Today marks the second Father’s Day without my Dad. As most of you assured me, it has gotten easier. Sometimes I feel a little guilty about this. I believe I’d feel more guilty if my Dad’s dying wish hadn’t been, Get on with your life, already. Jeezus. It’s hard to feel too guilty for healing when you have actually felt more guilty for grieving since the person you loved wanted you to stop grieving EVEN BEFORE HE DIED. But grieve, I have. And on today, I miss him. I want to tell him about our new house and about me installing light fixtures, and putting screwdriver’s in my ponytail. I want to tell him about MrZ’s triathalon training group and LilZ’s class schedule for next year. I want to tell him about NikkiZ’s first tball season and about how it looks like she has her Daddy’s athletic talent. So, I miss him. I feel lonely sometimes, without him to talk to. But I would also want to tell him how close my brother and I have gotten since he died. About how he has helped me so much in the last year. I think that would make my Dad so happy. He was always thrilled we were close, but to know we’ve gotten even closer? That I often refer to my brother as “My BFF” – that would make my Dad very proud. Once I explained what a BFF was.

So — I don’t cry (as much) today as last year. I focus more on the fathers in my life. The wonderful Dad to my children and his wonderful Dad. Then there is my brother-in-law who is months away from becoming a Dad for the first time. I celebrate all of them today. And am blessed that my children have so man strong and wonderful male influences in their lives. Dad, Granddads, uncles and big brothers. I celebrate all of them today with a smile on my face and joy in my heart. And I say a silent Thank You to my own Dad for all he’s done for me in the past and all he’ll continue to do for me in my memories.

I spent yesterday doing things that made me think of Dad. I ate breakfast at his favorite spot, I even ate his favorite meal. (He could have lived off bagels – NO LIE.) I hiked Green Mountain – one of our favorite haunts around town. I ate soup for lunch. I cooked my vegetarian lasagna for dinner because it’s one of my new meals I would have loved to have fixed for him. But most importantly? I decided to say “Goodbye” to a few things I was holding onto a bit too close. I decided awhile back that moving on would require letting go of those things as I was only holding them close because I missed Dad. Sometimes, in order to move on, you have to let go.

Especially if the items are ugly.

I’ve been holding onto Dad’s backpack and using it whenever I needed one because he carried that damn thing EVERYWHERE. Few things made me think of him as vividly as that ugly yellow backpack. Unfortunately, I realized very quickly that I HATE that backpack. I have my own backpack I’ve been carrying for years and it fits my body perfectly. Dad’s? DOES NOT. It was big in the wrong places and had way too many straps. I couldn’t ever find the ones I needed. Yet, I couldn’t stop carrying it places. It’s like I felt as though not carrying it was an insult somehow. Which I know is ridiculous. So I took it out one last time yesterday and took a picture of myself near the same place I photographed Dad years ago. I tried to take a picture in the same spot but there were no good trees to prop the camera on. That’s one of the hazards of hiking alone. No one to take pictures of you.

Now I can pack the backpack away with the ninety million others we own. And go back to using my own. As soon as LilZ gives it back to me. *sigh*

Item number 2 on the chopping block was my Ewok. This was a gift my Dad gave me for my 10th birthday. I slept with it as a pillow between my elbow and my head for a decade, at least. I don’t know if there has every been a person more attached to a stuffed animal than I was to that Ewok. Dad would wake me up in the mornings using that Ewok as a puppet. “Time to get up, Kim…” he would say in his “Ewok” voice. He would nudge me with it, tickle me with it, and often (especially as I got older and harder to wake) beat me over the head with it. I slept with it through high school and even through most of college. That’s why it looks so little like an actual Ewok. It got very flat over the years.

I had lost it for awhile and got a little stressed about it. I found it shortly before Dad got sick on the bottom of the kids’ toybox. For some reason, as soon as he got sick, I started sleeping with it again. I’m kinda embarrassed to admit that, but hey – I feel I can trust you with this information. You won’t haunt me with it when I’m rich and famous, will you? Anyway – I felt like this was probably an unhealthy habit for an adult who shares her bed with another person. I’m certain my husband was a bit creeped out by it. I decided awhile back on the year anniversary I’d shop for a suitable replacement. One without a face. I found a faux-suede pillow that was about the same shape as my Ewok. We’ll give it a try tonight and leave Ewok shelved until the next time I have an emotional breakdown. Which, as we all know, will probably be sometime next week.

