Still There

It's still there after all these years. During my 4 years at North High School I don't think a week passed that I didn't walk by that picture and announce to all of my friends, "That's my dad!" Eventually, when my friends and I would walk by they would quickly say, "We know. It's your dad."

I can remember my mom and dad coming to high school to watch me in some play or show or game and I took them down the hallway where dad's picture was hanging. He got such a kick out of seeing his football pictures and his track picture. He doesn't remember ever seeing the hurdle picture before and seeing it up on the "wall of fame" was quite a treat. I'm so glad he had a chance to see his picture. And I was always so glad to walk down that hallway feeling a little of my dad there with me. Now, especially, that he is no longer physically with us.

Joe will be starting at North in 2 weeks and the rest of my kids will follow all too soon. I have a feeling their friends will eventually be saying, "We know. It's your grandpa." And I can't help but feel dad will be smiling down at his grandkids, watching over them, and enjoying every minute of it.

Thinking of Dad

Father's Day is quickly approaching and I have been thinking about my dad even more often than I usually do. Little things remind me of my dad daily. Funny things the kids say, the afternoon sunlight settling into the trees and flowers in golden sparkles, his wedding ring in my jewelry box and his laminated army license on my dresser. Seeing an older gentleman cruising down the road on a motorcycle I almost do a double take thinking it was my dad.

My dad has been gone for almost six years now but he is still all around me. He always will be. He will always be with me.

On our way up north my kids ooh and aah and point out the beautiful peachy sunset. They appreciate the rolling hills and the golden colors cast across the landscape. "You did that." I silently say to my dad. "You so appreciated and saw beauty in every little thing and you passed that on to your children and, in turn, your grandchildren. You did that. Thank you."

I watch as my boys grow to be capable outdoorsmen. They are already fine fisherman, great hikers, and are on their way to becoming confident hunters. I know my dad is bursting with pride at his grandsons. I know he is cheering them on at their basketball, baseball, and football games, and getting teary eyed watching them sing on stage just like he did when he would watch me sing on stage. What I would give to have him sit next to me and enjoy watching those boys together. It always struck me how all through his Alzheimer's he always knew the boys. He always got a kick out of those rambunctious boys.

And Grace. Oh Grace. I know dad never got to see Grace in this world but I am confident he was the first to meet her. I just know that they met as he was leaving this world and she was about to enter. I can picture him holding her, ever so carefully, and singing to her as he did to me as a child. I imagine he is thrilled at what a waterbug Grace is. How brave she is. How tough she is and how well she keeps up with her brothers, fishing and hiking with the best of them. And every time Grace has a stubborn, sassy moment I can see my dad chuckling. Oh how he loved his girls to be strong and tough and independent.

Oh how I wish he was still here. That I could hear his voice again. His laugh. That he could wrap me in his big strong arms and give me a hug. There is just so much of him that I miss.

My dad worked third shift in a factory for over 30 years to provide for his family of 8. He would walk to work every night. Sometimes he would ride his bike. We had one family car that he would NEVER take to work (even in a blizzard) in the off-chance that my mom might need it in the morning to take us kids to school. He found beauty in everyday things that most people didn't notice, making the ordinary extraordinary. He was a fierce protector of the underdog. He befriended all (except those SOBs that broke glass in the park and left it for innocent kids to step in). He was an avid outdoorsman and an inspired athlete. He was the life of the party, the ultimate comedian in his impersonations and jokes. He was an immensely talented singer (a crooner), a dancer, and a performer. He cut the grass, he grilled out, he fixed the fence (time and again- "stop climbing on the damn fence!"), he built a play tower, he took us camping, he killed the centipedes, he built the shed, he took us on motorcycle rides, he taught me how to change a tire and how to throw a spiral. I can remember how careful his giant hands were when he would gently wash my hair with my head hovering in the kitchen sink. When we were babies he rocked us, when we were scared he held us, when we were tired he carried us up to our beds. I remember faking sleep a number of times in my childhood just so he would carry me to bed. Not only did he tell us he loved us but he showed us as well. He was at every play, every concert, every game. He was always there. He was a constant. He would drop everything if we needed him. He thought my sarcasm was hilarious, he encouraged my spunk, he was proud of my independence. He told me I was beautiful and smart and even though I couldn't believe the words he said them with such conviction that I knew he believed and that meant everything to me. He taught me how to love God and how to put my trust in Him. My dad was far from perfect, he had flaws, he was human, he made mistakes. But my dad will always be my hero. I miss him more than I can say.

 Happy Father's Day, Daddy.

I love you and miss you.

My Dad

My dad worked third shift in a factory for over 30 years to provide for his family of 8. He would walk to work every night. Sometimes he would ride his bike. We had one family car that he would NEVER take to work (even in a blizzard) in the off-chance that my mom might need it in the morning to take us kids to school. He was a fierce protector of the underdog. He befriended all (except those SOBs that broke glass in the park and left it for innocent kids to step in). He was an avid outdoorsman and an inspired athlete. He was the life of the party, the ultimate comedian in his impersonations and jokes. He was an immensely talented singer (a crooner), a dancer, and a performer. He cut the grass, he grilled out, he fixed the fence (time and again- "stop climbing on the damn fence!"), he built a play tower, he took us camping, he killed the centipedes, he built the shed, he took us on motorcycle rides, he taught me how to change a tire and how to throw a spiral. I can remember how careful his giant hands were when he would gently wash my hair with my head hovering in the kitchen sink. When we were babies he rocked us, when we were scared he held us, when we were tired he carried us up to our beds. I remember faking sleep a number of times in my childhood just so he would carry me to bed. Not only did he tell us he loved us but he showed us as well. He was at every play, every concert, every game. He thought my sarcasm was hilarious, he encouraged my spunk, he was proud of my independence. He told me I was beautiful and smart and even though I couldn't believe the words he said them with such conviction that I knew he believed and that meant everything to me. He taught me how to love God and how to put my trust in Him. My dad was far from perfect, he had flaws, he was human, he made mistakes. But my dad will always be my hero. I miss him more than I can say.

 Happy Father's Day, Daddy.

 I love you!

Only In My Dreams

I saw my dad last night. 

We were all standing around in a restaurant waiting for a table and as I looked over towards the door in walked my dad.  He was wearing his blue "work" pants, his blue jacket, one of his newsboy caps, and a sheepish grin like he knew he was late to the party. 

I ran up to him and flung myself into his arms.  He felt just like my dad.  I stood on my tippy toes and rested my chin on his broad shoulder as he leaned down.  He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me the same familiar hug.  I could feel his cheek warm against mine, a bit of stubble prickling my face.   I cried and cried and laughed and laughed.  I didn't even care that everyone in the restaurant was watching.

"How are you doing this right now?  How can we even see you?"  I asked him.

"I just wanted to be here." he said with a smile.

I watched as he went through and hugged each of my siblings and my mom.  He was exactly the dad I remembered before his body ever hinted at Alzheimer's.  Smiling.  Laughing.  Larger than life.  Loving.  And there was a hint of something new too.  A calmness.  A peacefulness.

