YES. I'm wearing overalls in that picture. DON'T JUDGE ME.

I think it’s funny that my Dad and I both regularly forgot each other’s birthdays, but now that he’s gone it’s all I think about the week leading up to his. Today it’s here.

My Dad used to take us “hiking” when we were little. I put that in quotes because my life experience has taught me that most normal people look at hiking as a fun way to explore the outdoors. My Dad, on the other hand, looked at it as a form of torture for his children. We didn’t take breaks. We didn’t take much in the way of snacks, and we didn’t stop to have fun, DAMMIT.

It wasn’t that bad. But, then again, it was. And periodically he’d let us bring friends. I’m lucky that the one friend I remember taking doesn’t hold it against me to this day. Although I did see her recently and we had another good laugh about it. You know – because she’s NORMAL and expected what NORMAL people would expect on a hike.

But sometimes? I want to hit a trail and just blaze. No stopping. No resting. Just go until I reach the end. I think that’s why I’ve been asking everyone I know about trail running. How do you “start” something like that? How many broken bones will a naturally clumsy person like me sustain?

I feel like it would be part of my tribute to him. To get out there and run on a trail. A kind of head-nod to the torturous hiking days of my childhood.

I still miss him so much. I miss talking to him regularly and hearing his commentary on my adventures. I miss his visits and watching him play with my kids. I miss his accolades, because while he didn’t over-praise me by any means, his compliments were always so sincere they had the power to wash away so many insecurities, even if just for a moment.

That’s the power of a good Daddy. And I was raised by the best Daddy. He might have yelled at me for the dreadful “B” on a math test, or he might have refused to give me permission for an outing I so desperately wanted to participate in. But he always gave me truth.

When he said, “You’re not fat!” when I sobbed in the mirror? I believed that he believed it, and that helped me more than I could ever tell him.

When he told me I was a good Mom, it washed away layers and layers of Mommy Guilt that I added to daily.

When he was in awe over my housekeeping or my cooking, it made me quit belittling my own achievements.

When he told me he liked my blog, it made me lean on it more as a crutch in my life.

I still miss it all. The trails that I hated and the truths that I depended on. I’m sure I always will. But I’d like to say that next year on his birthday I can talk about my adventures on the trails. And maybe take my own children out to torture a bit in his memory. And then we’ll come home and I’ll make sure they know how truly amazing I think they are.

That is the best tribute I can give him. To try to be half as good of a parent as he was.

I love you and miss you, Dad. Happy Birthday.

I really thought I’d be fine today. I’ve been fine lately. But I guess I’m exhausted since I spent all night wanting to rip my ovaries out with a spatula…so waking up on the anniversary of the death of my Dad and suddenly? I’m not fine. Will I feel better once the pain is dealt with and I can sleep? Yes. Most definitely. Will I still be sad because I miss my Dad? Yes. Most definitely.

So, if you need me I’ll be wrapped up with a heating pad and hopefully getting a prescription filled for something a little stronger than ibuprofen. And remembering Dad while I wallow in misery. Which would do nothing but irritate the hell out of him. I like to consider it an homage to my teenage years, which I spent torturing him with my sadness and mood swings.

I miss you, Dad.

Dear Dad,

Happy Birthday! I’ve forgotten a few of your birthdays over the years, but since you forgot a few of mine too – I harbor no guilt. I think that says something about our relationship. Or about our memories. One of the two.

I miss you a lot. But more than how much I miss you, I’ve been surprised by how much pain I feel over what you’re missing. I mean, I miss you, so much it hurts. But, what really causes me the real pain is the sadness I feel over all of the things in the last year and a half that you’ve missed.

Nikki is becoming such a spitfire. And she is so…girly. The spitfire part I’m sure you would recognize, but the girly party? WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? I know you worried that I was at a disadvantage being raised by you, you often thought about signing me up for classes that would teach me the things you couldn’t. But you know what? Nikki is at a disadvantage with me but she is doing JUST FINE. She already knows more about fashion and style and femininity than I do at 35. But she’s also one heck of an athlete. She pushes boys around on the soccer field twice her size. Not that I condone such behavior, but I really wish you could see it yourself.

Wes is developing quite a personality of his own. He’s talkative and very…VERY…obsessed with all trucks and plains and trains. He makes me sit on the porch with him every Tuesday and wait for the garbage truck so we can watch him get our garbage. He’s fascinated by big machinery. You would love explaining to him how it all works. Both he and Nikki ask me tons of questions I never know the answers to – about how things work. This makes me miss you – because you always knew the answers to questions about how things work. And you didn’t even have Google to help you.

