One Year.

big, big breath. and again.

 

Okay, I have two main reasons for this post. 1 - I want to talk about grief. I don't think it's talked about enough. It can be extremely isolating, especially during a time when you need support the most. I wish that we, as a society, were more open and vulnerable about grieving, mourning, and all the things that go with it. And 2, I've spent so much time investing in all my wonderful customers' lives that I have come to love and consider friends, I would be remiss if I didn't say something - I think it's important that I finally open up about this. And finally 3 (okay, I lied. More than 2 reasons. I like to talk, what can I say??;) ), if I can connect with even just one person, and say something that inspires/motivates/changes for the better, this post will be worth it.

 

So here it goes...

 

A year ago today my Dad died.

 

 

 

My world was completely turned upside down in a second. Things will never be the same.

 

I had a friend tell me it sounds too crude when I say "he died" instead of, the preferred and more socially acceptable, "passed away". But to me, "passing away" makes it sound too nice. He wasn't sick, there was no warning, there was no gathering around the bed to say our tear-filled goodbyes, he had just turned 62 - he wasn't even an "old man" yet. He had just had a heart surgery several weeks prior, but the Dr said everything was perfect, cleared him early, and gave him 30 more years easily. We were hopeful. He wasn't on the decline, he was up the upswing. Saying 'he died' does sound a little jarring. But his death was/is jarring. To say the least.

 

 

It was a Monday morning, and I came to work, ready to take on the week, and kick some serious butt. ;) I made my checklist and was knocking things off of it. Feeling good and on top of the world. It was a beautiful day out, my favorite songs were playing. What I wouldn't give to go back to that moment of innocence. Todd popped into the shop (now, mind you, he rarely just drops by. He will pop in, but only if he's in the area for work, and it's around lunch time, and he wants to grab something to eat. Priorities, I get it), I was so excited to see him, such a nice surprise! I'm talking a hundred miles an hour about all I've accomplished that morning, and how this will be the best week yet. Finally I realize he looks incredibly uncomfortable. I asked him what was going on. His lip just quivers. Uh oh. I kind of remember him holding my arms, and trying to talk, but no words coming out for what seemed like an eternity. I just remember thinking, "please let it be your family, please let it be your family" (I know...I'm the worst - but do I get credit for being honest?). At this point, I remember getting angry he wasn't saying anything. Finally he said something about Matt (super close family friend, basically my uncle, and my parents next door neighbor) calling him, and "it's your dad". The rest of it is a big blur from there. I remember being convinced that my dad was going to the ER, and we had to get there as quick as possible, and asking Todd what hospital, and he just goes, "no, no, we can't". Thinking back, I don't actually remember Todd ever saying anything about my dad dying. I just knew.

 

I remember feeling trapped in the car as we drove home. I remember getting to my parents house, and busting out of the car before it was even stopped. Matt was standing at the front door, and absorbed my body as I tried to blow thru the door. He held me so tight, I can still feel his arms around me, holding me up. Calmly, he told me to be prepared when I go in. Warned me there will be police officers and paramedics. I rushed inside, collapsed into my mom's lap. I remember being upset that the paramedics "weren't trying hard enough" even though he had already been dead for a least a couple of hours and there was nothing they could do. I remember being questioned by a police officer, alone, even when I said I wanted Todd to come with me, and when he asked me what the last thing I remember my dad saying to me - I don't. That was a huge punch to the gut. I remember my 16 year old sister Cindy sitting on the couch, in a daze. Completely blank, and in shock. I remember crying. A lot. So much so I made myself sick. I remember the police and paramedics leaving, and then "now what?" as my mom and I looked at each other. I remember Todd calling the wrong funeral home. I remember going upstairs to my dad's bedroom and saying goodbye to him as he laid peacefully in bed. It still doesn't feel like a real thing that happened. I remember the funeral home coming, and every loud crash as the stretcher hit each of the 18 stairs as they carried him down. I remember my body being pressed into the upstairs window above the driveway as I watched them load my dad up into their Dodge (my dad was a Chevy guy thru and thru. To think of his last ride being in a Dodge would kill him. ;) - dang it, Todd!! Why did you have to call the wrong place?! ;) ), and drive away. I remember a lot of people coming over, and they didn't know what to say. I remember sitting in silence, and it was not awkward (in the sense that no one was talking. Its a strange thing to have people in your house and not be "entertaining"). I remember floods of text messages coming in, and not replying. I remember thinking that I will only be able to talk about my dad in the past tense from now on, and that he is only a part of my past, and not my future any longer.

 

I don't remember the official cause of death, but as the Dr explained it, and my mom passed it along to me, it was basically that the "electricity in his heart stopped working". The Dr said it had nothing to do with the surgery, and that it was peaceful. He died in his sleep, and didn't feel anything. 