I drank it all in trying to memorize each detail.  Each moment.

Dad stayed with us for quite a while and I could tell that when he said he had to go he didn't really want to leave the party.  I was so grateful for the visit that I couldn't be sad.  I had been waiting for a dream of my dad for almost three years and this was so much better. He was here with me.  With all of us.  I was just thankful I got to see him again.

He left the room but I noticed him lingering just outside the window looking in at us.  I laughed and waved and he chuckled and waved back.  We all ran outside to enjoy a few more moments with him. 

I walked with him across a grassy area trying to eek out every minute with him that I could.  I remember flooding him with silly questions.  He laughed and tried to answer them all even as he was getting further and further away. 

He was so far away now that I had to shout for him to hear me, "Dad!  Did you see Todd's new motorcycle?"  I asked, knowing he would be the one person to really appreciate the bike. 

"I saw it!" dad said enthusiastically.   And with that I knew he had been watching over me, over all of us, these last few years.   

I awoke with the image of dad fading away.

It was the most comforting dream I've ever had. 

A dream I have been waiting almost three years for.

A dream that really felt nothing like a dream.

Thank you, Dad.  It was so amazing to see you.  I hope you'll visit again.  Even if it's only in my dreams.

Jumbled

My head is crowded.  To much floating around in here to actually string together coherent sentences. 

So many of the thoughts are frivolous. 

What should I make for dinner? 
Did the boys dress warm enough today or too warm?
Dad.
How big of a turkey should I get?
I should probably get it soon.
Should I make the cranberries again or just stick with the applesauce?
Should I do the 10K the morning of Thanksgiving like I did last year, or is that just too rushed?
Dad.
How am I going to get the boys to their Boy Scout Boat Regatta on Monday and then get to my choir practice?
Who is gonna watch the kiddos?
Can I skip choir practice even though we have a concert coming up?
Should Todd really drive three hours back home to take the boys to the boat regatta and then another three hours back up to deer camp like he wants to, or is that just craziness?
WHY would they even schedule a boat regatta for Boy Scouts during DEER SEASON in the first place?  This is Wisconsin, after all.
Don't forget to wish Jeff a happy birthday.  I bet he is missing dad today.
Dad.
When am I going to have time to make all the food for deer camp?
Did I sign the kids up for swim classes yet?  I can't remember.  I think I did.
Don't forget to tell Todd what the pest guy said about the garage.
Dad.
Why am I sweating again?  It's not my thyroid.  What is my problem lately?   
What snack should I make for the boy scout meeting we are hosting tomorrow?
Man, I dispise boy scouts. 
Dad. 
Don't forget to sign up to bring a snack for Ben's class. It's our turn. 
I'm so tired.
Am I supposed to be somewhere right now?  I feel like I"m missing something.
Dad would be 80 today.



After that last thought there isn't much else.  I've been thinking about my dad so much today.  He is taking up most of my thoughts. 

Today is his 80th birthday.  I wish he were still here.  I wish I could at least still feel him here.  I don't.  I haven't.  It is strange for him to just be gone.  I thought for sure he would visit, somehow.  Sounds silly, I know, but it still surprises me. 

I miss him. 

Happy 80th Birthday, Daddy!  I hope there is lots of carrot cake in heaven! 

Miss you and love you very much.

I Wish I Could Forget

He sat on the edge of the bed staring at a page in the magazine without really seeing the picture.  The room was dark.  The only light came from a small lamp on the table next to the bed.  There were overhead lights we could have turned on but we just couldn't bear it.  The room was bad enough without the greenish glow of the fluorescence adding to the awful yellow paint on the cinder block walls. 

I squinted at the picture to see what he wasn't seeing.  "That is a beautiful cabin isn't it, Daddy?"  I said to him.

"Oh yeah!"  my father answered back still staring into nothing.

Mom gently fingered each of his shirts as she hung them in the wardrobe on the opposite end of the room.  She tried to keep busy, folding and sorting, as we waited for someone to come help us.  It had been over an hour.

We had already given ourselves a little tour.  We'd seen the "dining hall".  We walked by the common area fully stocked with worn arm chairs and couches, an old television, puzzles, games, newspapers, and magazines.  We passed a woman sitting in her wheelchair in the hallway sobbing over the baby doll in her arms.  Dad bent down to her and said, "What a beautiful baby you have!  You're doing just great!"   One after another the prisoners received comfort from dad until mom and I could no longer witness his kindness and we took him back to his room.

When mom finished putting his clothes away and tidying up the barren room it was time to go. I went into the hallway and flagged down a nurse. 

"Excuse me.  My mom and I have to go now.  Could someone please come and sit with my dad or show him around while we leave?"  I pleaded.

"Um.  It is a really busy time of night right now.  Put him in the common area and he can sit with the other residents until we can get to him."  she said quickly.

"Well, I don't know if that will work. He might start to follow us."  I said, still trying to be polite.

"The doors lock so he won't be able to follow you."  she answered without thinking.

"Listen, it's his first night here. Isn't there someone that can be with him while we are leaving?"  I prodded.

"I'll be there in a minute."  she spat at me as she turned and disappeared around the corner.

I walked back down the hall towards my dad's room.  My stomach tightened and rolled, either from the ammonia smell lurking in the walls or what was to come.  

"Let's go take a walk and watch tv, okay?"  I announced as I rounded the doorway into the room.  Mom nodded her head knowingly and grabbed her purse. 

My face began to flush.  I felt hot and light headed.  I turned around and headed back into the hallway before mom and dad could see the blush that had crept into my face.  I made my way down the hall to the common area, my heart smashing against my ribs with each step.  After a few yards I checked behind me to see if mom and dad were following.  They were coming out of the room, walking slowly, holding hands.

As we reached the common area the nurse rushed over.

"Hi John!" she shouted at dad.  "I'm gonna sit with you in a minute, but you can sit here with Marianne and she will chat with you until I get back, won't you Marianne?"

Marianne did not say a word, or even look at dad, she just continued to stare at the light coming from the tv.  Mom and I looked at each other with wide eyes as the nurse ran away leaving us to the dirty deed.

We eased dad into a recliner and gave him yet another magazine.

"Someone will be with you in just a few minutes, dad.  Then they'll show you around, okay?" I bent over and hugged my dad around his broad shoulders that now felt frail.  Sweat was forming on my upper lip.  My throat was too tight to speak properly.  "I love you, daddy.  See you tomorrow." I whispered.
 
I stepped back and watched as mom kissed dad on the cheek and said, "Bye, honey.  I'll see you in the morning.  Love you!"  His eyes looked up at her questioning.  Confused.  Worried.

I forced my body to turn and follow my feet down the hallway.  As we reached the elevator I turned to see dad once more.

Still sitting in the recliner dad had twisted around to watch us go.  I waved my hand to him and he waved back.  And though we were a good distance away I could see he had tears in his eyes.  His lips trembled and lost washed over his face.  Abandoned.