And finally…the watch. The residential hospice took Dad’s watch off of him after he died and gave it to us in a very plain envelope. After I had been home for a few days post-funeral, I decided to put it on. Something felt very comforting about wearing that watch. It was like, every time I checked the time, I thought of Dad. And when I was missing him? I just looked at the watch. The only problem was? It was ugly as sin. And a Casio. Which, not that I have a problem with in theory, but is totally…well…something my Dad would wear. And while I’m not the most trendy or fashionable person on the planet, I don’t normally wear a Casio. And if I were going to? I’d probably wear one with a little more personality.

But, I was more attached to that watch than either of the other two items. And I was very attached to the backpack and the Ewok. So, I knew that watch would be harder to let go of as I depended on that reminder on my wrist every second of every day. So…what’s a girl to do?

Get a tattoo…of course.

The second I decided to get the tattoo I knew what it would be: The infinity symbol. And I’d put it right where I wore the watch. Dad was a math geek and I have very vivid memories of us discussing the concept of infinity – both mathematically and metaphysically. It seemed the perfect thing to replace the watch. Especially because my Dad truly hated that I loved getting tattoos. Nothing would make him more irritated than me getting a tattoo in his memory. And for some reason? That made it THAT much more necessary. I got it done last night and put the watch in the China cabinet with a few other Dad trinkets.

I won’t probably ever get rid of any of those three things, but they became such symbols of my grief over the last year, I knew I at least needed to get them out of my daily life. I knew the year mark would be the best time for it because I’ve been telling myself all along, grieve my way for a year. Then try to do it Dad’s way. I think he would have accepted that as a decent compromise. To give me a year to cry over him and wear his ugly watch.

He would have never signed off on the tattoo, though. But, you know, I like to consider my tattoos as payback for the years he made me do homework…for fun.

One year ago today I received the last call regarding my Dad and his health. The one where the nurse very apologetically says, “Your Dad. He died some time in the night.”

He had died in his sleep as most kidney failure deaths occur. As the body becomes more riddled with toxins the periods of consciousness become shorter and shorter and the sleep becomes heavier and heavier. He had a strange bought of lucidness the night before where he told my brother he wasn’t dying and he needed to go home. While we had both read about this occurring as a last phase before death, we had a hard time really considering and instead did the foolish thing and let ourselves hope it was possibly true. Of course it wasn’t. And we knew that. And if we didn’t we weren’t given too long to hope, he had died less than 12 hours later.

My brother was already there in Knoxville so he was able to head straight to the hospice. I had to do what I had been preparing my family for: load everyone up in a millisecond and hit the road. The hospice had let me know that they would call me ASAP and that if I got on the road immediately, I could still come say Goodbye. They wouldn’t take him away yet. We had been packed for weeks and already had suits, dress clothes, and baby paraphernalia waiting in Knoxville from the many other trips I had made in the months prior.

Of course the drive was slow as we got behind wrecks and construction and everything possible to slow us down on the one day I needed to be able to aparate.

I said my goodbye to a body that no longer held my Dad but for some reason was symbolic enough that I just had to do it. Why was that so necessary, I’ll always wonder. I had said goodbye to the real him many times over those few months. When I had hugged him two days before I remember considering this as the final goodbye, the signs were there it wouldn’t be much longer. I had told him I loved him and squeezed his frail body as tight as I felt safe doing. So after that – why was I so desperate to say Goodby to the shell that had once held him? I don’t know. But I did. And I’ll be forever glad I did because it gave a stark reality to the daze of death. I was very glad I had that image in the months to come when I would sometimes convince myself he was no longer gone.

I don’t do that anymore.

I know he’s gone. It still hurts, but I don’t have moments that I doubt it anymore. I still struggle with him not being here. There are so many things he’s missing I knew he would just love. His granddaughter playing t-ball – and playing it well. Just like she did soccer. He would love to see what having an athletic daughter looks like. One that seems to have some sort of basic talent for sports that I never had. And LilZ’s musical? He would eat up all of the stories of rehearsals and set-builds and costume sessions. I know he would find this all as fascinating as I do as it’s something he never experienced as a child or as a parent and as reserved of a Man as he was – he still loved learning and experiencing new pockets of life. He would have loved hearing about this theater community we’re now a part of and he would have wished he could have been here to lend a hand. He would most certainly been here to see the show and would have guffawed over his grandson dancing and singing on stage because he would have been thinking the same thing I think every time, “Well…he didn’t get that talent from our side of the family.”

