A Graduation, A Birthday, Some Tissues... Oh My!

Tomorrow marks two significant milestones for me. One is that I will witness my beautiful, sweet, brilliant, funny and genuinely remarkable baby girl "graduate" from elementary school.  The other is that tomorrow would have been my Father's 69th birthday.  Both bring me to tears just thinking about them.


I have attempted to prepare myself for these events, but even as I type this, I am reduced to a sniveling snotty mess.  I am not sure why the thought of my baby moving on to middle school has affected me so profoundly.  It is not solely because it means that she is growing up and there's not a danged thing I can do about it.  Don't get me wrong, that bothers me immensely, but that is not the only reason.  But the real reason seems intangible... inexplicable.  Is it because I know that there are challenges and difficultly on the horizon for her? That there are going to be lessons that she will need to learn that I simply cannot teach? Is it because I can no longer fix all the boo boos with a Mommy's kiss?  I do look forward to continuing to watch her grow and develop into a beautiful young woman.  I will always do the most that I can do to give her every opportunity and all the support that she needs to fulfill all of her limitless potential.  When you meet someone, get starry eyed, fall in love and decide to have a baby, no one tells you about this part of being a Mother.  Yes, midnight feedings are hard. Yes, changing diapers is hard.  But no one tells you how hard it is to suddenly turn around and be confronted with pomp and ceremonious proof that your little baby is growing up.

If my Father were here, he would most certainly be sitting with us tomorrow for this graduation from elementary school.  He would clap and smile and be just as proud as any Grandfather in that crowd could be.  And he would say that watching it would be a wonderful birthday present.  I miss him tremendously.  There is still a vast chasm of grief and sadness at his loss.  There are not many moments of the day that are not tinted with the color of that sorrow.  I wish that he were still here to celebrate his birthday.  I would make him fettuccine alfredo, Mom would make a cake, the kids would decorate it and light the candles.  He would blow them out and probably wish for something selfless and for his family.  We would stand in the car port and watch the babies run back and forth and remark at how amazing they are and he would scoop them each up and give them kisses and try to make them laugh.  And they would.  And I would give anything in the world to be able to hear that sound tomorrow.  Because birthdays around here are about family.  So tomorrow instead of all that, our family with gather in the chapel where Dad's ashes are kept safe and we will wish him a very, very Happy Birthday.

I will blow a candle out tomorrow in honor of my Dad's birthday and hope all his wishes for our family come true, starting with a certain baby girl's fifth grade graduation.

These Girls...

Smells and Sunsets

Yesterday on my drive home, I passed a landscape supply company and the earthy, rich smell of wood chips and mulch reminded me of Dad.  It was like a punch in the stomach and it took me the rest of my ride home to recover.

Then after dinner my daughter and I went for a bike ride on a path along a little stream not far from my house.  As I was pedaling on the footbridge that crosses the stream, I saw the sunset reflected on the water, and I knew that Dad was with me.

Happy Mother's Day

A Sonnet for My Incomparable Mother  I often contemplate my childhood, Mom.
I am a mother now, and so I know
Hard work is mixed together with the fun;
You learned that when you raised me long ago. I think of all the things you gave to me:
Sacrifice, devotion, love and tears,
Your heart, your mind, your energy and soul--
All these you spent on me throughout the years. You loved me with a never-failing love
You gave me strength and sweet security,
And then you did the hardest thing of all:
You let me separate and set me free. Every day, I try my best to be
A mother like the mom you were to me. By Joanna Fuchs

As I lounge in bed sipping coffee and nibbling breakfast pastries with my baby beside me, I am reflecting on Motherhood.  My Mother was the most incredible example for me.  She is patient, generous, loving, strong, capable, caring, and all the words in the world that equal the feeling you get from a warm hug from your Mom.  I love my Mother for all the gifts that she has given and all the lessons that she has taught me in my life.  I know that letting me live my life and make my own mistakes was so hard for her, but being the Mother that she is, she let me.  Then when it was time, she was always there to pick me up, dust me off and help me find the right way.  As a Mother now, I know that I have a lot of hard work ahead of me, but I am so thankful and grateful that I have my Mother beside me to help me along the way.

