Semper Fi, Dad

[Fiver]

I wrote this last night but decided at the last moment that it seemed wrong somehow to actually post it. I was in a bad head space and not thinking clearly, so I had this guilt thing going on, feeling like I was throwing my self-pity around (which may be true, but irrelevant to the post I wrote.) After re-reading it, I realize that this is a tribute to my father with a touch of self-pity thrown in, but still a tribute to my dad. Indulge me if you will, or skip it with this disclaimer in mind. Regardless, my dad was pretty special and I want to share him with you.
_________________

We buried my dad today.

Well, we didn't exactly bury him today; I imagine at this moment he has either been cremated or will be soon. But today was his funeral and I said my last goodbye to the most decent and wonderful man I could ever hope to know. He died last Monday evening from a pulmonary embolism that broke off from a contusion due to a recent auto accident. He was in good health, he did everything right. But I guess "s#it happens" and we all have to die of something, right? He was eighty years old, not a bad age to live to, I guess. The thing is, he was a very young eighty...and he was My Dad. I was His Kid. And I wanted him around forever to growl at me for not getting my oil changed and to threaten to ground me when I sneaked a cigarette (I am trying to quit...but dads always know.)

When my mom died five years ago we all thought my dad would die of starvation because she did absolutely everything for him, including pouring his corn flakes every morning. She died one week shy of their 51st wedding anniversary and I'm telling you, never was a couple more in love after fifty years than those two. I worried about him so much back then. But dang, the guy is tough, you know? He learned how to cook almost right away. Until a few years ago I worked a half mile from his house, and a couple times a week he'd stop by the store in the evening and bring me dinner -- something he'd made that he was proud of and wanted me to try. It was more than just that, though. He worried about me. I was the baby of the family and really, I was the only kid he had who he had the opportunity to spend a lot of time with as I was growing up. When my sisters were little he was working two jobs and going to school at night. By the time I was born he was pretty settled into his job as an engineer for Chrysler so he saw more of my formative years than theirs. That's not to say he wasn't involved in their lives because he was, very much so. But my dad and I had a special bond. My sisters bonded with my mom where I never did. I had My Dad.

I won't go into the sad details of the family skeletons of how two of my sisters have declared me "dead" to them since my mother's death. Suffice it to say this made the most heartbreaking event of my life that much more difficult to bear. My father accepted me entirely and absolutely, regardless of his own beliefs. You see, I'm a lesbian. Worse than that, I'm a Democrat. And yet, all he wanted was for me to be happy and secure and healthy. Preferably with a man, but hey, I was still His Kid. He held my hand for twenty years while I was on the merry-go-round of life and never took away his love...even when I didn't deserve to be loved. And God help me, I don't know why, but that man was proud of me all his life when nobody else has ever been proud of me. Dear Lord, I am so proud of him, too...I'll say again that there will never be a man as truly good as my dad.

He was a Marine, dammit! He enlisted right out of high school in 1946 when he came to the US and stayed to serve in Korea. He loved it; he was very proud of The Corps and this country. I have a picture of him in his uniform that I've been looking at all day, the same picture we put on top of his casket after they closed it. Wow, what a handsome man, and I'm not just saying that. Even at 80 he was handsome. He was an opinionated cuss who could hold a grudge without remembering why, but he was also generous and compassionate and intelligent. A fine musician, too. I got my passion for music from my dad at a very young age and never lost it. In fact...heh, I was forbidden from attending the Gala Funeral Shindig after the service was over today and I pretty much knew that the Coven of the Evil BitchSiblings would ransack his house to take what they want without asking me if there was anything by which I'd like to remember him. So after the funeral, while they were stuffing their faces with deli meat and potato salad, I let myself into my dad's house with my key and took his banjo. That's really all I wanted. My dad and I were the only ones who play -- I heard one of the BitchSibs say something once about how nice it would look up on the wall as a decoration, and in my opinion that's just sinful. A banjo is an instrument for creating joyful music, not something for the neighbours to comment on during cocktail parties. Screw 'em. The banjo is now mine and I will play it and cherish it forever. He has a beautiful house full of beautiful (and useful) things that I could use, since I've started from scratch while going back to school and working a minimum wage job at night. But I don't want any of it. I just wanted the banjo. My dad's banjo.