But E – he’s the one that I long for you to see the most. You knew him the best and would love to see the man he’s growing into. And this theater thing? It would kill you as much as it does me. How he has the desire to perform, much less the talent? Still mystifies me, as I know it would you. I wish you could come see him on stage. Especially this spring when he has his first solo singing lines and his first time performing as an EVIL character. He works so hard at everything theater-related. It’s amazing. Math and Science? Not so much. But he at least lets me help him with Math. I’m a pretty good tutor, if you’ll recall. I’ve been trying to convince him for years to let me help him with Math – that I’m better at teaching Math than anything else – he finally took me up on it this year. And I think I’m actually helping!

You’re just missing so much. And each thing in the horizon that will also pass without you – like the wedding in December I just know you would have loved to see – these things also make me ache with loss. We should have had so many more years with you, you should have seen all of these things. I still think about calling you often. I wonder if you’re reading about our adventures on my blog. But – I can’t, and you don’t.

But, we’re okay. I know that was your biggest concern – you just wanted us to move on. Even before you actually died. And we’re doing okay. We just miss you and ache in your absence.

I wish you were here to enjoy your 64th birthday and all of the other things – the weddings, the performances, the milestones. I wish I could call you and hear your voice again, I don’t think I remember it anymore. I wish you could give me advice and listen to me vent. I wish you could play ball with the kids and talk with me over a cup of coffee. Or a shared Diet Coke.

But I’ll be okay. (And yes, I notice I keep saying that. Trying to convince myself too.) And I’m certain that’s all you would want for your birthday. For all of us to be okay. You would definitely NOT want me writing sappy blog posts to you as often as I do – but that’s therapeutic for me. It’s blogging, or drinking – you know. I think we’ll both take blogging.

I love you,
Kim

When Dad was in hospice, the counselor on site (Who – coincidentally – knew my parents when they were married.) told my brother and I the same thing. The last lesson a sick parent can teach their child is how to die. I thought about it a lot at the time, as Dad was dying, and have returned to that thought since the book brought it up.

At first, I wasn’t sure what lessons I learned from the way Dad died. I thought at first – it was a lesson about giving up. Because Dad never even bothered to fight his cancer. But you know? I don’t think – after processing his death and my grief – that’s how I look actually at it. I just don’t see it like that anymore, anyway. That was my first instinct, I know, but even then I didn’t give it a lot of heart. There was no anger or bitterness there. Maybe disappointment, but not even disappointment in him not fighting. It was more just disappointment in the entire situation. That a man who raised two children alone, who lived his life so selflessly, would have to die in that way.

No…I don’t look at it as giving up. I look at it more about a lesson in Weighing the Odds. I’m a pro/con kind of person. Actually, I think I’m just a CON type of person. When weighing a decision, I imagine the worst-case scenario of either outcome. Which of those worst-cases would be the worst. Example – when talking to my brother recently about whether he should run a full-marathon or a half-marathon after an injury he sustained, I looked it it like this: Worst-case if you only run the half? You’ll be bitter with yourself and maybe down on yourself for not meeting your goal. BUT YOU’VE RUN THEM BEFORE, so the goal isn’t that huge anyway. Worst-case if you run the full? You hurt yourself again. And then you’re dealing with that for weeks if not months. To me? Worst-case was MUCH worse if he chose to run the full marathon. Of course, I’m lazy, so to me the better decision would be: Run the full marathon OR sit on my butt and eat donuts. And that – my friends – is a much easier decision to make.

With my Dad – he could have fought his cancer. But – let’s look at worst-case if he DIDN’T fight: He just dies peacefully in a residential hospice. If he DID fight? Worst-case would be more suffering (he was already in SO MUCH PAIN) just from the havoc the cancer had already reeked on his skeletal system, he would have dialysis for 3-4 hours 3 times a week (which he did twice and it was awful because of the previously mentioned skeletal pain), there would be the suffering from the chemotherapy itself, and then…THEN…worst-case? He dies anyway. So…just for kicks…let’s look at BEST case scenario for fighting the cancer. BEST case? EVERYTHING WOULD BE THE SAME. Minus the dying at the end. Basically, even if he was able to kill the cancer, he would have STILL been facing a lifetime of pain from the skeletal damage and a lifetime of dialysis which was already proving difficult. So – for my Dad? The BEST case of one choice was STILL worse than the worse case of the other. To my Dad? To die peacefully in a residential hospice was the easy choice.

His last few weeks after making his decision – the hardest part for him was the waiting. He joked when we asked him if he needed anything about getting someone to speed things up a bit. The waiting was hard on him. But he seemed at peace. He really liked the place he was in. He wasn’t at all talkative. We all talked the first day after he arrived, I guess it was “THE” talk you have with someone who has decided to die. But after that? There was almost no talking. He just spent his last weeks on earth in peace and quiet.

