On Father's Day

A couple of people on my F-list have posted bits about their fathers or changed their profile pictures to reflect them.  It's interesting to read the status or see the pictures for a variety of reasons, some of which will undoubtedly become clearer as you read on.  Generally speaking, thoughts of my father make me smile and give me the warm happies that daddies are supposed to give their daughters, right?  That safe protected cherished sort of feeling?  Or am I off in fairytale land again?

I've got a great relationship with Dad.  I talk to him every night and I don't mind because he's a great listener.  And sometimes he even offers some decent advice.  I knew he was cheering for me when I was in the professional graduate student academic stage of my life.  He's been at every major event in my life from the time I was little; hell, he probably would have been in the delivery room if that had been done back when I was born.  I go to him with problems and he helps me work through them; sometimes, I suspect, exerting a bit of his will (or would that be Will?) to make them work out for the best.  I know I can count on him, one of the few people in my life I honestly know that about without any doubt.

Sounds like a pretty good thing, right?  The kind of relationship you wished you had with your father?  There's a trick to it; a secret if you will.  And it's a bit extreme if you're thinking you'll try anything for that sort of relationship.

What's the secret?

You see, Daddy's been gone since 1979.  May 25 to be exact.  Oh, I don't mean he left Mom and me (though I sometimes suspect Mom felt abandoned) or that he and Mom got a divorce.  No, it's a bit more extreme than that.  He died.  I was two and a half.

Even so, everything I wrote above is completely true.  Some of you have seen it in action.

I talk to him, Lord, do I talk to him! Sometimes even in the presence of others.  My mom saw it all the time, sometimes accompanied by a "Dad, she's driving me insane.  Would you please do something?"  He probably wishes I'd shut up sometimes.  I can see him somewhere with my Nanny and now my mom, grumbling about how I only seem to bug him.  Well, he's been available the longest.  I've done it since I was a pre-teen if not since he died.  I honestly can't remember when I started.  For the record, I have very odd memories as it is.  I can remember things much farther back than research would suggest I should be able to.  I can remember seeing Daddy in the hospital before he went into surgery and I vaguely remember the funeral.  I remember doing some things with him, like going out for breakfast and sitting on the counter at Bea's Cafe.  After the funeral I have a gap until I'm about four or five, around the time it's suggested that memories really start being formed or perhaps being recalled.  The early memories aren't like normal memories; they are more like snapshots out of time.  The content is there but the emotion is absent.  I know I'm happy to be at breakfast with Daddy only because I can see a grin on my face in the mirror over the bar.  My theory is that I had no real notion of how to label emotion when I was that young.  What child can describe the concept of fear or of desperation or of happiness?  Do you need a knowledge of it to encode it into your memories?  Perhaps.

But I do talk to him every night.  I talk to my grandmother (Nanny) and Mom almost as often too but like I said, I've been talking to Daddy the longest.  How do I know he's listening?  I just do.  It's a feeling I have, the same feeling you have when you know someone's standing right at your shoulder, you can just tell.  I've done it nearly since I can remember.  I talk "to myself" a decently good bit, but a lot of it is a (sometimes) one-sided conversation with Dad.  Explaining something that's happened or telling him a story or sharing a memory.  (I like to think he's polite enough not to hang around for some things.)  Every once in a while I'll even get this sudden flash of thought, something I wouldn't necessarily think, or something that doesn't feel like it came from me.  Maybe a question while I'm talking or maybe an idea when I'm working something out through my own personal version of talk therapy.  I just figure it's Dad, adding his two cents in the best way he can.

I know he was at my college graduation.  Nothing you say to me will convince me otherwise.  He was standing between my mother and my cousin Tony right above my godparents.  I saw him, just as a flash, a sensory input that didn't quite compute with the rest of my brain, just for a split second.  But it's enough for me to know he was there, sharing with my mom one of the milestones of their only child; his only child in three marriages, which I pointed out to one of his aunts when he asked which wife my mother was.  I can only assume from this he was at all the other events as well--high school graduation, my Nanny's funeral, my induction into the honors society in high school.  He probably endured high school speech events just like every other parent; only he had an easier time getting from room to room.

I've come to rely on that quiet presence I sometimes feel.  Not all the talking I do is just idle chit-chat either.  I learned a while ago that Dad is great at finding things I've lost.  He's found my cell phone, my airline itinerary, my Mother's bias tape, friends' medication, driver's license, credit cards, keys.  He's found lost billfolds, sympathy cards (not his), and misplaced papers.  I've gone to him when I'm worried about outcomes and want as much help as I can get.  I talked to him about grad school, about dealing with Mom, now about money and cars and apartments and new jobs.  No, I don't believe he can change anything but I'm not quite so sure he, or anyone who has died, can't help out in some ways, even as intermediaries or interceders on our behalf.  After all, we used to say that Nanny had a direct line to God when she was alive.  I figure the line just got a whole heck of a lot shorter now.