Oh, screw that. I want my dad back. I just want my dad back. This hurts so ****ing bad. I miss my dad so much.

Semper fi, Dad. I love you.

 

[NicNak]

Thank you for sharing that with us Fiver. I am lost for words. What a beautiful and honest writing. Your dad sounds like a remarkable man. I am so glad he was supportive of you through out everything.

I am so sorry for your loss :hug:

 

[Fiver]

Thank you, my friend. If I could be half the person he was, or even part of who he hoped for me to be, I'd consider myself successful in life. Sure, parents get old and die if life follows the typical schedule. But it doesn't matter how old they are, nor does it matter that at 46 I'm hardly a child. I am His Kid, and he'll always be My Dad.

 

[NicNak]

He was still proud of you Fiver.

As well, you are right, no matter what you are his kid and he will always be your dad :support: not even his death can take that away.

 

[adaptive1]

So sorry for your loss, it sounds like your dad saw you for the true person that you were and sounds like he had great judgement.

 

[Always Changing]

Fiver I think what you had with your dad was "Unconditional Love" and you will always have that with you in your heart.

:hug: Thank you for sharing with us, you brought a tear to my eyes and also a smile to my face, what you had was so special.
Always hang onto that

 

[Jazzey]

Yup, emotional on this one too Fiver. I don't read any self-pity here. Just a wonderful and loving tribute to your father.

Enjoy ever chord of that banjo Fiver. All of my deepest condolences for your loss. I'm not good at words in these situations, but please know that I'm right here and thinking of you. :hug::hug:

 

[Fiver]

Wow. I'm touched -- maybe a little bit floored -- by the kindness you've shown me, a relative stranger. No, wait a minute...you aren't really strangers, and actually I expected nothing less from you guys, which is why we are all on this board together. At this time when my heartache is almost palpable, I'm finding that small, simple kindnesses really mean a lot.

I was thinking about when I was a kid, must have been five years old because I had just started kindergarten when the Detroit Tigers won the '68 World Series. I didn't know much about baseball but I just had to learn how to play because everyone in kindergarten was talking about it. "In the spring when it's warmer," my dad promised, "I'll teach you how to play." All winter long I bugged the heck out of that man, asking him when it would be warm enough that I could learn how to hit a ball. Finally spring rolled around and we went outside...and indeed I hit my first ball. Unfortunately, it was my dad's. I mean, I really nailed the guy in the nuts with the bat. Accidentally, of course, and I felt absolutely awful about it (although I'm sure he felt worse.) But here's the coolest thing about my dad -- the very next day, when he could stand up straight again, we were right back out there taking up where we left off. Except this time we concentrated on catching and throwing.

I'm finding it cathartic and comforting to talk about him, to share the good memories I have. Much of the time I find myself in tears while sharing, but that's okay. I hate crying and avoid it along with the emotions that make it happen whenever I can shove it all down and repress it. But that's how I deal with PTSD and depression. This is different. This is grief, and right now it feels okay to feel it. It feels right to cry and be sad. It's hard to explain.

I will be extremely relieved when Pat the Wondertherapist gets back from vacation next week. It has really sucked going through this without her guidance.

 

[Jazzey]

I love that story Fiver. I laughed my butt off. That's a good Dad Fiver. And I'm especially grateful that you feel comfortable enough to share with us. :hug:

 

[Always Changing]

:lol:same here, a truly wonderful memory.. thanks for sharing.

 

[David Baxter PhD]

I notice the women are laughing and saying "great story"...

It is a great story.

Want to know what the men are thinking? "Ouch! That poor man. You just know that hurt like blazes!"... :blank:

It's great that you have memories like that, Fiver, and that they bring you joy. That in itself is a kind of immortality.

I realized this years ago: A person's legacy ultimately is all of the people he affected while he was alive. With every day and every interaction with another person, we have the opportunity to affect that other person in either a positive or a negative way. Nobody can possibly make the best decision every time out, but if one manages to have more positive effects than negative, the overall legacy is positive.

And it's a ripple effect - it spreads across time and space. If I manage to affect someone in a positive way today, that person is more likely to have a positive impact in his or her interactions that day - and maybe the next and maybe the day after that. The same is true for each of the people that person meets that day. And so it spreads across space to people you yourself have never even heard of. Similarly, it spreads across time and generations.