I put my head down and let the hair fall over the sides of my face as I stepped onto the elevator.  I closed my eyes, grabbed mom's hand, and held my breath for the ride down to the first floor.   

The challenge was to write about a memory you wish you could forget.  If you have been reading my blog for a while you are probably not surprised I chose to write about my dad going into the first nursing home (thank God the second nursing home was worlds better) towards the end of his very long battle with Alzheimer's.  Though part of me wishes I could forget that experience I don't really want to loose any of my memories no matter how painful.  Each experience we have in life helps us to grow, and learn, and makes us who we are. 
I'm afraid I went over the 600 word count, but I edited all I could.

Still Recovering

It was a good weekend at the cabin and I'm still recovering. 

The kids slept well.  They behaved fairly well.  And we spent every waking moment outside. While Todd and I were busy taking the boat and the pier out of the water the kiddos played and played and played.   

The minute we let them outside on Saturday morning (at around 8 a.m.) the kids immediately walked over to the woodsy area next to the cabin and settled in.   

Grace found a leaf pile and decided that is where she wanted to spend most of her time.

The boys began making a fort.

And Grace continued to play in the leaves.

And play in the leaves some more.

Joey hiked around the woods.

Tommy chopped wood.  Kind of.

Ben found the four wheeler and was happy that his brothers didn't spot it first.

Grace wandered down to the lake asking to go swimming over and over again.

That girl loves the water even when it is only 55 degrees out. 

She was not happy when mommy kept scolding her away from the water.

Until she saw her brothers having fun on the four wheeler (much to Ben's dismay).

I think we're gonna need a bigger four wheeler.

After lunch we all took a hike through the woods across the road.  The smell and sound of the leaves yanked me back to my own childhood when my parents and I would hike through the woods.  Now here I was walking with my husband and our four children, pointing out the different trees and plants, talking about all the animals that lived in the woods, just as my folks had done.

It was fitting that Todd had brought my father's shotgun on the walk with us.  The shotgun that was my dad's pride and joy.  The shotgun that he was so proud to show to Todd the first time (and many times thereafter) he came to my parents' house.  That gun had taken quite a beating in the last few years of my father's life as he had forgotten how to load it and properly clean it and quite often would get things stuck inside of it.  Before dad's Alzheimer's became too severe Todd had spent a pretty penny to get the gun cleaned up for my dad so that he could see it in it's former glory again.  When dad passed away my mom thought it was only right to pass that gun on to Todd. 

As we were walking the boys asked Todd to shoot grandpa's gun and the kids would all huddle by me, plugging their ears, as Todd walked further into the woods to shoot the gun at a safe distance. 

Boom-Boom!

The gun would smash through the crisp air and the boys laughed and cheered.  Even Grace had a big smile on her face.  I'm sure my dad was smiling too.

  

At the end of our walk Todd declared it was my turn to shoot dad's gun.  I braced it against my shoulder, aimed the gun, took the safety off, and fired it into the woods.  It is a strange thing, but I can't tell you how happy it made me.  I bent over, picked up the shotgun shell, and took a deep breath.  It smelled like my father and reminded me of the times I would watch my dad packing up for a hunting trip. 

It was an emotional walk as both Todd and I recalled memories of our fathers that the smell of the woods conjured up.  I was missing my dad.  And Todd could relate.  Just this week he had to tell his father that he couldn't hunt anymore.  With the progression of his Alzheimer's it was just too dangerous.  After almost thirty years of hunting together this would be Todd's first time hunting without his dad this November.  

Still, it was a good walk.  Melancholy, but good.  We were happy.  And we were blessed.  

And as we left the woods Todd turned to the boys and said, "Take a deep breath boys.  Do you smell that?  The musty leaves?  The smell of fall?  Someday that smell is gonna remind you of your daddy."

It was a good weekend, and I'm still recovering.

Today, One Year Ago

I got the phone call early in the morning. They told us that you were going downhill quickly and that you probably wouldn't make it through the day.

We all quickly made arrangements and soon mom and all of your children were surrounding your bedside. We held hands around you, laid our hands on you, and prayed. We prayed for your peace. We prayed for your comfort. We prayed in thanksgiving for having you in our lives. We cried and we comforted each other.

I was so happy that we were all there for you. So many of us that they had to move you down the hall to a larger room to accommodate your whole family. We all sat around your bedside and told our favorite stories about you. I knew you could hear us. I knew you were enjoying it. Every time someone would tell a story about one of your passions your breathing would speed up and your mouth would twitch as though you were trying to talk. Trying to add to the stories.

It was a day all about you. So often you have taken a backseat in your family life. Happy to let your kids have the spotlight. Never really having a party or the focus on you. But this day. This day was all about you. We could feel your love for all of us in that room with you. And we all agreed that each time one of us would tell you that we loved you we could just feel your desire to say "I love you" back. You were always so quick to tell us you loved us throughout our lives and we could feel it that entire day too.

Your health deteriorated more as the day went on and I was so grateful that you had The Anointing of the Sick just the night before. I knew it made you feel better and it was such a blessing to witness. I almost felt like I was watching you being baptized into your new life. Your spiritual life. And as the day went on and I knew you would not be with us much longer I was comforted that your soul was prepared and ready for God.

When everyone was out of the room I spoke with you. I told you it was okay to let go. To let your body relax. We all said what we needed to say. You knew how much we loved you and we knew how much you loved us. We were going to be okay. We were going to take care of mom. You had nothing to worry about. I told you again how much I loved you and thanked you for being such a wonderful father. If you wanted to let go we were going to be alright.

Still, the day wore into the night. The hospice nurse came in to stay with us and enjoyed hearing stories about how you and mom met, the musicals you were in together, and your passions. I told the hospice nurse that I had a feeling you were waiting until we all left to pass on. I thought you might be worried about us and didn't want us to be there when you passed away. You have always been so private about certain things. You have always had such a strong, personal relationship with God. I thought maybe you wanted it to be just you and God. I spoke with the hospice nurse about my feelings as she assured me that she has seen that many times. Sometimes the person passes on when all is quiet and the family members have gone.

It was late. Most everyone had gone home. Mom was exhausted. She hadn't eaten or slept much. She was planning on sleeping in your room with you but I knew she wouldn't sleep. I was worried about her and she was worried about me. Mom was worried about me being so pregnant and not having had much food and being too tired. We talked it over and I told her I had a feeling you were waiting for us to leave. We finally agreed to go home and sleep and come back first thing in the morning.

We said our I love you's and our goodbyes one more time and we went home.

Ten minutes after I got home I received a phone call from the hospice nurse letting me know that you passed away.

I jumped back into my car, picked up mom and Anne, and we went back to the nursing home to see you. We weren't sure why. We just felt we needed to. When we walked back into the room it felt differently. We could feel that you were gone.