I’m spending the day doing things that make me think of him. One last time, I have said. I have mourned the entire year in MY way. In a way I know he would have hated. He begged us to move on long before he died. He didn’t want us spending time going through his house (“Just throw a stick of dynamite in there and run!”) or crying over his things. He didn’t want us to cry at all. He wanted us to stay in our own towns with our own lives and let him die alone. We couldn’t do that, of course, but it shows how little he wanted his death to affect us. The problem was, of course, he was too brilliant of a father for that to happen. He raised us by himself, creating a bond between Dad and children that couldn’t just be disintegrated without leaving a few wounds.

But today? If I thought he was watching me I’d say he was spending the day rolling his eyes in frustration. I’m going to spend the first half of the day doing things that will most surely make me cry. A lot. And he would most certainly want to punch me in the face for that. But, as he would be the first to admit, I was never one to ever do things HIS way. He died with the head full of gray hairs to prove that.

I love you and miss you, Dad. In ways I never knew were possible. I know you wouldn’t want me crying as much as I have, but know that every tear I shed is because you were just that great of a Daddy. The little girl inside of me who looked to you for protection and safety can’t forget that easily. And the adult who looked to you for strength and guidance will most surely never forget.

One of my favorite pictures because it shows where I got my habit of playing on the things designed for children.

Step back, Mom. Let the superhero take charge.

I am a little sensitive regarding my intelligence, or other people’s opinions of my intelligence. I’m quickest to gripe at my husband if he does anything that requires me to say, “You know I’m not an idiot, right?” I hate it when someone either A) Tells me something that everyone would be capable of figuring out themselves or B) Tells me something I didn’t know but uses a tone implying I should have known it. The first one I hate because I’m not an idiot and don’t like being treated like one. The second I hate because I don’t want to feel like an idiot because someone is talking down to me. Being talked down to – even though it’s often warranted – is the thing that will get my blood boiling the fastest. Because it’s the thing I’m probably the most insecure about.

I’m not naturally smart, by any means. I always had to work hard for my good grades, and was still one of those students that could study for days for a test, ace it, and then forget it all the next day. MrZ could glance over his notes once, ace it, and remember it forever. This pissed me off our entire college career together. I have two degrees but am not well-read when it comes to literature or nonfictions. I prefer my Young Adult Wizards and Vampires…thank you very much. I often read blog posts about book clubs and feel a little insecure because the only time I ever went to a book club and felt okay about it was because the person who was holding it loaned me the Vampire book I was currently reading. I felt a little better about that. But most of the time? Eh. So, while I’m defensive about my intelligence, I don’t really every put forth efforts to make myself actually be more intelligent.

However, my Dad took grades and school very seriously. While I still stand by my Dad being the most amazing Dad I could have ever asked for – he did have a temper. And that temper showed it’s ugly face the most often when Dad was frustrated with either (A) My grades or (B) Me doing something REALLY dumb. Like locking my keys in my car. For the 15th time. The few (and sometimes many…as I was often doing stupid crap as a kid) times he’d lose his temper and scream at me – seemed to always involve me either doing poorly on something in school (WHICH WAS RARE) or me doing something airheaded (WHICH WAS OFTEN) so the screams from him would sometimes involve insults to my intelligence.

Needless to say? This is probably what has made me so defensive about my intelligence.

So – of course – the process of closing his estate has made me feel like a complete moron. First of all: I’ve made a bunch of mistakes. Some of the mistakes I’ve made were because I misinterpreted things. Others because I just didn’t know. And others because I assumed other people (like my lawyer) were responsible for those things. However, it seems like most of my mistakes were made because everyone outside the process: Lawyers, Auctioneers, CPAs, Title Companies – they all assume I know things I don’t. And that’s the part that PISSES ME OFF. I mean – why do I feel like all along this process that things are intuitive when THEY ARE NOT. Either I really am an idiot or other people have learned these things along the way when I haven’t. But how would I have learned them? Is it because most people are older when they go through this stuff so they have experience? My Dad has been dead almost a year now and he had the easiest estate on the planet…yet still! We can’t close things out because I was under the impression that this one waiver required an inventory that couldn’t be done until the house was sold. So, I worked on it all last week. Now? I find out they can’t give the estate the money for that house UNTIL THEY HAVE THAT WAIVER. And they asked for the form like I should have known all a long that they needed it. I didn’t even know what that form WAS until 2 weeks ago. BAH! They asked for a second form too which – THANK GOD – I actually have. But I didn’t know I needed that either – so it’s lucky I have it. I have no idea how I was supposed to know I needed this stuff. I feel like I’m not reading stacks of paperwork thoroughly enough – or that I missed some class in high school that everyone else had where you learn things about Probate. The thing is? It’s different in every state. So even if I had taken some sort of class like that – it wouldn’t do me any good because this is all crap from the state of TENNESSEE.

