The loss of a parent. This resonated with me.

"It is not just about the desire of the living to resuscitate the dead but about the ways in which the dead drag us along into their shadowy realm because we cannot let them go. So we follow them into the Underworld, descending, descending, until one day we turn and make our way back."

An excerpt appears in The New Yorker Magazine
Story's End - Writing a Mother's Death
by Meaghan O'Rourke

Damn that's good writing. I couldn't have said it better myself. A woman writes about her mother's death from Cancer.

Reading this brought me back to the days of driving my dad to doctor's appointments, when he was diagnosed with Bladder Cancer, radiation treatments, chemo, days spent in the hospital by his bedside...all of those memories came bubbling up to the surface.

It all happened so fast. He was dead a year after being diagnosed with Cancer. I'm still digesting and going over every detail in my mind, as if I could have averted what happened in the end - my dad dying.

There are days I am driving home and I get this pang in my chest that reminds me that I haven't seen my dad in awhile and that I should go see him. Pay him a visit. It happens all in a split nanosecond. That's when it hits me that I can't see my dad because he's dead.

It's been 8 months since my dad died. I still find myself in tears just about everyday at random moments of the day. There are times when I feel like he's with me. Times I'm driving by myself with the radio on and I swear it feels like he's sitting next to me in the passenger seat (just like all those times I drove him out to the VA Hospital). Or the time I was teaching my 5 year old daughter how to ride a bike. I felt his presence with us and was so sad he couldn't be there alive to see it. My daughter was in tears when she rode by me and said, "I miss Grandpa. I wish he didn't die." She felt it too.

That metaphor of following the dead into the Underworld and descending and descending is so dead on. My loved one died. He was my father. The first hurt was when his mind was going, the second when his physical body died. It's unthinkable to let him go. I'm the keeper of his memories. The last one who can prove he existed and tell you how much he meant to me. I can't abandon him. So I keep following him, while looking back the way I came. How much further before I have to turn back?

And the pain continues.

I miss my dad's voice, I miss him saying my name and his laughter and his jokes, and his warm, bear hugs. I even miss the feel of the stubble on his cheeks. I miss that he's not here to see his granddaughter grow (something that made him happy - He loved being a Grandpa). I read a blog post from a number of years back when my dad told me that he hoped he would live long enough for my daughter (his granddaughter) to remember him. And I know he hung on for as long as he did for us kids (my brother & I).

I'll follow you for as long as I can Dad, yet I know at some point I'll have to turn and make my way back. It doesn't mean I love you any less. And it will pain me to do so. The one comfort I have is knowing I will see you again when it's my time. We will hold hands like we always did and I'll have no reason to be afraid.

1776-1976 U.S. "BiCentennial" Quarter

I've been finding a lot of 1976 bicentennial quarters lately. I hadn't seen one in years and now less than a year after my dad's death I've come across several of them. And each one holds a memory of my dad.

"Hold onto those. One day they'll be worth a lot of money," my dad would tell me when I was a kid. So I did. Every single one I came across I wouldn't spend it. I'd save it and put it with my collection.

(Coin collecting was a hobby we both enjoyed and would sit for hours with a magnifying glass sorting through coins together, filling up our blue books.)

So now as a 37 year old woman, my dad dead and buried, in less than a week I've come across 3 of these rare quarters that I hadn't seen in ages - and each time I thought of my dad and tears came to my eyes. I stored them away. Just like the memories of him that I keep close to my heart.

It's been 8 months since my dad died and I'm still heartbroken. I miss him. Little signs that trigger memories of him make me happy & hurt so bad. I still find myself with tears streaming down my face thinking about my dad.

I see this quarter. I smile. I think of my dad. I cry because I miss him. And I continue to cry because it's such a big loss. In more ways than I could ever imagine when he was living. And I cry even harder because I still love him very much as my life continues without him.

I love you dad. And those 1976 quarters will always remind me of you. Thank you for that memory.

Memories of Dad that make me smile & cry

I do a lot of thinking & remembering Dad when I'm driving by myself. Little random memories about him that make me smile and cry.

• The time Dad bought an outrageously expensive "perfect" Christmas tree that I had my heart set on at the Christmas tree lot.
• All the times Dad went with me to get my car serviced and tires changed. He didn't mind paying that $500 bill b/c he knew I would be safe on the street.
• Dad telling me to relax and take a "snooze". (I tell my daughter to do the same. Just saying the word "snooze" reminds me of Dad.)
• Falling asleep while watching the game with my dad. (Football, Baseball, Basketball, and yes even Bowling.)
• Dad "the tooth fairy" kept all my baby teeth in his bathroom medicine cabinet.
• Halloween's past when my dad would take us trick or treating and walk behind us kids, so we could be with our friends and have fun, yet he'd be there if any older kids tried to start trouble.
• Dad always kept a room in his house for me, even years after I moved out and he purchased a different home that I had never lived in, so I could always have a room to come home to.

