all these years. Yet there has to be some outlet... when I'm so controlled with my emotions, there has to be another part of my self and my life that is out of control. It has to eek out somewhere. I'm out of control with my messiness and lack of organization – with the house and with my car. I'm out of control with my chronic lateness. I'm out of control with my procrastination and feeling stuck and not getting anything done like I want to.
When someone, like myself, is so controlled, there are issues of trust, powerlessness, anxiety, and unexpressed emotions of anger and grief. At the dinner table when I was a baby, and the youngest of four siblings, I had no trouble yelling out to make myself heard. I was rewarded for that – it was cute and I was enjoyed and given attention. Growing up, my mom was all about wanting me to be free to express my emotions and talk about my feelings but I guess I learned more from her actions and how she dealt with her own feelings than by what she told me to do. People who know my mom describe her as a stoic woman. I had no idea that one day people would describe me that way too.
So here I am. Buried alive next to my father, trying to find my way back to life. I lace up my running shoes and take it one mile at a time.