Dad's even got a knack for electronics.  He started my mom's car once or twice when she was having problems with it before it died completely.  And he always opens the locks when I ask him (not always nicely either I should be ashamed to admit.)  Oh, and he used to change the channel on my TV when I was fourteen and watching Days of Our Lives too.  Usually during the good bits--and no I don't mean the subtle exposition on life's trials experienced when your lover gets amnesia and forgets that she's married to another man but secretly having an affair with you.  I mean the really good parts.  Seems Dad didn't think I should be watching that.  How do I know he did that?  Well obviously I can't prove it but after about the twentieth time it happened and I had to get up out of the nice comfy chair and walk across the room to put the old console TV back on "2" I was most annoyed.  The twenty-first time it happened I changed the channel back, put my hands on my hips, looked up at his "corner" (I always have a corner of any room where I direct comments I make to him. It’s not the same corner in every room either.), and said in what was probably my best long-suffering teenager voice "Daddy would you please stop doing that?! Mom says it’s okay!"  Never happened again.  Ever.  Finally a parent who listens to their teenage daughters!

All this is not to say that life with daddy has been all sunshine and roses.  I've gone through the process of grief over and over since he's died.  He, and my relationship with him, is the basis for much of my views on life after death.  I know he's here.  I know this isn't the end of my existence as it wasn't the end of his.  And if my mother's dream after he died can be believed, I know there is a heaven of sorts and what it looks like.  I take a quiet sort of strength from the knowledge that I am not alone, no matter how alone it seems.

Still though, it is difficult to have never really had a father.  It brings up all sorts of questions and quandaries in the dark when I think deep thoughts about why I am how I am.  Does my insecurity stem from deep-seated abandonment issues that I haven't even begun to realize?  I sometimes wonder if my knack for picking not-so-great men (Phil, of course, is an exception!) comes from not really having a consistent male influence in my life, though heaven knows Mom tried to provide it and a neighbor tried his best to be a second father to me.  (His death, ten years and one day after Dad's, devastated me as well.)  I've never really seen a marriage because of Dad's death, not the daily give and take that goes into making one work.  Will that affect me later in life if I try to have my own marriage?  Undoubtedly it will but by how much?  How much social information am I missing, or misguided on, because of his absence?  What male secrets am I not privy to because I didn't have a father growing up?  Am I looking for a father-figure to replace the one I lost or will my eventual male partner be a real husband?

I look at myself in the mirror and wonder where he is in me.  Do I have his eyes? his hair? his skin?  Probably on the last since I am much fairer complexted than my mother.  What parts of me did he contribute?  What personality traits can I thank him (or blame him) for?  Does my at times obsessive personality come from him?  My stubborn streak?  Where is he in me?  Will what killed him eventually kill me?  Do I have his grin?  The curl of his hair?  His laugh, his intellect, his height, his drive?  I never got a chance to really know since I learned of my father through snippets of stories told by my mother and my family as I was growing up.  I still enjoy, and sometimes long, to hear stories about him as others knew him, something that has gotten much harder now that Mom's passed as well.  The man he was alive is not the father I know dead after all.  Some days I'd give anything for another minute, another second with him.  I don't remember what it feels like to have him hold me or what his voice sounds like.  I can't remember his laugh or what he smelled like.  You don't really know those things are important until you know you don't know.  My nanny's voice might be faded now, six years after her death, but it is there.  I've got Mom's on my computer, ripped off of a voicemail that was still on my cell phone.  But his is indistinct, a virtual reconstruction of what he might sound like based only on random bits not hard fact.  I think I almost have it but I'm never quite sure.  Did I ever know?

So yeah, I've got a good relationship with my dad.  I just wish one of us didn't have to be dead for it to happen.

Mother's Day 2011

Mom, smiling.  

It's Mother's Day again.  Last year, coming so soon after Mom's passing, was brutal.  This one is painful in its own way but it doesn't cut quite so deep as last year did.  The anniversary of her death was cold and blustery and I was alone but that was what I wanted.  Today is bright, temperate.  I can see the wind rustle the leaves slightly and this too is okay.  This is a day she would have appreciated.  How clear and blue the sky is.  How chirpy the birds are.

I am sad to admit that I didn't make as much of a fuss over Mother's Day as I should have.  When I was working the night before I'd stop and bring breakfast; something I knew she'd like.  We'd eat together before I went home and went back to bed so I could work again that night.  Mostly I'd remember a card; for the year I was here and she was in Iowa I'm sure I called.  I'd love to be able to call her now.  Find one of those sappy cards that made me tear up in the store and would do the same to her especially after my wonderfully worded and moving letter.