(Can you hear my frustration through the monitor? If not – maybe I should use more capital letters. That seems to make me feel better.)

I just find it a very Full Circle kind of thing that the estate belonging to the person who is probably responsible for making me defensive about my intelligence – is making me feel like a GIANT dumbass.

I think I need to find a therapist.

I’ve said that off and on for years as I suffer through anxiety attacks and insomnia. I’ll go through bad phases where I’ll seriously consider finding a therapist, and then I’ll start to feel better and the urgency fades. I’ve realized lately, however, that I owe the previous years of coping to you. Somehow, having you to call always helped. Even if I didn’t discuss with you the actual issues stressing me out, just talking to you about anything always helped. Just knowing you were there when I needed to talk, whether or not I actually did, this did more for me than I ever realized.

“My head’s not on straight right now.”

I’ve used that phrase a lot lately, talking to family and friends. I’m depressed. I’m anxious. I’m not sleeping. I’m eating non-stop and I’m struggling with any level of patience. And it’s your fault. I drove around this weekend thinking about the weekends in my life I’ve done just that while talking to you. I’m not sure why, but I always liked to call you when I was driving around town. Maybe the pointless drives reminded me of you. Maybe I just liked the privacy of my car. Either way, most of our phone calls were done with me driving around Huntsville. And this weekend? I needed you. I needed to call you to tell you what’s been on my mind lately. I needed you to sigh and tell me that you didn’t know what to tell me. You were always honest that way. I needed you to bitch about the mundane in your life to make me feel better about bitching about the mundane in mine. I needed you to praise me for something. Anything, really, because I’ve been a bit down on myself. I needed you to agree with me about how hard parenting is, and about how many times we’re simply flying blind. Hoping we don’t crash into the side of any mountains. I needed you to tell me it would be okay. Or at least tell me you understood.

Your house is being auctioned on Saturday. One year after you were hospitalized with kidney failure from Multiple Myeloma. Your house, the house you died hating, will officially belong to someone else. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to drive by it to see what happens to it. I’ll probably make someone else do it a few times a year, and then have them report back to me. The Map Store down the road closed. I’d like to tell myself it’s because you were no longer there to appreciate it. Even if you never bought anything from there. I know you enjoyed it’s existence on your street.

I just miss you so much. I find myself scrolling through archives in this blog (Dear Blog, I love you.) and touching the screen when I get to pictures of you. I actually reach out and touch your face on the computer monitor. How cheesy is that? I just can’t stop myself. I’m also sleeping with my old Ewok again. You gave it to me for my 10th birthday. I always meant to ask you, “Why?” We weren’t big Star Wars fans or anything, but it became my favorite toy of my childhood. I took it to sleepovers, to trips out of town, and even to college. I slept with it even well into adulthood. Several years ago it got put in with the kids things, I guess, and I no longer needed it to sleep. But a few months ago, I decided to see if it would help me sleep better. I believe it did, a little. Sometimes I just hold it in my arms and think about how you used to come in my room in the mornings before school, take Ewok and animate him to wake me up. “Time to get up, Kim!” You would say, using Ewok as the messenger. You did that with all the stuffed animals you ever came into contact with. I do it too.

Tomorrow marks one year from when it all began. When I got the call from your doctor that would lead to you going to the hospital, getting diagnosed with cancer, and then giving up treatment to end your life in a residential hospice. February 10th. It is a day that carries with it more pain than the day you died, because that was the end of Dad as I knew you. After that you were sick. And dying. I think that’s why I’ve been in such a funk. The painful anniversaries are rolling in left and right now. Putting me right back in the same mind I was this time last year. Saying goodbye to you.

I miss you, Dad. I don’t think there will ever be a day where I don’t think it. I need your counsel. I need your advice. I need your hugs. And since you’re not here to give them to me, maybe I’ll finally look for that therapist I’ve been talking about finding for years.

Or maybe I’ll just open a beer. And only drink half of it. In your honor.