There were no tears. We were so relieved for you, and I'm sure, a bit numb. As we got back into the car for the ride home we all felt very peaceful. We looked up at the stars and the beautiful moon and knew that it was just the kind of gorgeous night that you would marvel at. And now you had the best view of all.

One year has passed. I don't know how to feel about that. With each holiday that came and went without you I felt like I had an excuse for feeling so sad. It was the first Christmas without you. It was the first Easter without you. It was the first Father's Day without you. And now that the first year has passed am I supposed to miss you less? Because that is not how it works for me. As time moves on I feel I am missing you more.

I guess I thought I would see signs of you everywhere I looked and be comforted. I thought I would dream of you often. I thought perhaps I could have conversations with you. But they never came. And it has made me miss you more.

But every now and then I do know you are with me.

Thank you for making me laugh when I was sitting on the back steps tying my shoes. I was all alone in the house hurrying to get to church to help mom plan your funeral. It really caught me by surprise when I sneezed so loudly and then heard your voice clear as day say, "Gesundheit!" It put the biggest smile on my face. It had been years since I'd heard you say that.

And thank you for staying with me when Todd was deer hunting. I know it is silly to be frightened in my own house especially now that I am an adult. But it was a brand new house, and it seemed so big, and I felt so exposed. And I had to put on a brave face for my children even though I was nervous on the inside. The minute I asked you to come and stay with me and watch over me and the kids I immediately felt peaceful and calm. I knew you were with me making me feel safe and protected just like you did when I was a little girl.

Most of all, thank you for being with mom. The conversations you two have now are so real that I can not deny them. It is just more proof of your soulful connection to each other in life and in death. It shows me what real love is. And it also helps release any lingering fear of death I might have had.

I still miss you, Dad. I suspect I always will. Whether you have been gone for one year or 40 years I will miss you. But I take comfort in knowing we will see each other again. If there is one thing you have taught me it is to know God, to serve God, and to trust in God's love for us. And in that love we will live on forever.

I love you, Dad.

Dad's Love

Your trust in me gave me confidence.

Your abundance of compliments gave me self esteem.

Your belief in my abilities gave me drive.

Your amusement at my spunk and independence made me feel I could do anything.

Your acceptance and support of all my decisions made me trust myself.

Your attendance at each and every play, game, musical, and concert made me feel important.
You laughed at all of my silly jokes and sarcastic quips.

You didn't bat an eye when I wore baggy jeans, your old flannel shirts, and combat boots, and insisted I was model material even in my most hideous phases.

When my heart was broken you wanted to break his face and told me over and over again how stupid a man must be to let me go.

Your love for me showed me that I was worthy of love.

You shaped who I am.

You live on through me.

And it is no surprise, no coincidence, that I married a man so undeniably similar to you.

And I know that he will be just as influential, just as loving, just as wonderful a father to her as you were to me. And, like me, she will grow up knowing one of the most powerful loves there is.

Thank you.

Happy Father's Day.

I love you.

Our First Christmas Without You

It is the perfect winter day. The kind you see in those warm, fuzzy Christmas movies. Big, fat snowflakes are flitting down outside my window. The logs in the fire are popping and sizzling and the firelight is sending off a beautiful orange glow in the room. I have hot cider in my favorite mug and old fashioned Christmas songs running through my head. And you are here too. In the forefront of my thoughts.

This is our first Christmas without you. I don't quite know what to expect. Without you here there seems to be such a big part of Christmas missing. It just isn't the same. I miss your "oohs" and "aahs" at each and every decoration. I miss hearing you sing along to all of the beautiful songs. I miss the Christmas sweaters you wore. I miss your joy and elation at all things Christmas. I miss your enthusiasm, your elation, your wonder, your joy. Without you here Christmas feels a bit flat. Lifeless.

Mom could not bring herself to put up any decorations this year. I guess when you spend over 50 years celebrating Christmas with someone it seems impossible to enjoy it when they are gone. I imagine each decoration reminds mom of how much you shared together and how much she misses you. And I can certainly understand that, but it makes me even sadder. It makes you feel that much farther away. I need those reminders of you. I need to remember those wonderful Christmas memories and hold on to them when I am missing you most.

I have been wearing a couple of your sweaters lately. They seem to be all I want to wear. They are comforting to me. And since mom isn't using the decorations I asked if I could have Alfie this Christmas. After all, he was your favorite. I thought maybe if I have Alfie in our house it will be like having a piece of you here with me too. I have such fond memories of you bringing Alfie out and setting him on top of the window box every year right before Christmas. I always thought it was so funny that you liked that little elf so much, but I think he always brought out the kid in you just as Christmas seems to do for so many of us.

This Christmas is such a mix for me. I am so excited for the boys. Their energy is palpable this year as they count down the days. And then of course, this is Grace's first Christmas. Last year she was just a dream, and now here she is celebrating with us. I have everything I've always wanted. But, even still, I can feel that hole. That missing. How I wish you were here with us too, daddy.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll feel you with us. I've been waiting so long to see you. Or hear you. Or feel you around. Maybe I'll find comfort in your sweaters. Or joy from your favorite, Alfie. Or maybe I'll feel you with us as we watch our boys enjoying all the magic of Christmas. Perhaps I'll feel you in the music at Christmas mass. Or maybe I'll finally see you in my dreams. I have hope.

I know heaven must be the ultimate place to celebrate Christmas, but I hope you'll visit us too. I hope when I look at the twinkling lights on the tree you'll be looking at them with me. This, our first Christmas in our new home. Our first Christmas as a family of six. And our first Christmas without you.

Dad-

The sun is shining today, so that automatically puts me in a good mood. I eye the massive bag of apples atop my counter and figure that now is as good a time as any to start in on my applesauce.

I stand at my sink and peel away at apple after apple. Peel, peel, peel, core, cut, put in the kettle. There are so many apples that it takes me close to an hour. Well, that and the fact that I have to stop about a gazillion times to break up fights, hand out snacks, change diapers, wipe noses, and wipe butts.

Still, the sun is shining in through my windows in heated streams, Frank Sinatra is playing in the background, and the sweet, spicy smell of my apples is filling the whole house. Strangely enough, it is times like these that the hole in my heart feels especially sharp.

It has been too long since I've seen you. I mean, I know that when people die you don't see them anymore. I get that. But, well, I really miss seeing you. I've been missing you so much lately. I'm wondering if it is finally hitting me that you are gone. I won't be seeing you again. And now I'm starting to cry again.

This past week we celebrated All Saints Day at church. Just like every year, the names of all the church members who have passed away in past year were read in front of church. There I sat in my pew, sweating and nervous. Dreading when they would get to your name. And when your name was finally read it felt like a punch in the gut. I cried and cried and didn't even care that the girl in the pew in front of me turned around to stare. Stare away, girlie! I miss my dad.

This year we skipped right over fall. It was never golden and pretty. It was not cool and crisp. It didn't even have that wonderful fall smell. It was dark and dreary and bitter cold. It seems appropriate though, because fall was your absolute favorite time, and without you here to enjoy it what is the point?

