My family and I have had a pretty tough run this winter. Yet, I know I am so blessed.
It is so weird to have a life event that just about every human being experiences (the obvious exception being one my husband has endured of a parent burying their child) and to discover that while you have observed it, and you thought you knew or could appreciate the experience, you really had no clue at all. That is how I feel this week with the death of my Dad. My husband Chuck lost his mom before we met (young) and I helped him through the death of his father. But, I didn't actually know. And, as I have previously confessed, I often struggle to capture the depth of certain emotions and experiences. So, I am not going to try to explain what it feels like -- because I have come to believe that until you have been here you really don't know. And what has also occurred to me is that you also will never know if how you feel is how others feel.
I use the word 'feel' intentionally. One of the things that is so surprising about grief is that it has a physical component. We think of it only in terms of emotions. But, I have had this vague sick to my stomach feeling since late Tuesday night in the Emergency Room. Now, is it possible I am queasy because I only got one hour sleep that first night and have had interupted sleep ever since? I guess so but this is a different kind of nausea. It is just this vague sensation that intensifies in certain moments that I really just might throw up. I find this interesting because I was very nauseaous during both my pregnancies and the night I got the results from my losing Congressional race I threw up (just one and done, but that has always stuck with me because it was such a surprise). In the last few days, I have actually welcomed the nausea as odd as that sounds because it gives me something physical to focus on. Kind of like how you are supposed to focus on your breath during yoga or meditation.
I have had so many contradictory and random feelings. Yesterday I realized (duh) that I am going to have to experience a competitive political campaign season without him. I. can. not. even. imagine. I went back and looked through our email correspondence and of course our last email was about Trump's impact on the GOP. I sent some quickly whipped off email about the latest event. He sent back a longer, thoughtful response in historical context. That was pretty much how it would go. But most of our interaction was not via email or writing.
My dad liked to speak weekly with his kids, and he followed a fairly rigid schedule in all he did. Tuesday was generally Call Day. He would say he knew how we were doing by the sound of our voice. As a mother of nearly grown children, I now know exactly what he meant. Blessedly, mine don't call at 2 am as teary-eyed drunks! But as so many of my co-conspirators have commented on FaceBook -- my dad knew what we were up to and always greeted all of them with a twinkle-in-the-eye smile. Recently, one of my friends from my Study Abroad program in Rome talked to me about how fascinated she was by my weekly Sunday trudge to an international calling operation -- with pockets full fo coins. I know this type of communication is unimaginable in today's world, but there were no cell phones or email. Even in my dorm room back in Hartford we had a land line that would ring pretty faithfully on Tuesdays.
My dad usually asked the same corny questions. Lately they were "Everything going well at work?" Before I met and married Chuck he would regularly ask "How are the boyfriend wars?" I could tell what part of my life he was worried about by which repetitive question was asked. And, like me, dad was easy to read. While he could tell how we were doing by our voice, I could similarly tell if he was worried about me. Sometime in the last decade or so, our roles slowly reversed and it was more me worrying about him and sheilding him from any real stress. He acknowledged this in our talks. He would say to me, "It is all on you now, I know how hard that is, but you are strong and you can do it."
While my Dad battled two terrible cancer diagnoses with miserable odds, he outperformed those odds by a ton. In part, he had access to unbelievably great care at Mass General's Yawkey Pavilion. (As an aside, the debate about Tom Yawkey's views on race was a non-starter with my Dad as he pretty much believed Yawkey's investment at MGH had a big role in beating his first stomach cancer and giving him an extra decade of life.) But he also refused, until the last morning, to believe he was going to die. At times this was a bit frustrating for my siblings and for me. When the end came -- blessedly for him -- fast and relatively pain free, we had not discussed lots of things in great detail. My brother John and I generally knew in broad strokes what he wanted and the four of us have always played pretty distinct roles in our family so it was easy to find our lanes. But when I had to decide on cremation or burial, which plot, songs for the service -- at first I was a little pissed. How could he have been that sick for so long and not have figured those things out and written them down or told me or someone. But then I remembered what he had told me -- "It is all on you now, I know how hard it is, but you are strong and you can do it." And I realized he had made those decisions for his parents and he knew we would make them well for him and he didn't feel any need to go there. Too many Red Sox scores to write in his journal, weather reports to record and seasons to observe. Great books to read.
A lot of people want to say that with the passing of the World War II and Baby Boomer generation that America's greatest days are behind her. But my dad didn't believe that. He saw the problems in our country and analyzed them and certainly worried over them. But he also was an optimist because he saw greatness in each of his children and in each of his grandchildren. He also lived a life of purpose - which is what he wanted for each of us.
It will be hard. I will draw on the strength he instilled in me. But yes, Dad, I will keep on living a life with the values you instilled in me, a life of purpose. And I am pretty sure, one of these days when I wake up, my stomach won't hurt quite so much.
It is so weird to have a life event that just about every human being experiences (the obvious exception being one my husband has endured of a parent burying their child) and to discover that while you have observed it, and you thought you knew or could appreciate the experience, you really had no clue at all. That is how I feel this week with the death of my Dad. My husband Chuck lost his mom before we met (young) and I helped him through the death of his father. But, I didn't actually know. And, as I have previously confessed, I often struggle to capture the depth of certain emotions and experiences. So, I am not going to try to explain what it feels like -- because I have come to believe that until you have been here you really don't know. And what has also occurred to me is that you also will never know if how you feel is how others feel.
