Who else has failed their resolutions? I tried to write on February 12, but somehow I turned the keyboard wacky and couldn't type normally anymore. I haven't gotten to try since then. Here is the post I started that night. . .
Exactly five years ago at this time, we were saying goodbye for the last time to my dad - passing away from cancer and leaving us with more sadness and heartache than I knew was possible. I remember actually saying to Jesse at some point in the days before that moment that I didn't know someone could actually hurt so much. Surely other people were aware of this, but I had yet to experience it. It was a bad day.
And here we are, five years, four kids, and a world of difference later. I wrote this for my weekly column - it sums up how losing my dad affects my life today.
Difficult Concepts
When I was young my dad would roll up some money in his hand and tell me I could have that money if I ate something I claimed to dislike, such as coleslaw or a Subway sandwich with everything on it. When I refused he revealed a hundred dollar bill. This happened more than once until the time I actually agreed and ended up with a one dollar bill. I still have no idea how he predicted that would be the time I’d fall for it. I’m pretty sure he had magic powers.
We were sitting in Subway a couple weeks ago; Jesse, Axel, and I were eating our subs of choice and feeding morsels of them to the babies. I don’t really get my money’s worth there, as I get the meat, cheese, maybe toast it, and then no veggies. We’ve already had this conversation – I do not enjoy vegetables. Axel eats them like candy, and his subs are no exception. He wants everything on it but the jalapenos.
This day was no different, and I told him how proud his Grandpa Dean (my dad) would be of him for his good eating habits. Then we had a difficult conversation. This week it will be five years since I lost my dad to cancer, and Axel, just having turned four, never met him. When I told him Grandpa Dean would be proud of him, the wheels turned in his head while he chewed and finally he asked, “Will Grandpa Dean always be died?”
Yes, I had to tell him. When people die they are never going to be alive again. Forever and never are hard concepts to explain to a little kid. It’s like the time an elementary student I was reading with asked me what humidity was. How does one explain humidity to a young mind?
Then the questions came, not new questions as we’d talked about it before, but he wanted to know all at once – how did Grandpa Dean get sick? Who made him sick? Why? Where is Grandpa Dean? Where is that? Who else is there? Can I go there? So he’s not coming to my birthday?
I try to talk to Axel about his Grandpa Dean when the opportunity arises so he knows him – what a wonderful person he was, how much we all loved him, and how he would have enjoyed Axel and his brothers so. They could have tagged along in the truck, bugged him for Harley rides, or put barrettes in his hair like I did when I was little. I suppose little boys wouldn’t enjoy that so much.
I say, when it’s appropriate, that Grandpa Dean would be proud of him, such as when he orders a sub with the works, or is polite to strangers. Axel also loves to watch the news and ask questions – he still wants to know why the cruise ship crashed in Italy and who put that rock there. My dad watched the news, read the newspaper, listened to news radio. He would be proud of Axel’s grasp on current events – it’s better than many adults.
It’s hard to keep a memory alive without going overboard; I don’t want to depress Axel or his brothers for never having the opportunity to know this grandparent. But I also want them to feel close to him and learn a little family history. In addition to the news-watching and sub-eating habits, Axel is like my dad in many ways and I want him to have a connection to the man even though they will never meet on earth.
I keep a couple of pictures of my dad around, and have his work boots sitting by our fireplace. I think of him when I see anything related to Harleys, Peterbilts, supreme pizzas, big mustaches, brandy, practical jokes, Louis L’Amour books, the US Navy and anchor tattoos, the Vietnam War, beef cattle, John Candy movies, and sunrises, to name a few. My brothers and I all have “Life is Good.” tattooed on our left forearms (his catchphrase for as long as anyone can remember), which is a daily reminder of his influence.
This column about my love for my dad and my heartache for him never meeting my kids could fill up this newspaper and many others, so I will just leave it at that. He was the most important man in the first 25 years of my life; even after I met Jesse it was probably still a tie. I believe God sent me five other men, my husband and four sons, to help fill that loss. I’m glad He did, as long as these four little men, descendents of Grandpa Dean, hold off on the brandy and tattoos for a few years.
So today was not a good day. I was doing fine with the idea of the anniversary, until this afternoon when I read my brother Adam's post on Facebook, remembering Dad, and I lost it. Just a little, because there is a four year old here who keeps an eye on me all the time. If I'm doing anything out of the ordinary he asks me a hundred questions about it, so I try to maintain a certain demeanor if possible.
It was hard to do that today. Rex has some kind of phlegmy coughing sickness that he can't shake, so he requires extra attention. I went to the Cities Friday night for a museum visit I had to complete before my Saturday morning class at Augsburg, so Axel was hanging on me more than usual. Last night we had the fire department holiday party and didn't get in bed until after 2:00, which the babies don't know, so they were up by 7:00 or so, and Jesse was a big pile most of the day. He's 36, so I'm waiting for him to know better. No sympathy here.
I also fell down the stairs this afternoon, which didn't help matters. My ass bounced off of every one of our wooden stairs, until I made it to the landing and rolled over, wondering what just happened and how I managed to do that. I was not gawking around, carrying anything, in a hurry, nothing. Just had slippery cashmere socks on and BAM down I went. I had a huge purple bruise on my butt for a good week, but other than that was okay. Thankfully.
Going to switch modes to a new post now - baby boys had a birthday!