There are so many things you have missed, daddy. I have a little girl. Did you know that? I like to think that maybe you already met her, but I don't know. I named her Grace. And she is perfect. I wish you could have met her. And her you. I feel she is really missing out without you here. We all are.

The boys still talk about you. Mostly at night when we are saying prayers. They like to think of you as an angel now, and they sometimes ask you for favors. One night Joey even asked you to "help all the girls stop trying to kiss me". I laughed so hard and I pictured you laughing right along with us. You would be so proud of my boys and so happy to see how much they want to protect their sister. It is very sweet.

We moved too. Remember that neighborhood that you and mom used to walk through all the time? The one right on top of the lake by the woods? Mom said you used to walk down the very street I live on and dream about living here. The house has everything you always wanted. A fireplace, a big backyard, a huge garage. It even feels like we live out in the country because the neighborhood is so quite. You can hear the waves crashing and listen to the geese honking as they come in for a landing over the cliff edge onto the lake. And the other night we had four deer in our yard. This house has your name all over it. I wish you could see it. You would be so happy for us. So excited.

I miss you, dad. I wish you would visit. At least in my dreams every now and then. It has just been too long. Every once in a while I can hear you in my head. The other night when I was irrationally annoyed with mom I heard you say, "Awe, honey. Come on now." Just like you used to do when mom and I would bicker with each other when I was a sassy teenager. It immediately made me smile. And then it widened that hole in my heart and I missed you even more.

Here I thought I was so strong and doing so well. But I guess it is finally hitting me now. Before I was just happy for you. Glad that you were finally released from your body that wasn't working anymore. Grateful that you were not suffering anymore. Now. Now I'm just sad for me.

I found a three page letter that you had written to me when I was in high school. In it you told me how proud of me you were and how much you loved me. It felt so good to read those words from you. Having that letter now means more to me than you could ever have imagined when you wrote it.
You ended the letter with:
"Mom and I both hope and pray for a bright future for you and that you never stray from the right and good path. We have loving concern for you- so very much- our youngest and last of all of our children. You have so much to offer. Please- always- depend on God to help you- to guide you, care for you and to bless you. And give Him your love, praise, adoration, thanksgiving, and support.
God Bless You Honey- I love you very much!! And right now I am choked up. Dad"

Thank you, Daddy. What a gift. I'll end my letter the same way.

God Bless You Daddy- I love you very much!! And right now I am choked up. Kathy

Peace

The good Lord has given me special graces this week.

Ever since I found out that I was pregnant with my fourth child I have been worried about the day my dad would pass away. I'm sure I don't need to tell you (though I will anyway) that I have always been very close to my dad. To this day I consider myself to be daddy's little girl. I knew grieving my dad would be very hard on me, and it worried me to be pregnant at the same time. I feared that if I became too depressed those depressed feelings could be passed onto my baby.

My fears were unfounded.

This past week has been a busy one, planning the funeral, helping take care of arrangements, and writing the obituary as my mother requested. And yes, there have been times I would break down and cry. But for the most part I just felt peace. Peace that daddy's struggle was over and he could finally be himself again. Peace that when we would have family get-togethers dad could be there to join in again. Peace that when I speak to my dad I know he will hear me. And peace knowing that dad is reunited with the daughter he lost so long ago.

Maybe it is because this has been such a long road. Yes, I will miss my father terribly, but I have already been missing him for so many years. We have been grieving for quite a while. Even still, the very thought of loosing my dad used to flood me with tears. Now that it has actually happened I am just so happy for him. And my mom seems to be feeling the same thing.

Friday was the funeral. Just planning the funeral, picking the songs that dad loved, choosing readings that meant so much, caused me to cry. Probably more than I had cried yet. But in actually being at the funeral I felt joy. So many people came to celebrate dad and what a wonderful person he was. Pictures were sprayed throughout the church. A video collection of pictures showed just who dad was in life. I laughed when I saw how many photos we had of dad holding a baby. I think that sums up my dad perfectly. He was always taking care of people. Protecting the underdogs. Giving unconditional love. Living with a child's wonder and joy. Thinking about it, dad's connection to babies was perfect, and it is no wonder we had so many pictures of him in his glory.

It reminded me how much I will miss having him at the hospital when this baby is born. I will miss him repeating one of his favorite phrases as he would have taken my daughter in his arms and said in his most reverent, joyful, and gentle voice, "There is nothing like a newborn baby!" I shared this with my mom at the funeral as we were in the back of church and she smiled at me and said, "I just heard him say, 'I'll be there.' " And I have no doubt that he will be.

The sermon captured dad's personality so well that it may have been the only time I cried during mass. Dad's enthusiasm for God's creations was catching and I will never again be able to look at the way the afternoon sun hits the brick on a house and warms it to a glow without immediately thinking of dad. Dad was famous for pointing out beautiful things that the average person would walk right by. I am so proud to be passing that on to my children. Dad's appreciation for life and all it's beauty.

Yes. I will miss dad. More than I can say in words. But I am so filled with love of this man that it is hard to feel past my joy for him right now.

I thank you all so much for your kindness and your prayers. All the overwhelming love and support my family has been given is one of the things that does bring me to tears. This love is beautiful.

I'll leave you with the obituary that was shown in our city's newspaper. I think it sums up my dad's life (if that is even possible) as best as I could in the short amount of time that I had. I am deleting last names and cities and such and I'll just place a * in their spot. I hope that doesn't make it difficult to read.

Thank you all again. And God Bless. :)


John G. * III, 77, of *, died peacefully at * Nursing Home on Monday evening, June 29, 2009 after a long and courageous battle with Alzheimer’s.

John was born November 14, 1931 in * to John and Clara *. He graduated from * North High School, Class of 1950 as school president. During high school, John lettered in track and football. He furthered his education at Mission House, where he starred in several positions with the only undefeated football team in school history.

John went on to play football for the Redwings semi-professional football team. He quickly became one of the Redwings’ star players and word of his talent traveled to Green Bay to the Packers organization. John discovered that the Packers wanted him to tryout for their team just as he was drafted into the Army during the Korean War.

John served his country in the U.S. Army, stationed at *. Following his service, he attended radio broadcasters school in New York, NY. He was employed at a radio station in Manitowoc for a time before he entered * Beauty School in *. It was there he met his wife to be.

On February 7, 1959, John was united in marriage to Gloria * of *. The couple were beauticians in * for a year before moving to * to make their home. John worked as a carpenter for his uncle’s contracting business before he became a lab technician at * Engineering Co. where he was employed for over thirty years until his retirement in 1993.

Mr. * was a faithful member of * Parish where he happily served with the maintenance crew and grounds keepers. He sang with the church choir for many years and will always be remembered for his annual solo of “O Holy Night” during Christmas Eve Mass. John was a member of Community Players and had many lead roles. His favorites included playing Charles Dalrymple in “Brigadoon” and “South Pacific” where he played Lt. Cable, and his wife played Liat. He was also a member of the Knights of Columbus where he shared in grounds keeping duties.

