It’ll be 3 months since dad passed come July 4Th. I have been doing well with things. Mom has been really great. She has her bad days, and I have mine, but that’s to be expected. I have been trying to change my routine during the day. I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to find a job, trying to keep motivated and trying to move forward. I’ve still not returned to my normal self before dad's passing, but I think that will be impossible for me to do. This person that I am now is the new “normal”. I’m not as carefree, not as funny. I still have my dry wit, sarcasm, and benevolent nature though, that didn’t change, and probably because that’s so deeply rooted in who I am. My thoughts never stray far from dad. I miss him every day. I probably annoy people from my constant chatter about him, I hope not.
So I’m trying to remember things, trying to document thoughts and memories and keep up with my blog. I am evolving everyday and growing into my new vessel. It’s just a slow process.
So here are a few thoughts I've had today about dad.
Dad always seemed to be a very active and healthy man. Sure, he had minute problems with his health, but nothing ever major. I think he suffered from hypertension, and had a problem with his heart beating too fast, but he never showed signs of needing to slow down. It just seemed that he had the metabolism that allowed him to eat whatever he wanted and he never gained a pound. He was constantly creating new concoctions, always of the pastry variety. He had a sweet tooth and I always thought I got my mom’s genes, since I loved sweets too and I tend to lean towards being overweight. So there were some expressions of concern from time to time over the years about his “thinness” and his inability to gain weight, but no one ever really thought too long on the subject. Dad even talked about it to me from time to time.
He loved to fish and he had a collection of boats to prove that fact. He had a 14 foot john boat, a creek boat, and a 16 foot scanoe. He had a decent collection of fishing rods and reels and boat accessories and several boat motors. He just needed a fishing partner to help him get in and out of the river. Often times, in the past, he’d call and ask me and inevitable I’d say I couldn’t. I had always battled depression and anxiety, so it wasn’t uncharacteristic of me to put off everyone… I regret that a lot. I did get to spend the last year of his life getting to do those things with him. I don’t know exactly how many times we went fishing together in 09’ but we started in April and we fished through August. He wanted to go fishing on Labor Day but I wasn’t feeling well. I remember him calling me the Friday prior. He was all excited and really wanted to go fishing. I kept trying to negotiate another time, but he wanted to go on Labor Day. In our conversation he reminisced about how that was our tradition. We had always done that when I was growing up. I don’t know when it started, but I have vivid memories. I never realized that that would have been our last fishing trip together, his last fishing trip. I feel very guilty over that, and I see now how my depression has caused other people, other than myself, grief. Just one month later dad’s life, as he knew it, was going to change. Had I only known?
I keep trying to remember all the things dad had told me over the years. He tried to tell me about his family history, about his adventures in tracing his genealogy. I actively listened, but I didn’t absorb it. To be fair, I have always had a hard time absorbing anything, that’s why I never furthered my education. Dad always stressed family, but I never took much stock in it. I remember growing up going with him to visit great aunts and great uncles and various other family members. I remember how uncomfortable I was with visiting, especially when one particular great aunt or uncle would have a cold nature about them and the room you’d be sitting in would literally be in the 90’s from kerosene heat, or there was an ill tempered Chihuahua involved. Then there was my favorite relative that lived in Kinston. There were always several cousins my age to play with. This particular great aunt worked at a dairy shop, so we always got ice-cream when we visited. She lived in a cool two story house that always seemed to be filled with treasures. I remember I use to climb the stairs and then slide down them… I’d always get upset and cry over the rug burns, but I’d soon forget and do the same thing each time we’d visit. On the way home we’d always stop at the same barbecue restaurant and we’d always get a barbecue sandwich and mountain dew. I miss those barbecue sandwiches. I miss that aunt.
The reason my dad was so family oriented was because his childhood was spent living with different relatives. He lived with his grandparents for a while. He deeply loved his grandparents. When he was lying on his death bed, weeks prior to dying, he'd talk about his grandfather and cry. He still missed him... That says an awful lot to me about the kind of person dad was. I wish I had known that deep passion and love that he had in him. I just never noticed it...