Epiphany

Following my dad's death, I realized he was the piece that held my family together. It's strange how you can go your whole life consciously unaware of the obvious. It's only since my dad's death that this empty void remains, where once his presence was that connecting fibre.

Not only that, but my dad was the family historian. He always talked about the past and tried to tell me about our family, my ancestors. It's a shame I never wrote anything down. I went to visit my Uncle (my dad's younger brother) a month after the funeral and asked him some questions about our lineage and who was related to who and about sibling order, etc. I had a pen and pad in hand to jot everything down. Unfortunately I found out that part died with my dad. My Uncle said my dad was the one who knew and remembered all that stuff.

If there's any good to come out of all this, it's that I had an epiphany. I had been looking to other people in the family to be that connecting fibre, including my own mother. I was sorely disappointed. It was only in the process of my healing that I realized I didn't have to look anymore, because I had stepped up into that role in my own family, connecting the 3 of us - myself, my husband and my daughter.

And as for history, once my daughter is old enough to appreciate & take part, I would like to trace back and document a family tree/lineage for her on both sides of her family, so she will know where she came from.

Being prepared for my dad's death

I had thought I was prepared for my dad's death. What I realized only recently was:

My head was prepared. My heart wasn't.

My child's deduction about getting old & death

A couple months after my dad died, my 5 year old daughter told me she didn't want to grow up to be an adult; that she wanted to be a kid forever. When I asked her why, I was floored when she said, "Because if I grow up, you're going to get old and die just like Grandpa." She burst into tears. She told me she always wants to be with me.

We've had many discussions about how death is a natural part of the cycle of life. All living things die. Yet I also reassured her that I exercise and eat healthy and live healthy and do all the things I can to live as long as I can. That I want to see her grow up to become a woman, and to have my grandchildren and to see my great grandchildren grow up. I want to be around for as long I can be with her. And when I say that - I really want to be there for her.

My kid and I have a special bond. I hope that we will always be close. I try to be as honest as I can with her, about my beliefs, about life, and all the while letting her know I love her unconditionally and want the best for her. Of course I hope to be a really old woman when my end comes, yet even then there will be pain caused by my death.

I don't have all the answers. I'm just trying my best. When my time comes I can only hope that she'll know her mother loved her very much.

A found momento from my dad

I was recently cleaning out the garage and in a bin with my records, I found a manila envelope addressed to me from my father, in his handwriting and return address printed on it. He must have sent me some auto insurance information years back to a former L.A. home address of mine.

My heart leapt when I saw his handwriting. Big printed letters, in all capital letters, in my dad's distinct handwriting. Tears swelled up in my eyes. I don't know why I kept the empty envelope, but it was like receiving a gift. Previous to this I had been searching for a past e-mail from my dad with no luck. I'd been so quick to delete or toss things out after reading them. This envelope I'd held onto for years. Just looking at his handwriting brought back so many memories of my dad.

I put the envelope aside, in a silver bowl for safe keeping while I continued to clean out the garage.

Later the envelope was gone. My housekeeper must have seen the empty envelope and thought it was trash, tossing it out with the garbage. For a split second I was sad, yet I realized such is life. It was tragic and comical. Life happens. Stuff gets tossed out by mistake. She couldn't have known what that envelope meant to me. And life does go on regardless if we're ready or not.

My dad appeared in a dream

My dad finally appeared in a dream of mine, nearly 3 months after his death. I've heard from others that when a loved one appears in your dream it can be comforting. Then again, my mom dreamt of my dad constantly after he died and she was afraid. In her dreams he was laughing and joking and she thought somehow he was going to pull her to the other side.

Luckily in my dream it was a positive one. My dad appeared to me in my dream as a ghost. I knew that he had died. I cried. We held hands.

I woke up and immediately told my husband I dreamt of my dad. When he asked me what happened in the dream, I was still groggy and answered, "It's complicated."

I was so happy to see him, even if he was just a ghost. The loss of my father has been devastating. Life must go on and I have a husband and small child to take care of, as well as a new job. Yet, I still cry everyday. The pain is still very much present. So in a strange way, the dream gave me some comfort.