John will be remembered by his wife as having the most grateful heart. He found beauty in everything around him. The way the sunlight filtered through the trees, a beautiful red barn in a field, the majesty of a sunset, or the glory of a fall day. He made life fun and exciting by taking such joy in God’s creations.

John was a true follower of Christ. Always taking care of those that could not take care of themselves. Always defending the underdog. He had a generous, kind, and compassionate nature and made each and every person that came in contact with him feel special. He was the charming life of the party and loved making people laugh.

John was an avid hunter, and enjoyed taking his German Shorthairs on hunting trips. He loved fishing and hiking and took much joy in showing his children and grandchildren all the beauty in nature. His children will always remember the family camping trips to St. Croix falls and many other state parks.

John not only had a gorgeous singing voice, and was a fabulous actor, but he was a great dancer too. John and his wife loved dancing together at weddings, parties, or even in the living room when the mood struck.

John and his wife were best friends and enjoyed spending all of their time together. They took many motorcycle trips across the states and along the Mississippi River stopping wherever something struck their fancy. They took daily walks through the woods with their dogs. They enjoyed attending mass together, singing together, taking long car rides, listening to music, and spending time with their children, grandchildren, and friends.

John will be remembered for many things, but the most important is love. John loved his God, and his family. His faith and love of God lead him throughout his life and made him an extraordinary example of God’s love for us. John loved and supported his wife and children through all of their endeavors and rejoiced in their happiness. All who knew John knew love.

In addition to his wife, Gloria, John is survived by five children, David (Debbie) *, Mike *, Jeff (Jenny) *, Anne *, Kathryn (Todd) * all of *; eleven grandchildren, Garrett, Kellie, Jake, Jason, Alyssa, Emily, Hannah, Lydia, Joseph, Thomas, Benjamin, and another grandchild due in August; 3 brothers, Clarence (Barbara), Eugene (Lois) and Carl (Marie); and other family members including a brother-in-law, Larry (Emma Jean) *.

Preceding John in death was his beloved daughter, Mary Joy, his parents, a brother, Jimmy; father and mother-in-law, August and Casey *.

The family would like to thank all the nurses and staff at Sunnyridge Nursing Home and all the nurses at Hospice for their loving support and care.

A Mass of Christian Burial will be celebrated Friday, 11:00 A.M. at * Church by Rev. *, the Pastor. A time of visitation and support will be held at the church on Friday from 9:00 A.M. until the time of service.

A memorial fund has been established in his name.

Free

November 14, 1931 - June 29, 2009

"The one who sat on the throne said, 'Behold, I make all things new. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give a gift from the spring of life-giving water. The victor will inherit these gifts, and I shall be his God, and he will be my son.' "

-Book of Revelation

Do not stand at my grave and weep;

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glint on the snow.

I am the sunlight on the ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in morning hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there, I did not die.

-Author Unknown

Drained

As one life prepares to enter this world another prepares to exit.

This past week my dad has gone down hill very quickly. Hospice has been called into the nursing home to help care for him. He can not eat anymore, and has trouble drinking water. He is not responding, talking, or opening his eyes. He has started running a temperature and has trouble breathing too.

Our parish priest came to the nursing home last night and gave dad the Anointing of the Sick (used to be called The Last Rites). When Father told dad that he was there to give him a blessing dad actually moved his head in the direction of Father and nodded his head. Clearly dad is still in there. And it is also clear that his faith and his God continue to be at the forefront of his life.

Dying will be a happy release for dad. He will no longer be stuck in a body that doesn't work. No longer imprisoned by his mind. It will be joyful for him. The daughter he has waited 40 long years to see again will surely greet him, and I am so happy for him. For both of them. But I'm sad for me. It is so final.

Still, life continues to go on. The boys play in the pudgie pool in the backyard. Picnics are attended. Fourth of July parties are planned. Cabinets and colors are picked out for the new house. And this little lady still kicks in my belly. And though it makes me sad to think she will never meet her adoring grandpa, and he will never get to hold my daughter, I comfort myself thinking that perhaps they will meet. Maybe even before I get to meet her. Maybe they will meet when she is on her way in and he is on his way out. And she will actually get to see the angel who will so carefully and diligently watch over her throughout her life.

Golden

I'm sure this is not what you imagined when you pictured your golden anniversary. Maybe you saw a big party with all of your closest friends and family. Maybe you thought of a wonderful, relaxing trip that you'd always dreamed of taking. Or maybe a romantic dinner for just the two of you.

Certainly you didn't imagine this. Your 50th wedding anniversary going by without so much of a card exchanged. You having to explain that the flowers he can't focus on were brought by his daughter he may not remember because it is your anniversary. He can not tell you he loves you on your anniversary, though maybe tomorrow he might be able to.

But he still lights up when you walk in the room. Though his mind might not always know who you are his heart certainly does. You can see it in his smile. You are still his world. And though he may not be able to form the words you want to hear we all know he is thinking them. He loves you best of all. And the words you have told me before still ring true, "No one could ever love me like he loves me." Yes, he still loves you like that.

I know that if he could Daddy would be smothering you with hugs and kisses. Dancing with you in the living room. Taking long walks with you through the woods. Packing up the car for another adventurous trip to anywhere. Buying you sentimental cards and boxes of chocolates. Singing you love songs. Making this day special for you the way he made everyday special.

And this anniversary is still special. It is not just fifty years that you put up with each other. It is fifty years you cherished each other. Respected each other. Stood by each other. Loved each other. Held each other up. Your marriage strengthened you and helped you through the death of a child, the passing of your parents, and the struggles of everyday life. Your marriage transcends Alzheimer's and cancer. And your marriage is more of a testiment to the sacrament of marriage than any other I've ever known. Your marriage has been appointed by God. Your marriage is an example to be followed. A marriage to strive for.

Though this may not be the anniversary you dreamed of this is an anniversary to be celebrated. A marriage to be celebrated. I am blessed just to have been a witness.

Happy 50th Anniversary, Mom and Dad.
I love you so much.

FYI

Okay, you've been asking but I haven't been answering. Here are some of your questions answered.

1- How is the house selling going? It's not. We put our house on the market at THE WRONG TIME. Right before the holidays is the worst time to try and sell your house, in case you were wondering. But now that spring is coming we are hopeful that it will sell. Our house has only been on the market for five months (the average for this area is 6-12 months) but it feels like a lot longer. Luckily, the house we want to buy is still on the market too. In truth, I think everything happens when it is supposed to. Timing is everything. Moving in winter would have been a pain considering all the snow and freezing temps we've had. Plus we were able to pay off some substantial bills we had. So we are in a better situation now. Hopefully it will all fall in line soon. Keep your fingers crossed!

