Wednesday, June 25, 2014

To the one left behind...

I will never know what it would feel like to be the only living parent a child has left. For whatever reason, accident, sudden death, terminal illness. Whatever. I will never know. Because I cannot have children of my own. And if I adopted, well I start out the only living parent a child has. 

I also don't understand the depths of a parents love for their children. So I can emphatically say that I have no idea what my fathers death has been like for my mother. 

There are some who would say who cares, she left him. Why does she have feelings period? Well because they spent 40 years together that's why. If you knew THE WHOLE story instead of the one painted for you, you would understand a lot more, but that's not what this blog is about. 

My siblings and I were three very different people prior to his death. I know none of us are even remotely close to those people now. For the one left behind, that has to be hard to watch. Your children changing right before your eyes, or what you can hear in the sound of their voice. 

Let's be honest. The world expected my mother to go first. At times I am sure she personally wished she had. But she didn't. And the double whammy about this whole thing? We also had to grieve the loss of her departure from the marriage as well. She just remained living. 

So what I would say to you, the one who was left behind...because you went through this as well it was just a long time ago...and I will only speak for me...

You moved away, for a new start, in a new place, with a new life. No one supported that more than I. You also were no longer right around us in proximity. You kind of went "out of the way" but to where you finally felt like home. Don't regret that, nor do I. You had a second chance, you wiped the slate clean. 

Not only am I the most sensitive of your three children but I also was the one who physically spent the most time with you and Dad. The good, the bad, the ugly. The death of the marriage was extremely difficult for me as I was trying to keep Dad functioning and running a business. I watched his heart break. It's a terribly hard thing to watch when you are watching your other parents blossom. I will not say Dads death was hardest on me personally because I can't accurately say that. I can say it affected me differently. Because I witnessed so much. 

My love for you has never changed. I know we are not as close as we were or talk as often as we did but if you ask my friends I'm not doing that with anyone anymore. 

Just because I don't come down there doesn't mean I don't think about you. I do every single day. Brodie adores you two. And I wish you were closer so he could spend more time with you. He was raised in a home with a revolving door. This death and our move out on our own has been socially challenging for him as well. 

Half of me is because of you. You don't lose that or forget that. Life has thrown me so many curveballs. And you were there, at the end of every game, ready to take me home. You are and will always be my biggest fan. 

You are not thought of less because you are all we have left. I'm just going through a process of sorting it all out. We weren't prepared for his death. You never are. But we really weren't prepared for what followed. Even if you saw the writing on the wall all those years ago. 

I have your heart. Your spunk. And when people meet you they immediately know where I was hand crafted. I'm sad some of the newest people in my life will never know the other person who helped me become me. 

There is nothing you can do to help us. Just support the process. Realize it takes time and so much effort. I kind of feel like I woke up from a storm and I'm just crawling out of the debris. 

I love you with all my heart and soul. And so I say to you, to the one left behind...

Our love for him is intensified because of his absence. Our love for you has not faltered or changed it just has not been as easy to see. Try not to think of it as you living in the shadows his death left behind, but rather you are shining the light for our way out of them. 



Monday, June 9, 2014

1600 Miles

Almost 1600 miles. I should've drove around the block to get exactly that many. But I didn't because I was too tired to give a rats ass. 

I'm not sure what "drove" me to do this trip. Because honestly I was going to Florida to sit on a beach. Not in a car seat. 

I guess part of me wants to spend what life I have left going to the places my parents took me as a child. That was a lot of places. But these places meant something to them. A different time. A different place. A different marriage. A different goal for their lives and ours. 

Regardless of how I arrived at this decision for my 42nd birthday, I got there. And it needed to be with the people who knew me best. I needed to be able to not speak and have them know exactly what I was saying...

So what did I learn in 1600 miles? 

Plans are ok. It's ok to have one. And an itenarary. And you will probably deviate from it. I knew we would when we didn't leave at exactly 7am. Like I planned. 

When driving 5 different people you should stop often. And feed them. 

That driving up the coast of Michigan doesn't actually show you the coast. That by taking the "faster" route you may encounter several accidents during rush hour and that you probably should've let Sister pee when she said she was going to have to. Always stop when she gives you a warning. 

Feed your passengers. 

That the hotel of your dreams is probably that way for a reason. And that garden view is not a view at all but a driveway. 

That if you are patient a lodge of epic proportions awaits you to accommodate every need you have. In the middle of nowhere. And you will not want to leave. And that if they tell you to go to the restaurant down the road and to take the free appetizer vouchers that the kicker is you should just pay for them because you won't eat the meals that you have to order to make them free. 

That if you stopped at every "sale" sign on the way you would never make it. Anywhere. 

That in one hour you can see the best and worst of humanity. That you will meet a group of random men who will help you carry out your goal, a 1600 mile goal, and they will do it without hesitation or reservation. And be honored doing it. 

And in a flash of a second you will see how inhospitable people can be. And you will forever more be grateful of men like those I met who were the polar opposite. 

And you will realize why Rita hates the Root Cellar. And always has. And always will. 

And you will realize why a cabin in Northern Wisconsin is Heaven. And how important it is to spend just one day laughing uncontrollably with people you love. On a boat. Anchored. And a lot of beer. And good music. And just laugh. My God. Just. Laugh. And you will breathe. Air that is untouched by hate and anger and fog and uncertainty. You will just breathe. 

And to never order more than the combo platter. Ever. 

And that when you are tired you just want to get home and that it will hurt people who want to see you and who haven't seen you. And it will hurt you for hurting them. 

That Sister will tell you if she wants to do a wine tasting. Otherwise. Drop it. 

And that you will be grateful to come back to a job where people finally had your back. 

And that you would be able to leave your prized possession in the care of someone who cares. And that will allow you to be free for a minute. 

You will learn to cherish the little things. Or you should. You damn well better. And your heart will be full of thanks and gratitude for those who helped you get there. Even way before you ever got there. 

I love you Dad. Every day.