dear dad

Dear Dad,

2009-07-29T20:24:00.001-07:00

This year I tried pretty hard not to think about the anniversary of your death. I was mostly successful.

In a bizarre coincidence, Dave got married on the day before the anniversary. Kait got married the day or so before you died. How weird is that?

I was also pretty busy this time around- I just finished EMT training and passed my exam on Friday. Saturday was the wedding, Sunday I had lunch with Mom, C, and M. Monday we were home again (sort of).

So this year I didn't have anything to dwell on. I'm not complaining, but it was strange. I remember noting the date midweek last week and I knew I'd be busy. I'd prefer to remember your birthday anyhow.

I can't believe it's been four years. I can't believe the number of changes we've made just in the LAST year and every step of the way, I've thought about how you'd react if you were here. I think you'd be proud. I think you'd be happy for us. I think you'd love where we're at.

It doesn't go away, you know. That's the thing everyone talks about with grief. "It fades." "It gets easier."

It doesn't. I miss you every day. There's not a day that goes by that I don't wish I could just give you a call. It's sad, but it's not crippling. I think maybe you'd be okay with that.

I'm trying to be okay with that.

We've been planting trees, which always makes me think of you.

Love,
S

Dear Dad

2007-10-23T12:30:00.000-07:00

Today I dropped my Stats class. I'm frustrated and annoyed with myself because I know I should have been able to handle the workload.

On top of that, I'm frustrated and annoyed with M because of his entire lack of housework. I know I'm not the world's best housekeeper, but he's actually making negative effort. Since my positive effort is what it is, you can imagine the end result.

Today we were supposed to get the carpets cleaned. I spent the last 4 days doing a Stats exam and washing dishes as a brain break. I told him that we needed to have all of the 'stuff' off of the furniture so the guys could move what was necessary. When I got home last night, not only had he not moved a goddamn thing but there was MORE stuff out lying around.

I was so angry I actually saw red. I mean, it's not like he doesn't know that I've been sick and then had this exam which was making me crazy. It's so fucking hard to put your dishes IN THE KITCHEN? It's not even WASHING them. Just MOVE them.

And then I think, I don't really get to be mad because - frankly - he did the lion's share of cleaning up for a long time. On the other hand, FUCK YOU, I totally get to be pissed off because when did EVERYTHING become MY job?

So my big plan is that I'm throwing shit out. I'm throwing lots of shit out. I may not even return the fucking cans and bottles, just pitch them. Because if we've got less shit, there's less shit to pick up and/or move. And by Thursday, when the carpet guys come, there won't be a goddamn thing lying around.

It makes me wonder how you lived with Mom all those years.

Dear Dad

2007-09-12T21:13:00.001-07:00

I haven't done this in a while. Not because I don't have things to say but because I haven't known how to say them. Haven't wanted to say them.

I get these moments of chest-clenching sadness. It's almost like I can't breathe and then feel like I need to sob. They don't happen frequently but when they do, I have a lingering sense of awfulness.

I also have these absurd reactions when I see a character death on television. Even if I'm not at all invested in the character, I'm reduced to tears. I remember, right after you died, it was like every show that had a remotely medical tangent featured a patient dying of cancer and (spectacularly) in one case, liver cancer specifically. I kind of felt like, by watching them, I could maybe thicken my skin. Turns out that doesn't work.

You've been on my mind in a lot of ways.

Our family is a disaster and I'm not sure what to do about it.

Papa and Mark have a new place and it's really nice. I think you'd be impressed. Papa looks better than he has in quite some time and Mark... well, Mark is coping. Things are still bad between him and the kids. Apparently Jane's incommunicado also. It's so convoluted down there that I can't really keep it all straight. M and I went down for a visit but stayed at the farm. We didn't call Michelle, or Greg, or Becky. I'm not sure if that was the right thing to do or not. We managed to relax some while we were there, so I guess it wasn't a terrible call.