2- Have you told the boys you are pregnant yet? Yes. It was so anti-climactic that I wasn't even going to write about it. We told them right after Christmas. I got out the video camera and lined them all up to tell them the exciting news. They just looked at me with blank expressions on their faces and said, "Mmm-hmm". I asked Joey if he already knew and he said "yes". So, I guess they are a lot more intuitive then we gave them credit for. hehe

3- How can you watch your old birth videos knowing you will have to do it again soon? First of all, my birth videos are not the scary kind. Basically, we film me having some contractions and then the next thing you know the baby magically appears and is being cleaned off by the nurses. Just as it should be, right? We don't have any graphic shots. I wouldn't want family and friends to be scarred for life seeing something they didn't want to see. Plus, Todd wants to be in the moment with me, not holding a camera to his face while his child is being born. Second, I don't really get scared watching birth videos. I'm kind of obsessed with it, actually. I watch A Baby Story and Maternity Ward and Bringing Home Baby shows all the time. I don't know what it is, but it is just so cool to me. Plus it feels like it helps to prepare me for every possible situation. Although all of my labors were so different I'm probably pretty well prepared by now.

4- How are you feeling? The nausea has let up a bit. It comes in waves but it is not all day anymore. And it is still really difficult to find anything to eat. Thinking about most foods kinda makes me sick. I can eat sub sandwiches and fruit. That's about it. I thought if I bought my old favorites like ice cream, potato chips, or chocolate I could eat some of that but it is a no go. They are all just sitting there lonely in my cupboards. Just sandwiches and fruit for me, please.

5- Is this pregnancy very different from your last pregnancies? I am much more nauseous than my last pregnancies but that is really the only difference. It seems my pregnancies got more difficult with each one. The first pregnancy I barely noticed I was pregnant except for being tired and one or two migraines. The second pregnancy I had major food aversions with the exhaustion and more migraines. The third pregnancy I had food aversions, waves of nausea, and migraines. Now this one I've only had one migraine (woohoo!), food aversions to just about everything, all day nausea, heartburn, major moodiness, and extreme exhaustion. It really is true that each pregnancy is different.

6- Are you showing yet? Nope. Not yet. I am still wearing my regular clothes though my pants feel a little tight when I sit down. My waist is starting to fill out slightly but my jeans are low waisted so I can still wear them. I just unbutton them when I sit down. MUST remember to rebutton them when I stand back up. It can cause embarrassment.

The minute I have a little belly I will post some pics for you. I love baby bellies. Right now, there is just nothing to see.

7- How is your dad doing? Hmm. Well, the Alzheimer's is progressing. He can not remember how to stand or walk. He does not say much anymore, though there are some moments that just take our breath away. The other day he looked right into my eyes (very rare) and said, "You are such a light to us. You are so special." Made me cry. We get little miracles like that every once in a while though they are few and far between. He will say the sweetest things to my mom. And just a few weeks ago, out of no where, he started singing (he hasn't been able to sing anything in so long) a song to her that they always loved. It really was a miracle. A gift to my mom. But that does not happen often. I know he is in that body somewhere, but we see him less and less these days. Still, he seems peaceful enough, and I guess that is all we can hope for right now.

So, I think that just about covers the most frequently asked questions. Sorry it has taken me a while to answer some of them. If I missed any let me know in the comments section and I'll answer them right away. :)

Thankful Thursday

I first saw this over at Dysfunctional Mom's blog and I loved the idea. So now I'm copying cuz I'm original like that. But also because I'm thankful.


- I am thankful that Joey's little episode with his dad the other week was only a one time occurrence. I have proof! As I was dropping Joey off in his classroom this morning I watched as he hung up his backpack and jacket and joined in on his classmates' play. Sensing that I was no longer needed I shouted a goodbye to Joey over my shoulder as I made my way to the door, careful not to embarrass him in front of his friends. Joey yelled, "Wait!" and quickly ran over, gave me a hug, a KISS, and told me he loves me. In front of all of his friends. Ahhhhh. All is right in the world.
I also heard from Todd that Joey allows him a big hug and kiss too. But only if his friends are not right there. Good enough. We'll take what we can get.

- I am so thankful that I only have two more weeks to wait until my appointment with my hair stylist. I am looking so bushy lately. I mean it is really out of control. I am trying to grow my hair out and when I do that I usually wait about two months in between hair cuts. Well, this time I waited too long to call my stylist and she was booked for a month and a half. A MONTH AND A HALF. And yes. She is that good. I WILL NOT let anyone else touch my hair so I have been waiting impatiently for my turn. She has told me in the past that if I really need to get in for an appointment that I can leave my name and she'll try and squeeze me in but I feel funny doing that. Like maybe I should do that only in case of real hair emergencies. What that would be? I don't know, but I think I can hold out another two weeks.
It is funny that I am this picky about my hair stylist considering that I had never even had my hair cut in a salon until I was 20 something. Up until then I had cut my own hair, and before that my mom cut it for me. But once you get a really fabulous cut, you just can't go back. Don't you agree?

- I am so thankful bribery works. Tommy has been crying and hanging on us when we drop him off for school in the morning. I know he likes school, but he just doesn't like the part where we leave him there. Being Joey's younger brother has always made it easy for him in the friends department. Joey's friends are his friends. He has never had to go out and make his own friends. And I can understand walking into a room full of kids can be very intimidating. He is a very emotional, dramatic (I wonder where he gets this from???) little boy and he is very free with his emotions. I love that about him, but I don't want these mornings to be so hard on him.
I told Tommy that if he can walk into his classroom, and kiss and hug mommy goodbye like a big boy, then he will get a special treat when I come to pick him up. It worked like a charm! He was fabulous! And his wonderful teacher (I'm thankful for her too!) noticed and ran with it telling him what a big boy he is and how proud she is of him. It was GREAT!

- I am thankful it is Thursday. Great TV night. Between The Office, Grey's Anatomy, 3rd Rock, and ER I am booked. AND, Dr. Greene is coming back to ER tonight! I am so excited!
It's the little things in life.

- I am so thankful for my dad's nursing home. The nursing staff there are the most amazing group of people I've ever met. They are all so loving and kind and they go out of their way to make all the residents feel at home. I was walking down the hall the other day and glanced into the common room and saw a nurse dancing with a resident. My mom said that is common to see. And I know you all heard of them opening up the nursing home to trick or treaters so the residents could hand out candy. That was awesome.
On Tuesday they also had a ceremony to honor all the residents who are Veterans. My dad received a plaque with his Army picture on it, his years of active service, and the awards he received as a soldier. I don't know how much of the ceremony my dad grasped, but he sure was grasping onto that plaque tightly. It warmed my heart.
Tomorrow the nursing staff are throwing my dad a birthday party for his 77th. They really do go out of their way, and I am so grateful to them. I just wrote a letter to our local newspaper thanking the nurses and staff at the nursing home. I hope they print it.
Anyway, it is truly something to be thankful for.

- I am thankful for the Peanut Butter Jelly song. Finally a rap song my boys can listen to. And no matter how grouchy they are it makes them laugh and dance.

The ice cream and cake song isn't bad either.

So, what are you thankful for?

The Ups And Downs

That's the way life goes.

You have your ups and your downs.

