Apple of My Eye

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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.