Where I’m at one year later.
Trying my best. That’s where I’m at.
Context: One year ago today, Dad lost his battle to metastatic prostate cancer. He was the best dad a girl could ask for. I’ve spent the last year reflecting on his life, grieving, growing and celebrating his memory. Like my emotions these past 12 months, my writing is all over the place. Here is where I’m at one year later, what I’ve learned about life along the way and a glimpse at the road ahead as I run the race called life.
A part of me still feels like how I felt the day he dropped me off at college after helping me move in to my dorm. He leaves to head back home and the door closes behind him. Even though home is just a few hours away, (four hours, otherwise referred to a “short drive” where I’m from) I had a somber moment of realization. You’re on your own now, buttercup.
But then I remember that Dad raised me better than to feel even the slightest sense of abandonment. He raised me to be strong and independent He taught me so much. Not just in his lifetime, but even after his passing. Over the past 12 months, I’ve found messages he intended for me to find, and others he didn’t.
To take you through the year, I have to start five weeks prior to his passing.
Location: My Mind
When: November/December 2019
My family and I went through the motions that families go through as they love someone through their final stage of life. You can become desensitized to some of the emotionally traumatic things going on and perhaps that’s just a subconscious survival mechanism. That’s not to say that the trauma you experience doesn’t stick with you and boil over at a later time, always seemingly out of control and out of the blue.
Because at the time, you bottle it up because no one, especially not Dad, can see you break down right now. This is your time to muster some composure and hold it together.
Compartmentalize this feeling.
Stow that away.
Save that for later.
Skills I’ve honed on the job working in front of a camera. Smile because it’s your job. Act natural, but not too human.
If I had to do it all again, I would not do this part differently. Not for a second. I had the foresight to see I have plenty of days ahead to let my sadness do its thing and be heavy. To let it do so now would be a waste of priceless, precious time.
This is Dad, my brother and I on a beach five weeks before his passing. We didn’t know when it would happen, but we both know the moment we were in would be among the last. Because of that, we took it for what it was. An amazing view beside a couple of the people you cherish most in this universe. Conversation about happy things, anything but the looming reality. It was incredible. When I find my mind wandering, it’s most often to this beach. Gosh, was it beautiful.
The takeaway: Just be present. Nothing, I repeat, nothing is more valuable than time. Memories will be all you’ve got one day.
This photo makes me smile with watery eyes every time. It’s one I took on the fly, thus the framing is far from great. What you see is my mom and my dad at his care center. This was actually was during dad’s rally (or terminal lucidity as it’s often referred to) when he decided he wanted to go for a walk with Mom and I.
What makes this moment so special? For those who don’t know, my parents had been divorced for some time. I’ve been very open about how grateful I am for my parents great relationship. When Dad’s health started to decline, Mom did not hesitate to step in as a caretaker. She drove him to to appointments and was there to take him to the hospital when he needed. He knew he could call her when he needed help. When I couldn’t be there, she was there help do laundry and tidy up his house when he wasn’t feeling well. We all contemplated the possibility of having Dad live with Mom and my stepdad versus putting him in a care center. (Ultimately, we realized he needed round the clock care that we weren’t adequate to provide). At the end, she and my stepdad spent as much time at the care center with him as us kids did.
They helped us plan his celebration of life, and even footed the bill for the ceremony and cremation expenses until the life insurance money came in.
The takeaway: If all three of my parents aren’t an example of what love is, then I don’t know what is.
January 2020 hits and I ease back into a regular work schedule. Everyday life continued whether I was ready for it or not, but I still needed time to myself to cope. It’s like giving yourself quiet time, or even a timeout, but for this grownup. I’ve given myself grace and dealt with the emotions as they hit me. Even if it happened while I was walking down a grocery store aisle or at work.
Just like Dad, I’ve always been an introvert. It took me until this year to learn to just embrace it. I stopped letting others make me feel like I was some kind of weirdo for not wanting to go out and do things, pick up the phone or leave the comfort of my weighted blanket on my days off. Simply put, I need alone time to recharge my mind and body. By taking all the time I need to do that uninterrupted, let me tell you how much of a game changer that is. A few people very close to me who share this trait helped me realize this. God Bless them.