Andrea is back to her same old. We touch base every once in a while. She had some sort of audition for Animal Planet a couple weeks ago. She and I are okay. It's like a return to the status quo. Of course, our status quo wasn't ever the warm and fuzzy sibling relationship you see on TV but it's okay. We're okay. As okay as ever.

Mom got a new job and may finally be selling the house. I don't talk to her about the house because, really, on some level I'm still angry that she reneged on her promises to you. I'm still angry that I had to have those awful conversations with the both of you while you were sick, and then she disregarded all the decisions the two of you made. I'm angry. I'll live.

She and I haven't ever been as close as you and I were, which I know is hard on her. It's different now, though. Stilted and awkward. I'm not sure if that's us or it's us and her boyfriend. I handled that badly. Not much to be done for it.

M says he's noticed that Maggie and Lori are more quiet and reserved around me. It's hard to tell if it's because of my scene last New Year's or because Mom has complained about me. Probably I should care more about it but, oddly, I don't. I keep thinking, 'those people aren't my family.' They weren't what I expected from family. Probably I should let it go. Maybe I'll figure out how.

I told M, over dinner the other night, how I've been feeling about this. I'm sad that Mom and I aren't closer. I'm disappointed that your death has splintered us all into our own pieces. I don't know if I can find what it would take to bring us back. You were a hell of a uniting force.

It's mostly that I feel guilty. I feel guilty that I'm not being strong for them, like you asked. I feel guilty that I'm not working harder to fix it. I feel guilty that I'm not better.

M says you were more pragmatic than that, that maybe I shouldn't take you so literally. After all, your family has its own particular chaos. That may be true.

Maybe you asked me for other things during those months. Probably. But the only two I can remember involved Jesus Christ as my personal savior and being strong for Mom and Andrea. I couldn't do either and I feel like I'm failing you. It's not logical, I know that, but it doesn't make the feeling go away. And hell, compared to the second thing, the first thing was cake. Not really a choice, anyhow.

I'm content with what I believe and what I don't. I feel bad that you died concerned about my future wellbeing and convinced you wouldn't see me in heaven. I know you well enough that you don't begrudge me my convictions but I've always felt bad that you were worried. I just couldn't lie to make you feel better. Maybe that makes me a bad person.

I'm not convinced I've got it in me to fix things, Dad, and that worries me. I wish you were here to help me sort it through. I wish you were here.

I'll call Mom tomorrow.

I love you, Dad. I miss you.

Sarah

Dear Dad

2007-08-12T23:18:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend with M's family.

It makes me a little sad, because I never get to spend time with you again. We don't get to golf or grab burgers or play fetch with the dog. I miss that.

We went to a Tigers game. The weather was perfect, the game was not.

I hit a beautiful shot with my 8 iron on Saturday. I think you'd have been impressed.

I didn't go to church with the family today. Sometimes I feel guilty about that. Less so today because I found out, after the fact, that Heather was talking about how god cured her cancer because she was faithful and prayed enough. That would have annoyed me.

I thought for a while that maybe I was just being petulant about not attending church but the truth is, life is too short to do something you don't enjoy if you don't have to. Bigger than that, though, I have respect for the belief system. I think it cheapens the sentiment for me to be sitting in the seats. I'm sure M's mom is holding out hope that we'll be converted and showing up seems like leading her on.

The truth of the matter is that the only thing you wanted from me before you died was to have Jesus Christ as my savior. I couldn't pretend for you, not even under those circumstances. Going to church with them cheapens the honesty we had in our relationship and I don't like how that makes me feel.

I think I explained it well enough to M, though I didn't bring you into the conversation. I don't think I should have to. He seemed to understand and I think it's a settled issue now.

We're going to see Mark this weekend. We're leaving on your birthday. I'm nervous. I'm not sure what I'll talk to PaPa about. I hope Mark won't be a complete tool.