Glimpses of my Dad

Photographs are all I have left of my dad. So when I find glimpses of my dad in photos, my heart swells with happiness at the discovery, yet I find tears streaming down my face and I'm so grief-stricken that he's gone and the way he went out. Sick, confused, and bedridden in a hospital.
Some of those finds include this photo above taken at Astrid's 1st birthday party at my home, where my dad is standing with us, happy & laughing. It wasn't a keeper since one of the paintings in the background is hanging askew. But crooked painting be damned; when I discovered the photo today my heart leapt...."look it's my dad! And he's so happy!", followed by endless tears.

The last time I saw my dad alive there was no joy, there was no laughter, he wasn't even able to speak to me. Then the very next time I saw him he was dead. So the last images I have of my dad are those last days in the hospital hooked up to tubes. I'm haunted by those memories and of the memory of him in the morgue when I rushed to the hospital to see him.

So when I see photos of him alive in his 70's...looking like my dad...alive...it is such a find. We didn't take lots of photos of my dad. Only now can I see that we didn't take that many photos of him, because he was overweight. Towards the end he had lost a lot of weight, but then he looked sick. So there's a dearth of photos of him.

Going through my photos I've found my dad captured in photos unintentionally. He appears in one that I took of Astrid riding her scooter on the sidewalk in front of my parents' house and my dad is standing in the distance holding his cane in one hand and his pants in the other. This was when he was getting treatments for his bladder cancer and was losing a lot of weight. He had to constantly hold up his pants. In another one, my mom is playing with Astrid in front of a mirror and my dad is captured sitting in a chair to the side. My heart hurts so bad & yet I am so happy to see my dad alive.

There was a vitality to him even when he was overweight and sick. I try to hold onto those memories and block out the painful ones of him dying. The overwhelming urge that comes over me when I see my dad in photos, is that I need to hug him. I wish I had given him more hugs when he was alive. He was a good hugger, and I loved him so much.

Glasses

I've been wearing glasses since my dad died. The act of putting them on, seeing through them, cleaning them, taking them off - all reminds me of my dad. My dad wore glasses everyday of his life since he was a teenager. He only took them off to sleep, shower, swim, or read. I was constantly cleaning his glasses. There's nothing worse than dirty lenses with smudges on them. And it was one of the few things I could do for him in the hospital to make sure he could see.

I've been a contact lens wearer for years. I'm nearsighted just like my dad. I can see fine up close by everything is blurry far away. I used to only wear my glasses at night. Yet I started wearing glasses during the day when my eyes were getting dry (computer, crying, late nights at the hospital) and it was just way more convenient. No hassle of saline solution to clean them and store them and take them out & put them in twice a day. Since my dad's death I've continued to wear my glasses everyday.

After my dad died, my mom brought some of his belongings to the funeral home, including his glasses. When I saw his glasses (that were tagged with his name) I burst into tears. They so reminded me on him. He always had them on. Seeing them on the table meant he was dead and wouldn't be needing them anymore. My mom asked the funeral Director what her opinion was on burying my dad with his glasses on. She replied, "Did he wear glasses all the time? Well then it wouldn't look like him if he weren't wearing them." At his viewing he was wearing his glasses & he looked like himself...my dad.

I remember the sound of the clink his glasses made when he took them off & put them on the nightstand before reading a book or going to sleep. When I hear the same clink when I set my glasses down I think of my dad.

It's a memory that comforts me. It keeps his memory alive.

I'm getting ready to drive out to Riverside National Cemetery today to visit my dad's grave. I'll be wearing my glasses and thinking of him.

Homeopathic Bath Remedy

A massage therapist gave me a tip for a homeopathic bathing remedy. No surprise I've got a twinge in my neck & my body is all out of whack. I tried it. It's great. I'm hooked.

Here's the recipe...

Ingredients:
16 oz box of baking soda (pour entire contents into tub)
fill the same box with Epsom salts (pour into the tub)
Fill the bathtub with the hottest water you can withstand just enough to cover your knees
Sit it the water for a bit until you get used to the temperature & then fill the bathtub the rest of the way.
Soak your entire body from the tip of your head to your toes.
Massage those areas where you have pain & are sore.
Afterward don't rinse off - just towel dry lightly & let the salt continue to work it's magic.

So refreshing! It took away a lot of the aches & pains (at least temporarily). Especially the feet which wasn't even on my radar. Wearing high heels all day even in the most comfortable shoes gives you sore feet. After this bath potion, my feet felt great! Plus it's a natural deodorant. No chemicals - just super clean & fresh.