I'll take more ups, please!

The Downs-

-After enjoying yesterday's thunderstorm I suddenly got a massive migraine. I don't know if it was the air pressure from the storm, or what, but it was a doosie. It is NO FUN taking care of 3 boys while my brains are spilling out onto the floor and I'm trying not to vomit from the pain. I went from being fun, sweet, loving mommy to psycho, don't talk to, look at, or breath in her direction, mommy. Poor boys. They had to put up with that all day. I actually told Tommy, "Tommy, if you don't shut your yipper I'm gonna karate chop your head!" Luckily he thought it was funny. Can we say, "psycho mom"?

-I have a fro. It is not pretty. I haven't cut my hair in over three months because I am growing it out but, seriously, something needs to be done. I'm beginning to look like a crazy person.

-I only ran once this week. My K-Lo bootie is getting bigger by the second. I can feel it.

The Ups

- Dad has been adjusting to the nursing home amazingly well. The beginning of the week was a bit rough. Dad was just really out of it. Barely able to walk. Didn't really know who anyone was. Now, these last few days he has been completely different. Much more lucid and cheerful. I walked into his room and he was sitting in his recliner (we brought his favorite chair from home) drinking tea and listening to music with mom. We laughed and talked and he even called me by my name. Something I haven't heard in a long time. Mom has been taking him out on car rides and trips to their favorite ice cream shops, and when they get back to the nursing home dad says, "Yep. We're home now." I think dad thinks that mom lives at the nursing home with him because she is there so much of the time. The last few days have been nothing short of a blessing. I realize he will go back and forth between horrible days, okay days, and wonderful days, but I'm willing to take them as they come. It has been so good to see him smile again.

-I have a haircut appointment for Saturday. At least I'm doing something about one of the downs!

- Yesterday's thunderstorm. Loved it! So good!


So there you have it. Not too up and not too down. Pretty even keel. And for someone like me who has recently been a freaking weeping, sobbing, emotional mess that is pretty good.

Trying

I've been trying not to write every single post about my dad. I've been trying really hard. But the truth is that I think about him all the time. My dad is in the back (or front) on my mind all the time. Most days I am able to enjoy the boys, the weather, and our daily life. I am so lucky and I know I have a wonderful life. But there is this heartache tucked away.

This past Wednesday dad was finally taken out of the psych ward at the hospital and transferred to a nursing home. It all went smoothly and so far it looks like dad is coping well. There have not been any violent outbursts yet, so we are keeping our fingers crossed.

The day after he arrived at the nursing home I started decorating his room. It looked so bare compared to all the other residents and I wanted to spruce it up as soon as possible. Mom kept telling me that dad probably wouldn't notice and not to make too much fuss but I figured that if dad couldn't be at home at least he could be surrounded by pictures and blankets and music from home. Just as I was finishing up mom walked into the room took one look around and started crying. She wasn't expecting to see me there, and the room looked so much better she just couldn't hold her emotions in.

This has been so hard on her. She visits dad everyday for a few hours. She takes him outside and walks (pushes him in a wheelchair on his bad days) him around the grounds. Helps him eat his lunch and dinner. Plays music for him. And just keeps him company.

No matter how long I live in this life I don't know if I will ever see two people more bonded than my mom and dad. Dad lights up when mom walks in the room. He leans over and whispers to her, "I am so glad you're here. I love you so much. You are my whole life. You are so beautiful." They hug and hug and then cry. It is breathtaking and heartbreaking.

Even on the days when dad doesn't know who mom is he still loves her. He was walking down the hallway with a nurse when my mom came in through the doors. Dad turned to the nurse and said, "Oh, here she comes! She is so beautiful! I'm going to marry her someday!" My mom heard him say it and told him, "Oh Johnny, we're married already. We've been married for 49 years." Dad's face lit up and he responded, "Oh. That's good!" And then of course the sadness sets in and he says, "Oh honey, what has happened to us?" Then, more tears.

All of this, and so much more, has been swirling around in my head and it all showed itself on Saturday night. Todd and I went to his cousin's wedding and we had a great time. We talked and laughed with relatives. We had some drinks and of course we had some cake. I even got Todd out on the dance floor.

Then a song started to play. Remember When. The DJ asked all the married couples to get out on the dance floor and as they danced he began asking the couples to exit the dance floor based on how long they were married. The couple married the longest would be the last couple dancing. As I listened to the words of the song, and watched all of the couples married 40-50 years dancing, I couldn't help thinking about mom and dad. How they loved to dance together. How beautiful they looked. How enchanting they were to watch. And how they won't ever dance like that again. I couldn't hold back the tears. I headed off to the bathroom to recover only to come back to the father/daughter dance. I did well at first, and then really lost it. I hid my face in Todd's shoulder knowing I couldn't stop the floodgates. It all really hit me. I thought about my dad and I dancing together at my wedding. The greatest father/daughter dance ever. I thought about how much my dad would love to be at a wedding dancing and having fun. I thought about dad sleeping all alone in his room at the nursing home. I wondered if he was lonely. I wondered if he was scared. I wondered if his heart was breaking at that moment just as mine was. I wondered and wondered and wondered.

It is so difficult to stop these thoughts from bubbling to the surface. It doesn't do any good to dwell on it. And most of the time I am okay. I try not to think about it too much. I try to be positive. I'm trying. Because I really am lucky.

I am so lucky to have had my dad as long as I have. And I'm lucky he is still here. Because there are moments, however few, when I can still see his personality make an escape from his mind's prison. And he is daddy all over again. Briefly. But he is in there. And I can still hug him. I can still tell him I love him. And I know he hears me. His heart hears me even when his mind doesn't know me.

Remembering

My dad was always quite the entertainer. He was a wonderful singer and dancer, and a great storyteller as well. He loved impersonating characters he would see on television. Do you remember Crazy Guggenheim on The Jackie Gleason Show? Dad loved him and did a great impersonation. He also loved The Mad Russian. When dad would enter a room he would often bellow "How do you do?" just like him. You couldn't help but laugh when he did it. Even as dad's Alzheimer's progressed he would still make my boys laugh like crazy with his goofy voices. He hasn't been able to do any of that lately and I wonder how long it will be before my boys forget all about how fun grandpa could be.

I was getting really sad thinking about it the other day. Wondering how much time my dad has left. How he really isn't himself anymore no matter how hard he tries. How my kids won't remember grandpa the way he used to be. They won't remember how they would beg my dad, "Grandpa, say 'how do you do' again!" over and over. They won't remember how grandpa could be the life of the party.

Just as the lump in my throat was getting close to bursting Tommy walked in the room and said in his best "grandpa" impersonation voice, "How do you do?" and laughed and laughed. I just looked at him, stunned. How did he know to say that at that moment? How did he know that was exactly what I needed to hear?

My eyes filled with tears. I bent down, cradled Tommy's face in my hands, and kissed his sweet little cheeks. They may not remember him as they get older but I will tell them all I know. And he will always be a part of them. Always.