Sometimes I think I've reacted the whole wrong way to your death. I haven't gotten closer to anyone in the family - in fact, I'm more and more distant. That might be bad. I'm still not interested in fixing it. It's one of the many things I'd ask you about if you were here.

I love you, Dad. I miss you.

Sarah

Dear Dad

2007-08-06T12:41:00.000-07:00

Had a bad dream last night. Technically it was maybe this morning.

I can't remember why, but Mark and I were talking. He was showing me pictures of his girlfriend (who wasn't his actual girlfriend), some blonde bimbo on his digital camera. The pictures were progressively not suitable for public consumption and the last one she was full-on naked. I was appalled (predictably) and then he started talking about how happy he was and how maybe you should have broken up with Mom a long time ago and then maybe you would have been happy, too. I woke up right around the time I was going to hit Mark in the mouth.

I told M about it. His response: "Wow. Even Dream Mark is a dick."

So it seems like I've got some anxiety about the upcoming visit. Truth be told, I'd rather go see PaPa and avoid everyone else. I look forward to many, many repetitions (by Mark) of "You ain't gonna get shit when the old man dies."

I never really expected that I'd feel bad for PaPa. Look at how things change.

I don't know. I guess you were always a pretty big buffer on these trips. I enjoyed seeing you enjoying your family. Playing cards with them, without you, just isn't the same.

I miss you, Dad.

Dear Dad

2007-08-04T19:22:00.000-07:00

I suspect my 'horrified face' must have been all too obvious because Mom hasn't mentioned her boyfriend since that evening. To be fair, I haven't inquired but it's a conspicuous sort of silence.

Our birthdays are fast approaching. We going down to Carlinville on your birthday and returning the day after mine. It'll be good to see PaPa again. I'm not so sure about Mark. I haven't heard about any drama from Mom's visit but, again, I haven't asked. It turns out I *can* learn a lesson.

Mom got a new job and a new car. She seems excited about both. Andrea got an apartment out in L.A. She seems slightly less enthusiastic but her boyfriend is coming to visit this weekend.

Speaking of birthdays, M and I may be getting a couple of motorcycles. You would not approve. We'll be careful.

I miss you Dad.

Love,
Sarah

Dear Dad

2007-07-26T00:03:00.000-07:00

I just sat and watched the clock turn over. It's been two years exactly.

Mom is in Carlinville, Andrea's back in California, and here I am.

I miss you.

Love,

Sarah

Dear Dad

2007-07-18T20:54:00.000-07:00

July is an awful month. It didn't used to be.

Mom is dating now. I am horrified and relieved. I wish the 'relieved' outweighed the 'horrified,' but it doesn't.

It turns out that being a logical person doesn't help at all with grief. Grief is an inherently illogical process. So while I know I should be supportive and happy for her, what I've got is 'horrified.'

And truthfully, the horrified is less about the What and more about the Who. This guy is old. Older than dirt. Grandpa's age. I can't wrap my head around it. Even if they're just friends, it's just for companionship, I can't figure it out. All they have in common is a dead spouse. Maybe that's enough.

I find, though, that I can't be happy about it. I mean, I'm happy that she's getting out, that she's making plans, that she's trying to live her life. Then I think, how much living can she be doing because this guy is 3/4 in the grave himself?

Next week it will be two years since you're gone. It feels like yesterday. It feels like a lifetime.

I wonder sometimes if you'd recognize the person I am now. Sometimes I don't recognize myself. I wonder if I'm doing the right things. I wish I could be better.

I wish I'd realized that logic wouldn't help. I tried to keep things together so well during your last months. I hope I was successful. I hope I wasn't being distant. I hope I was giving you what you needed. I worry about that sometimes.

I keep thinking that I'm not being strong for them, like you asked. Sometimes I think being strong for them will cripple me. I don't admit that to anyone. I barely admit it to myself, most days.

I love you, Dad, and wish you were here. I'm going to send these letters out to the idea of you because I don't know what else to do with them and keeping quiet isn't helping.

I miss you every day.

Love,
Sarah