I love you, Mom. 

Okay... So Now What?

As I sit in the warm Spring sunshine on my deck this morning I realize it is quiet, beautiful and the day is full of promise.  Naturally, I have been thinking about the loss of my Father, and how much of an adjustment it has been.  But not in the big, obvious, "my Father passed away" ways, but in the small, subtle ways that I never thought of before.  The way that I have to carefully change my words when I talk to my Mom and ask her if she lost power during the storms, instead of "did you guys" lose power.  The way that a picture in my living room catches my eye and I realize that I will never see that sideways glance my Dad gave us when someone was saying something he thought was a little crazy.

So now what?  All the out of town guests are gone, the services and ceremony are over, the food is consumed, and life is supposed to go back to "normal".  But it's not normal.  It's very, very different.  I know that I am not the only person to have ever lost a parent, but I am having trouble figuring out what the new "normal" is.  I feel like all of us are smothering my Mother, because this has to be indescribably difficult for her.  But part of that is our way of coping also.  It is not that we feel her incapable of doing things for herself, my Mother is the single most capable woman that I know.  But if we can do something around the house to make the absence of Dad easier, that is what we do.  I have never, ever cut the grass at my own house, but I find myself being more than willing to do so at hers, although my brother seems to have that completely under control... (Except, now that I think about it, I don't think he cuts his own his grass, either!)

The next two months, in particular, will be very hard for us.  Mother's Day, my birthday, Father's Day and his birthday are coming up.  His loss will be profound during these times.  I knew, but never comprehended, what a monumentally huge part of my life my Father's presence was.  I think of him so often and see him everywhere I look. I know that he, his influence in my life, and me as a person will be felt always.  I just hope that it doesn't ache like this forever.

Writer's Block

The next two days will probably be the hardest two days of my life so far.  I have had a couple days to get ready, but I could not feel more unprepared.  Really... how does one prepare to say their final goodbyes to a parent?

My Mom asked me to write down some things about Dad to give to the Chaplin performing his funeral service so that he will know what kind of man Dad was.  I have been sitting here thinking and I am having a lot of trouble completing this task.  Not because I am unable to come up with many, many wonderful reasons that my Father was a tremendous man, but because I cannot come up with the right words to properly express what I want to say.  The words just don't say enough... they just don't seem adequate, there are no words big enough to relay to someone who did not know Dad personally what a great man he was.  It is a rare moment when I am at a loss of words, but that is where I find myself right now.

I wish you were here, Dad, to tell me that the words don't matter.  That anyone who knew you already knows that there are no words to describe you.  You were amazing.  And I miss you.

June 15, 1942 - April 11, 2011

A lifetime. My Father's lifetime. Today, my Family stood surrounding my Father and watched as he slipped quietly into eternal rest.  I am at peace with it because I know that he is now at peace and there will be no more suffering for him.

I held his hand, and remembered the times he held mine.  I remembered all the things he built with those hands and the gentle care they took of my Mother when she was sick, and my baby when she was small.  I touched his feet, and remembered all the miles he has walked.  I remembered the steps those feet took in rhythm with mine as he walked me down the aisle on my wedding day.  I touched his legs, once muscular and powerful, and remembered the ladders he climbed to fix things, or to retrieve a wayward basketball stuck on the roof.  I touched his arms, and remembered how they hugged me every time I saw him.  I remembered how he would cross them across his chest when he was standing and getting ready to tell a long story.  I touched his face and remembered all the smiles and laughter that seemed always present when he was around.  I touched his chest, that held the biggest heart of anyone I have ever known.  The heart that held all that is good and meaningful in the world and that overflowed with love for his Wife, his Children, his Grandchildren, his Family and his Friends.

My Father's lifetime did not end today.  He will live on for many more lifetimes because a man like my Father will never truly die- he lives on in us.  In every hand we hold, every decision we make, every hug we give our children, every smile and every step we take. 

Rest peacefully now, Dad.  I love you.

André Paré

June 15, 1942 - April 11, 2011