I don't really remember Mother's Days past.  I remember plans for them, if you can believe that!  I remember my Aunt Jean taking me all over Independence to find a gift for her probably more than one year.  But the year I remember we ended up going to Williams' store (I think it was Williams store!), the one across from Security State Bank.  I think I bought fabric or something silly like that but I couldn't honestly tell you.  All I remember is being out with Aunt which felt so grown up and buying something I thought Mom would like.  And I'm sure she did if only because we took the time to find it.

Perhaps that's why we never went really big on Mother's Day though.  We spent so much time together, talking, laughing, watching TV, shopping, eating--you get the idea--that we didn't really need another day that said we had to spend time together.  We did it anyway because we loved each other.  She was my best friend.  So many times now I wish I could pop over and ask her about something or other, get her advice, have her retell me a story.  (It's amazing how many stories I remember only part of but I know she'd remember all of it.)

Sure, I've got other mothers still.  I'm going to see some of them tomorrow when I head back to Iowa to hopefully, finally, finish the business of her dying.  My Aunt has always been the best of both worlds for me: part mother, part best friend.  Cathy, my (non-fairy) godmother, that I always think of with joy and smiles because she's always brought that to me.  Katie, my Other Mom, who I think has taken over the worrying part of the mom-duties now that mine isn't here to do that anymore.  Phil's mom, Barb, who has taken to me better than I have any right to ask a mother-in-law type person.  But they aren't my mom.  No one is quite like your mom.  Our own special snowflakes, each unique, each a little sharp, multifaceted, with a crystallized sort of wisdom (am I taking the metaphor too far do you think?).

Two of my moms: My mom and my godmother

I'll stop by and see my mom Tuesday or so when I'm in Iowa..  My daddy too since getting back up to there for Father's Day is probably about as likely as my winning the lottery and he's right next door after all.  It won't be the same.  The conversation is a bit one sided now.  And the seating isn't nearly as comfortable as her big old couch.  But I'll be happy to be there so close to Mother's Day all the same.

If you can, stop by and see your mom today.  If not, call.  I know it doesn't necessarily seem like a big thing now but take it from me, one day you'll be sitting at home on this day and wishing you could make that call just one more time.  And if, like me, you're in this all too awful club no one wants to be a member of, you aren't alone.  You aren't the only one missing them today.  And I'll be thinking of you just like I'm thinking of her.

Happy Mother's Day.

The Introductory Type Post

Over the last little bit I realized that some of the things I write I'd like to share with more of my friends and family than just me.  My paper and pen journal is nice and I love writing in it and reading it but sometimes you just want feedback.  Now I have other online journals but those aren't for public viewing really, at least not for everyone I know, let alone everyone and their mothers, brothers, sisters, next door neighbors, and pet sitters.  But a blog I could use to share with a wider cross section of my friends and family seemed reasonable.

And so, here it is.  I don't know how often I'll use it but I'm sure I'll use it some.  Case in point, the post that started this all, the one about Mom from a couple days ago.  I thought some of my family members might appreciate it and this seemed the easiest way to disseminate it.

One Year On (Now with pictures!)

The last "good" picture I have of Mom.  September 2008.

Today's the day.  I can't believe it's been a year already.  It seems like just yesterday I was running errands to craft stores and grocery stores because Mom needed "just one thing" wherever it was I was going.  Or grousing about late night phone calls at work.  Heck, grousing about multiple phone calls a day.  Now I wish my phone would ring with that number one more time or I could send a text message to her at 3 AM when I'm exhausted at work and no one else is awake.

Me and Mom in October of 2007

I'm trying very hard to not give the date power.  To consider it as just another day, no matter how terrible that day was.  I know that in a few years it will be less painful than it is now.  Less fresh.  One day perhaps I'll even have to stop and think about what date it fell on (though the fact it's the day after tax day may help with that.)

For now though I thought I'd share some stories about Mom.  She was always quick with a story or a joke.  It was one of the reasons going out to eat with her took much longer than dinner out ever does now.  I miss those long lingering times spent over food even though I can remember times I would have loved to light a fire under her and get her moving.  Two of my best friends would join us for lunch at our favorite (and now closed) Mexican buffet around noon, sometimes 11; soon it would be 2:30 and Hollie would be looking at her watch with a startled "Mom! I have to go!  I've got to pick up the kids from school."  Time seemed to slow down when you were listening to her stories.

Mom and Katie in September of 2007

Speaking of my best friends, man, she had one of them, Jake, wrapped around her little finger.  Hollie and I wanted something?  We might get it.  She wanted something.  "Sure Mom no problem.  Be right there."  And she was the same way with him.  He wanted something?  He'd have it.  The only thing she wouldn't do for him was go to the doctor.  Or the hospital.