 

So now, for my main points.

 

Grief. It sucks. Like it's really really hard. Everyone processes it all so differently, too. And, as with anything you experience for the first time, you don't know what to expect. It's like going thru a pandemic for the first time. ;) No one knows what they're doing, and you're all just doing what you can. And sometimes, not even doing that, and that's okay. I cry a lot less these days, and sometimes, a day passes and I don't cry at all, and then I'm sad/mad/frustrated that I didn't cry. In a strange way, I miss those early days of mourning, when everything felt so raw, so fresh. Like he was still right there. When I could still say things like, "last week my dad and I were talking about..." or "my dad and I had plans to go to this concert". Now I'm living in a world of things he doesn't know about, or in a time we didn't have plans for. I beg for time to slow down...for the new season not to come, or for the calendar to not switch over to another month. Just one more day/month/season away from the last time I heard my dad's laugh, or the distinct sound of him clear his throat as he comes in the door from work, and sets his cup down on the end of the counter. I'm unable to drive by his favorite restaurants without crying, let alone go inside to eat. It feels like he is missing out, like I can't enjoy his favorite taco place without him. 

 

People keep telling me it never goes away, but it gets easier with time. I don't think they're wrong, the last year has shown me that. But I also, at the same time, in a strange way, I don't want it to get easier. When my great Aunt got into town after my dad died, and I picked her up with Todd, she said something like, 'the pain is so intense because there was so much love', and that is so incredibly true. I'm a firm believer that you can't have the good without the bad, light without the dark, happy without the sad, and the pain I feel now is a reminder of the love my dad and I shared, and I don't want that to ever go away. But at the same time, I don't want to live in a state of complete sorrow, paralyzed with sadness, unable to function, either. I don't want that, and my dad wouldn't want that for me. Honestly, he would be annoyed I even spent as much time as I have being sad about him. He'd probably say something about how I just need to get on with it, there are things to do, dollars to be made, trips to take and tacos to eat. ;)

 

When it first happened, LV emailed EVERY morning for weeks. She's amazing - we all knew and know that, but this was my life line. I hated going to sleep, and even more, I hated waking up. But knowing, every morning, the first thing I could do was grab my phone and see an email from her, that was huge. Sometimes she had a lot to say and her words were beautiful like always, and sometimes it would be as simple as "I just wish I could hug you right now". Most of the time I couldn't even form a response, but sometimes I did. I remember telling her about how it feels wrong to keep living and enjoying life. I wished we still had a more rigid and structured mourning period, like they did forever ago, and I wasn't expected to do anything but wear black and stay home, because that's all I wanted to do, and sometimes all I still want to do. She said, "If I were to leave this world today and watch from a distance any of my kids struggling with me being gone, I would never be mad at them for not mourning me long enough, but I would be mad if they didn't suck the love and happiness out of every day, AND if they didn't carry me around with them like a voice in their head, telling them all the things they know I would say and think." WOW. I love that - the importance of sucking every bit of love and happiness out of each day, no matter what! If anything, the crashing reality of the brevity of life has shown me how important it IS to find love and happiness in everything you do, every day. There isn't time to waste... you never know when you won't wake up the next morning. Did you do everything you wanted to do? Did you live to the fullest? Did you tell everyone you love, that you love them? Would anyone that you love and care about, question your love for them, if you didn't have tomorrow to tell them that?

 

My dad and I were beyond close. I know a lot of people think that about their relationship with their father, but I knew that. ;) He was my person. He always knew EXACTLY what I meant, and I could explain things to him hardly even using words. Sometimes we'd be working on a project together (aka, him doing the work, and me rambling on and on), and I'd show him one picture from Pinterest, and then have a million and one modifications I'd want to make to it, and he knew exactly what I was talking about. Which is especially impressive because I'd hardly be talking in complete sentences I was so excited and overwhelmed with all the possibilities. :) Or when you think about how many times the person making my sandwich at the deli has made it wrong, even though you check the boxes on the little paper of exactly what you want. haha. Our minds worked the same way, and we understood each other so well. I could predict his next move, and him mine. My dad was a man of few words, but he spoke loudly with his actions - always doing something for someone, and taking care of people, or providing for our family. I do not remember him ever saying "I love you" to me, but I know he did. Beyond any shadow of a doubt. His actions proved that. Most of my birthday/graduation cards etc from my parents include my mom writing a longer sentiment, and then my dad writing, "what your mom said, dad". ;) I have played music almost my entire life...started with piano in elementary school, jazz bands, concert bands, marching band...all of it. I've performed with the flute, on drumline in marching band, and percussion for jazz band. I also never shied away from a microphone, or a chance to give a speech, or do anything on stage. If my dad and I made eye contact while I was doing any kind of performance, whether it was the halftime show at the high school football game, a spelling bee, lining up for the relay race on the track team, taking the field for a soccer game, anything, we'd both start crying. Instantly. So that was always our joke - that we could NEVER make eye contact in a situation like that, because we'd both be blubbering messes, and I'd miss my cue, or a chance to score a goal. One time I was showing him a video of me doing something during a horse riding lesson that my trainer took, and you hear her say, "I'm so proud of you" in the background. My dad told me he wished he would have told me he was proud of me more because he was. I told him he didn't have to, and I always knew he was. Thru all the years, every time we would make eye contact and both start crying, I knew that was him saying, "I love you, and I'm proud of you". And it was me saying, "I love you, and thank you for all you've done for me. Your support, your help to get me here, and your believing in me" back. He said I was exactly right. 

