What am I supposed to do without a dad?
What are WE supposed to do without a dad/grandpa/great grandpa?
Where the hell is the drop down for this challenge?
I need a list of solutions, resolutions, answers, direction, fix, panacea, a way out.
Mom left so many years ago, I conveniently forgot the pain, anguish, unsettling feeling that nothing matters. I don’t give a damn about most everything now.
It’s pouring rain during the long dog walks? I don’t care.
A client cancels their appointment I’d had on the calendar for six months, don’t give a shit.
Dog vomits in a giant smear across the new bedspread, nope, indifferent.
Class postponed. Not even a “Great!” seeps out.
I realize, with dad, I didn’t need to feel validated. I simply FELT valuable and worthy in his presence. It’s what he gave me, a gift that meant so much. I didn’t even understand that particular sensation I knew in his presence. I get it only now, upon reflection. I never considered he’d judge or criticize me. He always listened to my truth, and accepted.
(Although perhaps he didn’t REALLY accept it, and it was my interpretation of his silence.)
He was disciplined to listen, seemingly had the patience of Jobe, the audacity of stability and solid foundation. Wow, what an incredible gift!
Who can I call when the car makes a strange "oompa loompa" sound?
Where do I get council, secure advice about my investments?
How can I cope with business decisions without Pop’s input?
Who else can I sneak-in questions about their health, like a reed-thin bookmark, between my latest (and greatest) challenges?
The heated political scene conversation with him was always a blast, and made him fill his lungs with breath before replying.
No one can stand ground like he can.
It won’t be as satisfying sharing my dark chocolate treats after long walks in the wooded neighborhoods without my father.
Our Father, who art in Heaven.
He can’t be anywhere else, if there is an anywhere else, or a Heaven, for that matter. He was great, good, the most benevolent man. He only broke the rules when he wasn’t aware there were any to break.
That’s just the kind of guy he was.
An avid marksman, shooting direct arrows at his powerful convictions, doing (mostly) what the doctor ordered, contributing to the Dems, flossing, painstakingly tracking his checkbook entries, getting a new toothbrush every month, keeping up with the politics of his belief via "The Nation," reading Rachel Maddow, watching "Doc Martin," soaking-in the Frank Lloyd Wright prints above his desk. Solitaire, a game and a position we counted on. Kept things (ok, everything) close to his chest. Until he was ready to purge. Injustice, immorality, bigotry, prejudice, and inequality were unacceptable, and could break his chain of silence well into the night. Until the salted peanuts, dark chocolate bars loaded with cherries, kettle corn, pretzels, and/or ice cream were offered, then he’d be busy, savoring the pleasures of sweet and savory snacks. Mute once again.
Once, long ago, while living in Brazil, I wrote to dad and David, my then boyfriend, simultaneously. I didn’t realize the mistake of placing David’s letter in dad’s envelope, and vice versa, until David mentioned his letter started with "Dear Dad." Oh boy! I called dad immediately and apologized profusely. He was so kind and gentle (yes, you can imagine what I said in that letter to my lover and best friend - bleak honesty instead of the censored note to dad.) I was horrified and shamed (by myself, not in any way, shape or form, by him.) He forgave me without a request to do so. With Grace.
“Please help me go,” he pleads from his Hospice bed. Yet his body, strong and capable of lasting another few days, holds out on him. It’s a Torture Chamber. That space of Bardo (Buddhist word for energy between death and rebirth.) We held vigil until his last breath. (A HUGE thank you to all who were there to help him on his journey into the Light, Peace, Freedom from suffering.)
Our health and life doesn’t move in a straight line. Damn it, it doesn’t. There is that small element that takes on a dimension of it’s own, between the lines, in the bumpy wake of life.
The International Wolf Center (http://www.wolf.org/,) near his hometown of Embarrass, Minnesota, will benefit from his adoration of the wolf. In his memory, I contribute a portion of the proceeds from my Critter Sitter business to them for an entire year. (Not the dreaded squirrels who were bound and determined to gobble the seed from his multitude of bird feeders. They get nada.)
No one will answer, "I love you too," in response to the statement, “I love you, Dad.”
Unless I listen closely.
Bye for now, dad, I’ll see you when I see you.
(if there IS that second, secret family out there, related to dad, I’m sorry you missed out)