We were out for breakfast one morning when Mom was still working and we'd stopped at IHOP.  A group of women were seated behind us so that Hollie and Jake could see them but my back and mom's was to them.  Now Jake is black and all the rest of us are white; not that this matters one bit but it is important to the story because at times when we'd be out we'd hear comments alluding to it.  Apparently we were an odd grouping to the rest of the world.  Go figure.  Anyway, this particular day the whispers started soft but they didn't stay that way.  Apparently quiet wasn't carrying them far enough for everyone in the general area to hear.  Mom had enough after a few minutes.  She turned around in her chair, looked at whichever one was currently speaking, and asked quite loudly if she had a problem with her son.  The look of shock on the woman's face was priceless.  His "Moms, leave it, it's okay" only added to the confusion of the other table.  We finished our meal in peace.  Hardly heard a peep from that table for the little bit longer we were there.

I've been sitting here listening to the wind, trying to think of a really funny story involving Mom because she loved to laugh.  That was the best part of life, laughing.  I remember her crying of course, especially the last night, but she rarely did it.  Mostly I remember her laughing.  So the fact that it's been hard for me to think of something really funny surprises me.  Perhaps it's that memories are harder to pull up on command at times like this.  I'm sure I've thought of stories during this past year that would make me smile or laugh.  Others have stories of her like that.  One of my coworkers always tells how anytime she worked with Mom down on the ward Mom would always lean out the med room window sometime during the night and ask "Would you like fries with that?"  The window is the slide open kind that fast food drive thrus often have.  It never failed to make my coworker laugh.

Mom being funny.  I love this picture because you can see my Aunt Jean in the mirror.

One story I remember right now, which probably isn't one of the funniest I'm sure since it only involves my mom and the really funny ones usually involved my aunt or my godmother (or all 3!), happened while we were shopping in Dubuque at the mall there.  We had gotten all dressed up so I'm assuming that it was my nanny's birthday and we actually had taken her to "Timmerman's in Dubuque" which is where she always said she wanted to go, mostly because it was so far away I think.  That had gotten to be an inside joke with the family.  But we were there for whatever reason and it was a different mall which means it needed to be explored at least a little.  We're women, shopping is in our blood.  We were walking along one of the concourses when I felt a little nudge on my back and heard a sort of "go faster" type noise.  We were heading in the direction of where we'd left Nanny sitting and we doubled timed it there I think.  By the time we reached her Mom was giggling in near hysterics and I was completely confused!  I hadn't seen or heard anything that funny on our trip around the mall.  Nanny was just as perplexed so Mom caught her breath and told us what had happened.  It seems that her half slip had started to shift while we were walking and she had been pulling it up as covertly as she could with an eye toward finding a bathroom so she could either re-situate it or remove it completely.  But the mall was short on bathrooms or they were rather well disguised because she didn't see one.  Eventually the fighting with the half-slip got to be too much and around the time I felt the little nudge Mom decided that the area was sparsely populated enough to just let go and walk right on out of it.  And then she just kept walking.  I can only imagine the confusion of anyone near us when it happened!  Or anyone that wandered across a piece of fabric in the middle of a mall's hallway.  We left the mall shortly after that, Mom and Nanny still giggling and I'm sure with me looking scandalized as only a teenager can.

I really wish Mom had written down some of the stories she had from her years as a psych nurse.  Some of them were so hysterical I laughed every time I heard them.  Some of them I'd ask to have her tell just because I loved them so much.  Like the story about the man that was apparently an escape artist.  They had to isolate him one day and they'd been having to do it over and over for a while.  Finally they got him settled and he stayed for a bit.  Not real long but long enough for the staff to get mostly away from the area and back about their duties.  I have no idea if he was in restraints (I'd doubt it) or  seclusion (seems more likely) or if they simply wanted him away from other patients but it wasn't too long until Mom and one of her aides turned around to see the gentleman in question coming down the hallway, naked as a jaybird, with a bouquet of artificial flowers erupting (if you'll pardon the pun) out of the top of his more private parts.  I can only imagine the reaction!  So festive!  Mom was never quite sure where he'd found the flowers and she damn sure didn't want to know how he managed to insert them there but I loved hearing about it.  She could make just about any story funny.

My favorite picture of Mom and Cathy.  I refer to this as their "natural look."

The weather here is cold and blustery.  Lots of wind.  Overcast.  We had to have rain at some point and I'm sure we will again.  It's like even the Universe is crying that she isn't here anymore.  The weather fits my mood nicely.  I don't know that I could have managed sunshine and spring breezes today.  But I can still hear the birds chirping and singing so I know at least there's hope for tomorrow.  Warmer weather, lighter breezes, even some sunshine I hope.  And there's hope for the day after that.  And the one after that.  Time will heal.  Seasons will pass.  And I'll keep remembering her and sharing stories.  Because life is all about the laughter.