So for you, the legacy of your father's life is obviously a very positive one. If you can use that as your beacon or torch, you carry on his legacy through how you affect others. And in that way, he remains with you. His immortality is assured.

I need more coffee. I don't feel as if I'm conveying the concepts very effectively here, but I hope you get the gist of it anyway.

 

[David Baxter PhD]

This song is about a piece of what I'm trying to say:

YouTube - Beth Nielsen Chapman

That was a live version and a bit crackly. This is a better recording but the video is distracting, I think:

Sand And Water
Beth Nielsen Chapman

All alone, I didn't like the feeling
All alone, I sat and cried
All alone, I had to find some meaning
In the center of the pain I felt inside

All alone, I came into the world
All alone, I will someday die
Solid stone is just sand and water, baby
Sand and water, and a million years gone by

I will see you in the light of a thousand suns
I will hear you in the sound of the waves
I will know you when I come, as we all will come,
Through the doors, beyond the grave

All alone, I heal this heart of sorrow
All alone, I raise this child
Flesh and bone, he's just
Bursting towards tomorrow
And his laughter fills my world, and wears your smile

All alone, I came into the world
All alone, I will someday die
Solid stone is just sand and water, baby
Sand and water, and a million years gone by...

 

[Fiver]

I need more coffee. I don't feel as if I'm conveying the concepts very effectively here, but I hope you get the gist of it anyway.

By all means, drink more coffee (I certainly am) but I think you nailed it in one right there. Every bit of life is about relationships when it comes down to it; the relationships with our family and friends, co-workers, neighbours, but even the person who holds the door at the entrance of a building has a relationship with us, or the woman at the bus stop you'll only ever see one time.

Because you're right -- these fleeting relationships define who we are. How we treat the people around us, whether we know them or not, is how we live our lives. With the woman at the bus stop, a small kindness changed my entire outlook for the day about six months ago. I was miserable, had not been sleeping because of nightmares and flashbacks, and I was worn down, just totally worn down. It was a cold, wet, slushy afternoon and I felt absolutely alone in the world. I sat down on the opposite side of the bench to where an older woman, probably in her late sixties or so, looking like she was headed home after a day of hard work as a motel maid, reached across to give me something that was enclosed in her hand.

"Here, honey, you look like you need this right now." Puzzled and a little bit confused, I looked at her face, a very kind, gentle face, and accepted what was in her hand without asking what it was. For all I know it could have been a dead bug or something, because as the aunt to a couple dozen nieces and nephews, I've been handed worse. It was a "fun size" Snickers bar, that's what it was. "You need some chocolate today, baby." That's what she said. I thanked her, she smiled and nodded, and my day changed from that moment. Instead of looking toward a frightening and miserable night, I felt hopeful and a little bit optimistic.

That woman is very much like my father, although he would never have deigned to imply impropriety by offering a woman candy. His style would have been to start a conversation about the historical ramifications of the type of bus we were about to board. But he'd have done something to let someone know they were noticed and they mattered.

I've tried to live my life similar to this because I know that the small things count. We think people only remember the big or important conversations and events but that's not true. We store the little things in our minds, too, and the little things count very much. It takes very little effort to be kind to someone even when you feel lousy. The woman at the bus stop didn't expend much energy to make me feel better, nor did it burn the calories of the chocolate for me to smile widely and tell her how right she was, that this was exactly what I needed. Maybe she needed to feel that she was needed, and maybe I gave her what she needed, too.

And maybe, probably, I'm just rambling now. I need more coffee, too.

---------- Post added at 10:52 AM ---------- Previous post was at 10:46 AM ----------

Sand And Water
Beth Nielsen Chapman
[...]
All alone, I heal this heart of sorrow
All alone, I raise this child
Flesh and bone, he's just
Bursting towards tomorrow
And his laughter fills my world, and wears your smile
[...]

Oh man. That opened the floodgates. But that's okay, in fact this is good.

Because it means you get it. And that means you get my dad, which means he lives on through more than just me. And I'll take whatever I can get.

Thanks David. I think my dad would have liked you.

 

[David Baxter PhD]

I think I would have admired him. Semper Fidelis indeed...

 

[white page]

Fiver that was a wonderful post you wrote there thank you. Heck I know how you are feeling, I want my Dad back too.