The first time I tried it the water was all cloudy. He said to expect this from the toxins leaving the body. Every time since the water has been clear. And he recommended stretching in the bath & massaging away those knots & getting into the muscle.

Super easy & it helps.

Thinking of you everyday Dad

Dad,

There are so many things I wish I would have said & done. So many things left unsaid. I tried. I really did. When you were alive and I went to visit you on Mondays, over the course of 3 1/2 years I tried to open my heart & tell you how much you meant to me. But it was difficult. Astrid was there with us and the baby needed attention. Lots of interruptions in our conversation ensued. The Alzheimer's took you away a lot of the time & conversations weren't always possible. That would make me so sad. Not wanting to talk about death. Focusing on the present. Trying to deal with the situation & all the stress. On top of that I'm my father's daughter and peeling back all the layers to expose vulnerability is difficult for me.

The doctors kept telling us you were going to die soon. Everyone in the family was in denial, except me. And that tremendous burden was so heavy on me. I'm not complaining. What you went through was so terrible & I wanted so badly to alleviate all of your suffering. I convinced mom that she should tell you that you were dying. It was done out of love.

In the hospital, one day when you were clear headed, Mom and I were on either side of your bed, holding your hands. We didn't know how long the fog would be lifted. We both in our own way told you what was happening and that you would die soon. I'm so glad that we had that conversation with you. We wanted to know your last wishes. We wanted you to share your heart with us. I keep hearing you say, "We just need to get a better doctor." Every time I think about that I burst into tears. It hurts my heart so much because the doctors couldn't do anything for you & all the doctors told us to start preparing for your imminent death. Then you said, "I'm not ready yet. I don't want to say anything that will embarrass myself." Fuck. You were so strong. You were the strongest man I've ever met. You were a different generation. In the end you told us all you wanted was for your family to be there. Mom and I were both bawling our eyes out. I told you how much I appreciated you. I'm so glad I got to tell you while you were alive and mentally there. You heard me and I know it touched your heart. When mom told you to tell me you loved me...I said you didn't have to b/c I already knew. I've always known you loved me dad. There was never any question of that.

You always told me that your dad never told you that he loved you until you were in your late 40's. As tough & old school of a guy you were - that caused you a lot of pain & you never wanted your kid to grow up feeling unloved. So you would tell me - "You know I love you right?" you'd say. "Yes, Dad. I know." I'd say. I'm sure this was accompanied by some eye rolling in my preteen years. And you'd tell me the story of your dad and how you didn't want to make that same mistake.

You gave me unconditional love. You were the first man I ever loved. What a gift to have a father like you who thought the world of me. Growing up you always told me I could do & be whatever I wanted, except be the President of the United States (since I wasn't born in the U.S.), but you didn't think I would want that anyway. And you were right. You gave me self confidence. How I appreciate all those intangibles you instilled in me. It shows in my relationships with others. It shows in my outlook on the world. It shows in my work ethic. It shows in my marriage. It shows in my parenthood.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about you. When I look at my daughter I think of you and want to instill that self confidence and strong foundation you gave me. When I see my husband & daughter together, I think of you. Even when they struggle & have a battle of wills it reminds me of you and I. You raised me to be a strong woman & I'm striving to do the same for my child. I appreciate your life even more.

I miss you so much Dad. It's all about love. I love you & I always knew you loved me.

Sunshine through tall trees

A coworker gave me a sympathy card with a beautiful photo of sunlight streaming in through tall trees in a forest. It reminds me of the forests of Germany. I cried when I saw it. It wasn't a generic sympathy card. My coworker has traveled the world and has a good taste. It shows in his bereavement card. I have the card hanging on my wall. It gives me strength when I look at it. Tomorrow is another day. I will make it a good one.

Thoughts of the day

I'm back at work today, yet my mind is miles away. My heart is still heavy. My mind drifts to thoughts of my dad. Tears spring easily to my eyes. I feel like an injured animal limping along. Still so raw with emotion...

My husband responded:
Grieving takes a lot of time. Always remember: death leaves a heartache no can can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.

Anguish

–noun

excruciating or acute distress, suffering, or pain: the anguish of grief.

–verb

to suffer, feel, or exhibit anguish: to anguish over the loss of a loved one.

An Emotional Day

It's been an emotional day. Lots of tears. Been thinking a lot of my dad.

When I got sick, a friend told me she was glad my body felt safe enough to get sick. Wise words from a Yogi (and friend who has been there for me since my dad's death). She's right; there was too much to do & no time to get sick. Everything is over now. It's just me and my thoughts.