On to the things he he didn’t intend for me to find after his passing.
Right after Dad passed, my mom and I were going through his things when we came across an old email from his ex-girlfriend. They had parted ways amicably a couple of years prior. After the fact, she had written him a long, scathing email about why he was the problem.
*Eyes roll so God damn far back they did a 360* Anyways…
Personality-wise, they differed. He was quiet and reserved, she was not. By theory, nothing wrong with this.
According to the email, it appears the issue was that she couldn’t grasp why someone could *possibly* not be a social butterfly. Instead, she regarded his nature as “a severe social anxiety,” as if it is some disorder that needs correcting.
I’ll admit that I am ferociously defensive of my family. Beyond that fact, the comment struck a nerve with me. Not just because she was speaking to my loved one that way, but because Dad and I were very much the same in this regard. Personally, I took offense to it. It made me realize that there are folks who don’t have the capacity to try understand personality types that differ from their own, therefor they don’t respect you, your space, and will act entitled to a justification as to why you are the way you are.
My dad’s response was the right one. In fact, it was not a response to those comments at all.
I read his response. True to his character and the values he instilled in us kids, he took the highest road by sincerely wishing her well and saying goodbye. He could have said a lot there, but he didn’t. Most of the time, that’s what you just gotta do.
The takeaway: Take the high road always.
The other takeaway: Stop feeling like you need to justify yourself to others. The world around you will continue to wear on you until you take charge of your space.
While I do like to be a hermit, it is worth noting that over the last year I have received so many incredible displays of love and friendship from family, my friends and from those around the virtual world, some who I’ve never even met in-person. The outpouring of love, prayers, support and good vibes should not go unrecognized. It truly means so much to me. You know who you are. Sincerely, thank you. <3
I mentioned there were things he meant for me to find after his passing. That sneaky devil.
My mom and stepdad had collected his things from the care center. We had began the process of going through his belongings. In his wallet, he stowed a tiny, folded up piece of paper. On it were the names of everyone in the family. Behind each name was a descriptor using the corresponding letter of our first names. The list began with Mom and my stepdad and went on to list the kids.
(In case you’re wondering, “Cardiac Kid” is a racing nickname that an announcer gave my brother a couple of years ago. Beyond that, we have no clue how the announcer came up with this lol but it stuck!)
Notice he saved his name for last.
Cliff … Complete.
Words I needed to hear at that exact moment and he knew it. I keep this framed as a sweet reminder.
The ultimate takeaway: Live a life that fulfills you. When it’s my time to go, I want to be able to say that I too am complete.
Dad taught me how to drive in the church parking lot by our house when I was 15. It became time to put my skills to the test on a country highway en route to Grandma’s house for the weekend. Dad asks, “Do you want to drive?”
He pulls over and we swap seats. I’m cruising right along when I see a vehicle approaching way in the distance. Like an idiot, I ask with a mild panic to my tone, “Dad, what do I do? There’s a car coming.”
Being the kind, merciful dad that he was, he replied,
“You’re fine. Just keep going.”
That right there is the story of 2020. “Just keep going.” To this you can relate, I’m sure.
I’ve been told not to give myself a timeline on when I expect myself to be “over it.” Because you’re never truly over it. You simply adjust meanwhile holding on for dear life to every memory.
At this point, I have my fair share of sad moments followed by happy ones. I still have my days feeling void of all feeling. I still see him everywhere in public, only to take a second glance and realize it’s just someone that looks like him. I still see a pair of shoes sitting at the doorway and think of the slippers he always wore. I’ll probably keep calling his old number. It feels like he is everywhere, and I know that he is.
He visits me fairly regularly in my dreams. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we say nothing at all. I wake up with gratitude and try to decipher which ever message he and God are trying to send me.
Eternally grateful.
If you’ve lost someone you love, my heart is with you this holiday season. I hope you’re able to find way to celebrate their memory, and that it brings you the warmest feelings of comfort and joy.
Much love and stay well in 2021.
– Haley
