Life Goes On

My father passed away in June and since then I’ve been cleaning out the remains of his life and settling his estate. It’s been an exhausting and emotional experience.

But life goes on.

As painful as his loss has been for me, I’ve found moments of love and joy since his death.  Phone calls from friends who let me talk about him for way too long. Cards from those who cared for him in his last days. Words of condolence from those who knew him in ways I didn’t.

Thanks to Covid-19 it wasn’t easy to plan a funeral for him. Much of his pre-planning went out the window. But we knew what mattered to him most so we gathered his nearest and dearest and on an absolutely perfect sunny summer day under the canopy of shade provided by tall trees, we laid his ashes to rest next to his beloved wife.

Unlike the service that would have happened in the church, this one was intimate. Personal. We found ourselves laughing and telling stories. At one point we even all recited one of his silly poems together. Everyone there had a close connection to him. They all felt his loss.

In a way, it was exactly what he would have wanted. We sent him on his way with love and laughter and small tokens of his life. There was nothing fussy or formal about it. Lots of people spoke and because we were all friends and family, no one got nervous about it. We lingered, talking and sharing memories. We turned our faces to the soft breeze and imagined he was there with us.

All that’s left now is the business of settling an estate. The paperwork and banking and taxes. All of the things that keep you busy so that you don’t realize just what a huge hole that person left in your life.

In your heart.

And then there’s his stuff. Boxes and bags of the remnants of a life. Clothing to be donated when charities open up to donations again. Books he’ll never read that someone else will enjoy. Awards and accolades that only meant something to him. Photographs that will fade off into more boxes that the next generation will have to deal with.

But along the way I learned things about my father that I didn’t know. Or rather that I had forgotten. I found precious artifacts of his life. Silly things, mostly. But all the more valuable to me because of it.

What we leave behind isn’t nearly as important as who we leave behind. As the impact our life had on others. As I clean out the physical remains of his life, it’s his emotional remnants that cut the deepest.

Soon there will be no more details to handle. So what do we do when there’s no more business of death to deal with?

We move on. We live. We wake up every day, hopefully with a renewed sense of the value of time. Of how little of it we actually have. Of how we’re going to spend what we have left.

Does my life honor his? I honestly don’t know. But I know he loved me. I know he was proud of me. And I know that I will carry his ideals and his heart with me through the rest of my life.

So I heal. Slowly. And I move on. Because I have to. Because in the end, his love lives on.

And that’s all that really matters.

 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Fathers

It’s Father’s Day today.

Yeah, all right. You already knew that. Don’t be a smartass.

It’s just that we have these days – Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Grandparent’s Day (yes, it’s a thing) – and on those days we make a fuss. We buy cards and take them out to dinner. We get flowers or gifts for them & if we’re able, we actually spend time with them.

But what about the other 364 days of the year?

My Father is a father every day. He’s been doing it long enough to have one kid retired already (although it was an early retirement, but still). So I’m just going to give you a little word on fathers before you head off to buy your Dad that steak dinner you can’t afford, he doesn’t want to eat and that you’ll both pretend to enjoy.

First of all, my Father showed up. For everything. Every damn play and recital and school event. He was there. He drove me to church and to school and to music lessons and practices and everywhere else I needed to go. Usually, with very little bitching.

He sat through horrible plays and screeching choir rehearsals. He sat through ceremony after ritual after event and smiled the whole time. He never let me see that any of it was an imposition or that it made his teeth ache. He congratulated me even when I was just a faceless kid in the back of a huge group of other faceless kids. He always made me feel like it mattered. Like it was important.

My Father doesn’t suffer fools lightly and that included his kids. You were expected to work hard, to study hard and to do your best at all times. But he didn’t just demand it. He lived it. He led by example.

And believe me, you did not want to disappoint him. Making him mad for something you did was one thing, not that you wanted to do that either. But when he got that look on his face that told you clearly you had disappointed him it cut worse than any knife. It punished more than any grounding or spanking ever could.

He didn’t actually spank us, by the way. Even though I came of age at a time when lots of parents still did. But he didn’t ever put his hands on us except in love.

Don’t get me wrong. The man isn’t perfect. He has flaws. Some worse than others. But as a father he was pretty damn amazing. I was never afraid of him. I always knew he had my back. It never occurred to me that other kids didn’t have fathers like him until I saw it for myself.

Even now, suffering from a thankfully mild form of dementia, he’s still the guy who makes everyone else comfortable and eases tensions in a room when others would wind things up. He’s struggling more but he tries not to let it show because he doesn’t want to worry his kids.

He was like that about everything. We rarely saw the worry about money. We never knew what he gave up to be with us. We were never made to feel bad about wanting to be with him. He took us fishing and out on the canoe. He taught me to swim and how to change a light switch. He taught me how to read and then kept on reading to me anyway, just because he knew I loved it. He taught me to appreciate music and how to grill a good steak.

But the most important thing he taught me was that I was good enough. More than good enough. That I could be anything. Do anything. Try anything. As a woman, I now realize what a gift that was.

Here’s the bottom line. If you are a Father, then show up. I don’t remember what I got for Christmas but I sure as hell remember listening to my Father read to me in bed. I don’t remember the new shoes he got me but I definitely remember talking away with him while we painted a fence together.

His greatest gift to me was his presence. He was there. Every damn time.

I remember the day he walked me down the aisle. When he came into the room and saw me in my wedding dress for the first time, he cried. He just stood there with tears in his eyes and told me I was beautiful. And I believed it.

Then he told me jokes as we walked the aisle to my waiting groom and I remember how much that made it all easier.

None of that costs money. None of that requires anything more than being present. Being honest. Being there.

So if you’re a Father, stop worrying about paying for the latest gaming system or fancy toy. Stop worrying about having the coolest car or biggest house. Your kid won’t remember that shit. Instead, spend time with your kids. Play games Plant a garden. Swim. Build sand castles. Paint a fence. Go to the store. Get an ice cream cone. Anything that gives the two of you time together.

And if you are lucky enough that your Father is still around spend time with him. Invite him for a beer or a burger. Go for a walk. Swim. Build sand castles. Paint a fence. Go to the store. Get an ice cream cone.

Are you getting the message yet?

It’s time. That’s the best gift. It’s the one we can all give each other. It costs nothing. But it’s the most important thing.

And if your Father is gone and you’re grieving his loss today, then know you’re not alone. Remember the good stuff if you can. Reach out for help if you need it. Because the Father who helps you isn’t always the one biologically related to you. The Father who helps you is sometimes just a guy who fills in when you need someone.

There are all kinds of fathers and I guess it’s right that we celebrate them today. But don’t forget them the other 364 days of the year. If your Dad is anything like mine, he didn’t forget you all those other days so you can return the favor.

Now go. Stop reading and call your Father. Talk. Laugh. Visit. Don’t let too much time go before you do it again. And again. Because one day he’ll be gone and you’ll be wondering how you’re going to manage without him in your life.

We owe our Father’s one day. But we also owe them a lot of other days too.

Don’t forget that.