I keep thinking of my dad's hands. He had these amazing hands. His large palms were thick & calloused from hard labor. I received lots of spankings from those hands. I watched those hands work with tools - a wrench, a screwdriver. I can see his hands being dirty after working on the car, or plumbing, or whatever it was he had just finished fixing. I can see him washing his hands in the sink afterward to get them clean again. I can see his hands typing with one finger. I held those hands so many times. As a kid they gave me great comfort. They made me feel safe. As an adult I held those hands to let my dad know everything would be okay, when there were no words to express the moment, to let him know I was there by his side & to express my love.

In a High School graduation photo, standing next to my dad I realized for the first time that our hands were similar in shape, mine being the female equivalent. My brother reminded me of this recently and it made me feel close to my dad.

Lots of thoughts of my dad. Like the "goulash" he would make, which has no resemblance to any goulash I've eaten in my life. It consisted of ground hamburger, a can of corn, and ketchup, all mixed in a frying pan. I could go for some of that goulash right about now. He also taught me how to make grilled cheese sandwiches. So many memories.

My dad's death has given me a good kick in the butt. I will be a better parent, wife, friend, human being as a result. I will not shy away from opportunities. I will tell my loved ones how much I love them everyday. Life is too short.

Helping Astrid deal with her grief

My 5 year old daughter still cries for her Grandpa and misses him. It breaks my heart. It's difficult enough for me, her mother, to understand death. I understand it physically but am still dealing with my own emotions surrounding it. For a 5 year old, it must be even more difficult for her to comprehend.

Today she told me she wants to have a picture of Grandpa in her room. After my dad died, my brother and I poured through photo albums longing to reconnect with my dad. She's at that stage too where she wants to hold onto memories of him. Missing him and wanting to be with him in whatever way possible, even if it is just through memories.

My husband and I discussed it tonight and think it would be nice to frame a photo of my dad for Astrid to hang in her room. We'd all feel a little closer to him that way.

Still thinking of you

Dad,
I was in the pharmacy today. All of the stress finally caught up with me and I came down with the flu & a really bad infection of my tonsils. So as I'm waiting for the Pharmacist to fill my prescription, I started looking around at all the orthopedic devices and aides. I caught myself thinking about what I could get you. What would you need? What would help you?

I remember when I bought you your cane. A similar thought, different day - "My dad could really use a cane like that." And you loved that cane with the padded handle. I was afraid that with your Alzheimer's you wouldn't remember it, instead remembering your old cane, but for whatever reason you only remembered that new black cane I bought for you. "This is a good cane," you said. You always kept it by your side and it was the first thing you looked for when you woke up from a nap. That made me feel really good. That I could do something for you. That I could help you in some small way with all that you were going through.

Today I was standing there, staring up at the orthopedic devices with tears in my eyes. There's nothing I can do for you. That makes me really sad. You will always be my dad. I will always be your daughter. And I will always love you.

A lock of your hair

Huddled around the table in the funeral home, when asked if we wanted a lock of your hair, the three of us looked at each other and Bernard Jr. said, "He didn't have any hair." Then my mom said "No. What for?" And I got choked with emotion and said "Yes, I want it."

The funeral director crossed out "0" and wrote in "1" on the request form for the mortuary.

My brother was right, my dad didn't have much hair. He had a little crown of hair, Julius Cesar style, which my mom kept short. Because of this I kept picturing my dad with a bald spot on the back of his head where they'd most likely shave it to give me a lock of his hair.

They presented it to my mom today at the viewing and she gave it to me. "Here's your dad's hair that you wanted," she said. Looking at it later back at the house that evening, I saw that they did NOT shave it. It was just a messy cutting with hair spilling out of a tiny plastic bag, glued to a piece of paper with his name on it, presented by Inland Memorial.

I'm glad that I asked for it. It's good to know that if I ever need genetic testing done they won't have to exume the body, since I have his DNA via his hair clippings. And on a more emotional level it's just a small momento of him. Something that no one else wanted but me.

50's music reminds me of you dad

Dad,
I've found myself listening to a lot of 50's music after your death. It reminds me of you. You graduated from high school in 1952. It was a simpler time when you were young and healthy. You had your whole life ahead of you. I used to turn to the 50's radio channel for you when you were in the car with me, driving to your doctors appointments, hoping it would trigger a fond memory of your past. Bernard Jr. & I recently went through your old high school yearbooks looking at all the vintage photos. The 1950's era makes me think of you & all the promise your life held. Thinking of you young & healthy, rather than old & sick.