I use the word 'feel' intentionally. One of the things that is so surprising about grief is that it has a physical component. We think of it only in terms of emotions. But, I have had this vague sick to my stomach feeling since late Tuesday night in the Emergency Room. Now, is it possible I am queasy because I only got one hour sleep that first night and have had interupted sleep ever since? I guess so but this is a different kind of nausea. It is just this vague sensation that intensifies in certain moments that I really just might throw up. I find this interesting because I was very nauseaous during both my pregnancies and the night I got the results from my losing Congressional race I threw up (just one and done, but that has always stuck with me because it was such a surprise). In the last few days, I have actually welcomed the nausea as odd as that sounds because it gives me something physical to focus on. Kind of like how you are supposed to focus on your breath during yoga or meditation.
I have had so many contradictory and random feelings. Yesterday I realized (duh) that I am going to have to experience a competitive political campaign season without him. I. can. not. even. imagine. I went back and looked through our email correspondence and of course our last email was about Trump's impact on the GOP. I sent some quickly whipped off email about the latest event. He sent back a longer, thoughtful response in historical context. That was pretty much how it would go. But most of our interaction was not via email or writing.
My dad liked to speak weekly with his kids, and he followed a fairly rigid schedule in all he did. Tuesday was generally Call Day. He would say he knew how we were doing by the sound of our voice. As a mother of nearly grown children, I now know exactly what he meant. Blessedly, mine don't call at 2 am as teary-eyed drunks! But as so many of my co-conspirators have commented on FaceBook -- my dad knew what we were up to and always greeted all of them with a twinkle-in-the-eye smile. Recently, one of my friends from my Study Abroad program in Rome talked to me about how fascinated she was by my weekly Sunday trudge to an international calling operation -- with pockets full fo coins. I know this type of communication is unimaginable in today's world, but there were no cell phones or email. Even in my dorm room back in Hartford we had a land line that would ring pretty faithfully on Tuesdays.
My dad usually asked the same corny questions. Lately they were "Everything going well at work?" Before I met and married Chuck he would regularly ask "How are the boyfriend wars?" I could tell what part of my life he was worried about by which repetitive question was asked. And, like me, dad was easy to read. While he could tell how we were doing by our voice, I could similarly tell if he was worried about me. Sometime in the last decade or so, our roles slowly reversed and it was more me worrying about him and sheilding him from any real stress. He acknowledged this in our talks. He would say to me, "It is all on you now, I know how hard that is, but you are strong and you can do it."
While my Dad battled two terrible cancer diagnoses with miserable odds, he outperformed those odds by a ton. In part, he had access to unbelievably great care at Mass General's Yawkey Pavilion. (As an aside, the debate about Tom Yawkey's views on race was a non-starter with my Dad as he pretty much believed Yawkey's investment at MGH had a big role in beating his first stomach cancer and giving him an extra decade of life.) But he also refused, until the last morning, to believe he was going to die. At times this was a bit frustrating for my siblings and for me. When the end came -- blessedly for him -- fast and relatively pain free, we had not discussed lots of things in great detail. My brother John and I generally knew in broad strokes what he wanted and the four of us have always played pretty distinct roles in our family so it was easy to find our lanes. But when I had to decide on cremation or burial, which plot, songs for the service -- at first I was a little pissed. How could he have been that sick for so long and not have figured those things out and written them down or told me or someone. But then I remembered what he had told me -- "It is all on you now, I know how hard it is, but you are strong and you can do it." And I realized he had made those decisions for his parents and he knew we would make them well for him and he didn't feel any need to go there. Too many Red Sox scores to write in his journal, weather reports to record and seasons to observe. Great books to read.
A lot of people want to say that with the passing of the World War II and Baby Boomer generation that America's greatest days are behind her. But my dad didn't believe that. He saw the problems in our country and analyzed them and certainly worried over them. But he also was an optimist because he saw greatness in each of his children and in each of his grandchildren. He also lived a life of purpose - which is what he wanted for each of us.
It will be hard. I will draw on the strength he instilled in me. But yes, Dad, I will keep on living a life with the values you instilled in me, a life of purpose. And I am pretty sure, one of these days when I wake up, my stomach won't hurt quite so much.
Beautifully said Jane. You are correct, people can't imagine the pain until they experience it. It is so very real both physically and emotionally. I don't care how old we are or how old they are it still hurts. Some people will say that you get over it. B.S. You get through it but you never get over it. You will find comfort in the craziest things. The first Red Sox home game will be tough and the next time the Pats decide to implode with 10 seconds left in the game you will hear your father screaming. As for election night, well that is a holiday event for many of us and you may find yourself going to pick up the phone to call him. It's bizarre to say the least.
ReplyDeleteYou will find strength is the memories and values that he taught you and although there will be a rush of emotion when you least expect it and in the strangest situations you will get through it and you will help your family get through it. That is what he taught you and that is what your faith continues to teach you. Peace and happy memories my friend.
Thank you. Yes, I am dreading Opening Day. And the Presidential Election. But, mostly I am just going to figure out today.
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