My dad called tonight. This means I now have his number again after the cell phone in the disposal disaster and that we talked again for the first time in four months. I want to write about my dad because I wonder if others out there have complicated relationships with their parents. It seems like many I meet have the ideal situations or maybe they just portray such. Writing about my dad is uncomfortable. Much of the last 15 years of his existence has conjured depressing experiences and embarrassment for his family. I don’t want this entry to be depressing or uncomfortable therefore I will leave out the particulars of his misdeeds and focus on my experience and my quest for meaning in pain.
I’ve thought of my dad for the last week after attending my 90 year old neighbor’s funeral. It was the type of affair any decent, kind, and honorable man should receive for a finale. There were talks from sons who honored their father in remembering his virtues and also honor him with the types of lives they now live. Friends and loved ones filled the chapel all emoting quiet respect and gratitude in their folded arms and listening ears.
With his failing kidneys and heart, it is likely my dad’s funeral will occur within five years. When I attend a funeral of someone that did everything right, I can’t help but wonder how a funeral will play out for someone like my dad, who made mistakes and alienated loved ones. Despite his faults, I irrevocably love my father. Part of that love probably stems from thinking that I was the most like him of my two parents. Physically, I got his chubby cheeks and blue eyes. I also got his penchant for being a know-it-all and a verbal clutz. Dad enjoyed gardening, animals, leisure walks, and working hard. As a youngster, I was only at peace by his side. We furrowed the garden, planted everything from peas to petunias, burned ditch banks in the fall, and fixed sprinklers. In the winter we built snowman or snowbears, made igloos, and went tubing down frozen hills. Each night I planted myself faithfully by the back door and waited for his return from work and his whiskery kisses. Things were never right until he was there to lift me in his strong arms and talk to me about cats or whatever else I had on my mind. He was faithful and steady where my mom was, at times, forgetful and frazzled.
Though it seemed he could make everything grow in the garden, his relationship with my mom dried and crusted into thorns of ugliness and pain. There is probably one day in everyone’s life where they wish to be in the grave and mine was the day I came home from college and found my dad’s closet empty. In that moment I was lost and it has taken me years to find my way home without the consistency of my strong and faithful father. I will never be the same person I was before that day and it is ok now, sort of. I can’t say that I’ve one hundred percent come to terms with his loss or found all of the meaning of loving, needing, and losing. I am still trying.
Perhaps one of the things that has come from my experience is that I’ve decided only death will make me abandon anyone I love. I won’t even abandon my dad. I’ve never been to a funeral for someone like my dad so that should be an interesting future event. Maybe I could speak and find a way to honor the good person he was while glossing over the bad. I’m going to have to think about this one.
I recently grabbed all of my childhood pictures when I visited Utah. The one above is one of my favorite pictures of me and my Dad. I think I remember that we were looking at an airplane.
I’ve thought of my dad for the last week after attending my 90 year old neighbor’s funeral. It was the type of affair any decent, kind, and honorable man should receive for a finale. There were talks from sons who honored their father in remembering his virtues and also honor him with the types of lives they now live. Friends and loved ones filled the chapel all emoting quiet respect and gratitude in their folded arms and listening ears.
With his failing kidneys and heart, it is likely my dad’s funeral will occur within five years. When I attend a funeral of someone that did everything right, I can’t help but wonder how a funeral will play out for someone like my dad, who made mistakes and alienated loved ones. Despite his faults, I irrevocably love my father. Part of that love probably stems from thinking that I was the most like him of my two parents. Physically, I got his chubby cheeks and blue eyes. I also got his penchant for being a know-it-all and a verbal clutz. Dad enjoyed gardening, animals, leisure walks, and working hard. As a youngster, I was only at peace by his side. We furrowed the garden, planted everything from peas to petunias, burned ditch banks in the fall, and fixed sprinklers. In the winter we built snowman or snowbears, made igloos, and went tubing down frozen hills. Each night I planted myself faithfully by the back door and waited for his return from work and his whiskery kisses. Things were never right until he was there to lift me in his strong arms and talk to me about cats or whatever else I had on my mind. He was faithful and steady where my mom was, at times, forgetful and frazzled.
Though it seemed he could make everything grow in the garden, his relationship with my mom dried and crusted into thorns of ugliness and pain. There is probably one day in everyone’s life where they wish to be in the grave and mine was the day I came home from college and found my dad’s closet empty. In that moment I was lost and it has taken me years to find my way home without the consistency of my strong and faithful father. I will never be the same person I was before that day and it is ok now, sort of. I can’t say that I’ve one hundred percent come to terms with his loss or found all of the meaning of loving, needing, and losing. I am still trying.
Perhaps one of the things that has come from my experience is that I’ve decided only death will make me abandon anyone I love. I won’t even abandon my dad. I’ve never been to a funeral for someone like my dad so that should be an interesting future event. Maybe I could speak and find a way to honor the good person he was while glossing over the bad. I’m going to have to think about this one.
I recently grabbed all of my childhood pictures when I visited Utah. The one above is one of my favorite pictures of me and my Dad. I think I remember that we were looking at an airplane.
6 comments:
MAN he looks like Todd. You know, Mormons have a way of making everyone look good at their funeral. I guess it's ok to talk about the good things in their life. Your love for your dad is as real as any of his mistakes. But it's better not to pretend ANYONE was perfect.
I remember you coming back to school just devastated. I was so sad for you during that time. It is something that shakes your world and your perception of life forever. I am so sorry that you don't have a parent you can rely on and be close to. I just remind myself to always be there for my kids, it seems like you do that really well. You are so strong, Melissa.
If anything, your dad raised a wonderful daughter...you are amazing, strong, beautiful, kind, thoughtful, friendly, etc, etc, etc...
I don't know if one ever gets over the pain that you've experienced. My moms parents divorced over 30 years ago and it still causes her pain! The one thing is that you know how to change things for your own children and how to make their futures positive and uplifting!
I love the way you write. You always word things so well and tell a good story...thanks for sharing!
You really are so good at putting your feelings to words. I think you can still honor your parents by being the kind of parent you wish they could be for you! You're an awesome mom, wife, etc. I'm sure it's hard to write stuff like this, so thanks for sharing!
That is a cute picture of you and dad, I don't think I've ever seen it before.
they say the best thing you can give your kids is to have a good marriage and it totally makes sense because it is such a basis for their security. How do you really get past some of these things? They affect you so deeply.
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