Every once in awhile Maile asks me where my Dad is. I always tell her the truth…that he died when I was a little girl and that now he lives with Jesus. I have a few pictures around the house and every once in awhile I’ll mention how goofy her Grandpa was, but I can tell she doesn’t really get it.
Maile right now is one year younger than I was when my Dad died. Part of what scares me about the possibility of losing Pat is I’d have to raise my kids through it. Watch them suffer, feel helpless, and almost re-experience it all over again. When I voice my concern of the “what if Pat dies” scenario to my Mom she sometimes reminds me of the unlikelihood of something like that happening, “you know Kathy….most people manage to make it through childhood without suffering the loss of a family member…it’s not normal to lose parents when you’re so young…it really is possible that your kids are going to be just fine and Pat is going to live a long and healthy life…”
To which I usually respond by saying, “Yeah I know just what IF!”
Stupid what if questions.
Will they ever stop tormenting me?
My mom and my sisters and I went through a hope chest filled with Dad’s old stuff in an attempt to divvy up what remained of his possessions. I guess we had put the task off long enough.
I had what my family refers to as the “bubble” around me pretty much the whole time. The bubble is that happy place and good attitude you have as long as you don’t think about painful details. You can answer questions and talk about the past and move right along as long as you don’t allow yourself to step INTO the memory. To feel it again. To think too hard about a look or a movement. When that happens the bubble starts cracking.
As we flipped through the Hope Chest we oohed and ahhed over re-discovered treasures, we laughed at his old pictures, and we marveled at the fact that someone’s entire life can be reduced to a few coveted objects in a hope chest.
Someone’s ENTIRE life.
Reduced to objects in a hope chest.
Fascinating.
But considering this person was MY Dad…it was just really sad.
We pulled out his yearbooks and read all the funny entries and were like “does anyone want this?” and when no one would step up to take it we were like “so what? Do we throw away his YEARBOOK??” It just seemed wrong. To throw away his stuff. His memories. His certificates.
Every piece of writing, every paper, every certificate, every picture, every letter offered another clue, another glimpse into his life. His handwriting. His friendships. His story. How do you throw away his yearbook? And yet if he were here that yearbook would have been tossed long ago. He placed no value in that. What grown man cares about his high school yearbook?
Funny how the most insignificant items suddenly seem SO important when it’s all you have left of that person.
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Actually, it’s ironic that this was all brought up beings today is my dad’s birthday…
Those things will be for your kids so they can know him the way you did. Thanks for sharing.
At least you have that….aside from pics I don’t have anything from my father. But I have albums and albums of pics that my mom always put together of my brother and I growing up and my dad….THOSE are what I panic over. I made scanned copies, but they are just in the closet…what if there is a fire…then all my pics…GONE, all my memories of both the men that are now gone…up in smoke….ohhh I shrudder just thinking about it!
I am so not good with this subject. Don’t like to talk about it really. I am a what if kind of person too. What if I die and the girls don’t remember me? One of my worst fears! What if something happens to Jacob? What will I do? What if something happens to one of my girls? I am horrible. Everyday is full of what ifs! Perhaps it is because I lost my baby sister when I was young and feel her absence daily. I am glad that I am not the only one who does this, not the only one in a “bubble”. I am so sorry for you loss for the pain you suffered as a child and for the pain you still have. Hugs to you!
This post really hit home. The stuff is all we have left of this person who is gone and that makes it really hard to part with. I lost my dad almost 5 years ago. I recently did some spring cleaning in the garage and found a bunch of stuff that my dad had given me – a baseball glove and ball, a big horse book – stuff that I didn’t even remember I had until I found it. The plan was to clean, but that kind of thing was put back in a box. I couldn’t bear to throw it out.
What a great post. I have similar feelings about my Dad. All I have from him is a set of old golf clubs and a couple of sweaters, along with a few old pictures. He’s been gone for more than 15 years and my sister and I are just about the only ones who remember him. That’s pretty sad really.
My grown daughter and I go through my mom’s cedar chest every few years; each time I think I’ll get rid of some things, I can’t make myself do it. They’re both gone; my mom and dad. And, now since the death of my 17 year old grandson in 2008, we’ve begun adding things of his. It’s SO hard, but I know someday my daughter will be doing this alone.
How do you throw away yearbooks? I honest don’t know.
It’s so nice that you have a chest of his things. It would be very tough to divy up let alone throw anything away. I know what you mean about the “what ifs.” They haunt me often and get me nowhere, so frustrating sometimes. The added stress sometimes prevents me from enjoying life. I think recognizing though helps you move past it.
This was a very interesting blog. I feel like I have the same type of bubble. I’m okay and composed unless someone asks if I’m alright. Then ALL the waterworks move in full motion.
I haven’t lost any member of my immediate family, so I couldn’t possibly feel that pain. But my father was a firefighter all my life, and every time he left the house my heart sunk a little.
As for your father’s yearbooks, I do the same thing with mine. I look at them and go wow these bring back memories and then put them back in a box to be forgotten. Perhaps someday I’ll toss them out, but I think I’ll know when I’m ready.
The one club girls don’t want to be part of, losing a great Dad. Thank you for sharing such an intimate part of your heart.
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