 

I could easily go on and on about how awesome my dad is/was. It's really all I want to do. I want to brag about him, because I was proud of him, too. He did a lot in his short time. It's a lot to live up to. But luckily he taught me a lot, and in the last year, I am still learning from him. I feel a decade older, and so different. I'm not the same person I was a year ago, and I imagine this is just the beginning. Lauren and I were talking a few weeks (months? time is all a blur right now) ago about fear, and the fear of losing someone, or something, and how we sometimes live with restrictions and hesitations, in hope we're protecting ourselves from the bad. But the bad is inevitable. We can't escape heart brake, tragedy, failures etc. It is a part of living. You can't stop living your life!! There is so much out there to learn, love, explore, experience. And, there isn't an ounce of time to waste. In my recent obsession with researching all things grief related, I came across this woman's blog - she was talking about this whole grief/sadness thing and basically said that it doesn't get easier, you just get stronger. In a weird way, isn't that kind of cool? Strength is a different topic for another conversation, but wrapped up in that, I think there are a lot of things. Strength in taking time to slow down, appreciate the beauty around you, the people in your life, and gratitude for each day. Having strength to know what you like, don't like and how you want your days filled. I feel myself changing, growing, and getting stronger. And I hope as I do, I continue to make my dad proud with what I'm doing, and how I am living. The things I accomplish, and the ability to accept the things I don't.

 

Its officially been a year, and I can't fully wrap my head around it. In some ways, it feels like yesterday, and in others, it has felt like a lifetime. After all of this, (there is this annoying word counter at the bottom of my blog form I'm typing into, and its saying I'm almost at 3000 words, as if that's a bad thing. ;-) ), I know a few things. I miss my dad. A lot. Life is short, and there isn't time time waste. And grief/grieving sucks. But thankfully you have family, friends and random strangers that show a bit of unexpected kindness on the worst day, and it is a glimmer of hope that things will be okay. Because they will be, and we'll be stronger and better for it.

 

Sending you all my love, and all my hugs! Now, go do something special for someone, and something special for yourself!

oxox

Amanda

 

1. Obviously, my wedding day. Matt who I mentioned, is the blonde guy in the yellow. My dad picked out his own shirt, and was super excited for it. My theme was flower/color explosion, and he liked those colors together a lot. Literally the ONLY time I've seen my dad in a suit.

2. The old old days when I was an only child. haha

3. My dad helping me build something I envisioned. There is not one room in my house that doesn't have something my dad built for me, or helped me build, or built at one point and I took over. ;) That wasn't even intentional. I just realized one day that there isn't a single room without something in it he built with his own hands.

4. My dad and I with his classic sitting pose. Hands on head.

5. There should be no question where I get my thick/dark brows, and super hairy arms from. ;)

6. Honestly, I'm surprised I found 8 other pics that he DOESN'T have his tongue out in. A go to for him. 

7. OKay, not a super great pic of my dad at all...but we were at a Sheryl Crow concert. My dad and I love music, and oddly, slightly obsessed with Sheryl Crow. Her song "first cut is the deepest" is one of our favorites, and we NEVER heard it without each other. I basically only listen to the radio, and so did my dad. I have no control over what song would play, because its up to the station. And I have never heard that song, unless I was with him. And the same for him. Isn't that crazy?? So that's our song. Which is funny in and of itself. ;) And this was at her concert, and Todd took that pic right before that song came on. I'm sooooo glad I got to hear it live with him. It was a super special time.

8. One of our very few family pictures...I think this was around 2008? My mom and I came downstairs in the same exact sweater, unplanned, and just rolled with it. LOL

9. Went on a motorcycle road trip with my dad, and Matt and Terri. We did 6 states I think? In 2 weeks or so. I would fall asleep on the back of my dad's bike, and my helmet would bob into his. He said it would make him laugh, and he knew exactly when I was falling asleep. Of course there were lots of stops to tacos...his favorite.

 

 

 

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