So, what did I learn about dying? I would say I learned not to be scared of it. Because if there is one thing I was very certain about? Is that my Dad did not fear death. Otherwise, the balance of the decisions would have been shifted. If he feared death? Then DEATH on the scale would have weighed a lot heavier than it did and might have counteracted the PAIN and MISERY on the other side. But for Dad? Who really didn’t have much of a view of the afterlife? Death was nothing to fear. I think that’s the most important lesson I learned from him. Whether or not I’ll keep it in mind if I’m ever facing death, I don’t know, but I do seem to have a calmness about it that I don’t think was there before. I think I am thankful for that lesson. I think – in terms of grand lessons my Dad taught me – the one that will probably have the biggest impact on my life? Is not to fear death. I had never really thought of it before the book brought it up again – but that is the last lesson my Dad taught me.

I just hope it’s not indicative of the struggles he faced raising two kids alone. Hopefully we didn’t make his life such hell that death was just an easier road. I mean – I know for damn sure I’m responsible for every gray hair he ever had. After dealing with ME as a teenager? Death at the hand of a bone-crushing cancer? Was probably cake.

This was hard because, while I have a lot of guilt issues, I wouldn’t really say that I have anything I haven’t forgiven myself for. I don’t hold grudges against myself in that way for mistakes. I’ve made too many to not have learned along the way that moving on is the easiest way to heal after a BIG screw up. I’ve made some colossal ones too, trust me. But – I’ve forgiven myself. Mistakes can not be undone by constantly berating yourself, I learned that lesson the hard way. Therefore, forgiving myself? Easy as Pie.

However…I do have a regret of sorts that I kick myself a lot over.

When MrZ and I got married, I was planning the first dances and remembered how many times my Dad talked about how much he hated dancing. I remembered jokes made that he would never get married again, simply to avoid dancing. So…I told him I was going to let him off the hook and not make him dance with me. He laughed and said something about whatever I wanted…and I didn’t think anything about it. Until he died. And since then? I really wish I had forced him to dance with me. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time because I knew how much he hated dancing and being on the spot, and I hate nothing more than making people uncomfortable (Remember? PILLOW OF EMBARRASSMENT!) so letting him off the hook was an easy choice. But now? Now that he’s gone? I totally wish I had just forced him to do it anyway. Just for the memory.

I guess I think about that a lot. About how I wish I had done things differently. How I wish I had put him on the spot, made him uncomfortable, forced him to dance…just so I’d have that one extra memory now that he’s gone. What seemed like a favor for him at the time? Now it seems like it was just me avoiding an uncomfortable situation for the both of us.

So…I guess that’s the only thing I really haven’t let myself off the hook for. The one thing that I go back to a lot and wish I could do over. I think the other mistakes I have made have had time to ripple out into positive effects in my life. If I hadn’t made THAT big mistake then THIS great thing wouldn’t have happened. It’s easy to forgive yourself when you can see those type of things. But this thing? This Not Dancing With My Dad thing? It has had no positive ripples in my life. It has just left me with periodic sadness over missed opportunities with someone who died too soon.

Day 02: Something I Love About Myself

Day 01: Something I Hate About Myself

If you take everything catastrophic and life-endangering off the table – because thankfully nothing like that happened – my sister-in-law had a pretty bad series of events during her delivery. She planned on having an epidural but was not allowed due to medical issues. After working her way through epidural-free labor for almost 24 hours she pushed for almost 2 hours only to end up having to have a c-section due to position and size of the baby. But let me tell you this – watching her go through all of this with strength and poise and focus? Inspired me. I told her, she taught me more about the strength of Motherhood before her baby was even born, than I’ve learned in 15 years of having a child of my own. Witnessing her bravery and strength inspired me and shook me to my core.

Even though I had only had a minimal amount of sleep I spent yesterday going about my day with a sense of clarity that I have not had since Dad died. Sometimes, when you are in stuck in an emotional funk, it takes something big to shake us out of it. I’m not saying that life is now perfect because of my nephew and his amazingly strong parents, but I can say those things gave me a sense of clarity I haven’t had in ages. Gave me a glimpse through the fog. Reminded me I’m stronger than I’m allowing myself to be. We all are. We all underestimate ourselves and what we can handle, I am grateful for being reminded of that. And hopeful for the lasting effect it will have on my own emotional well-being.

SO! To wrap things up? I’m happy! And Inspired! And also worn-the-hell out! But most importantly? I’m officially Aunt Kim.

And now…on a completely unrelated note? Look at two of the Halloween pictures White Rabbit Studios took of my kids! I am beside myself with how much joy these pictures have given me. The perfect combination of hysterical and lovely. My own Beauty and the Beast.

It was the day I was going to Chicago for the opening event of a new freelance writing gig. I felt out of sorts even before I got the voicemail on the plane from my Dad’s doctor saying it was urgent he speak to him and he couldn’t get a hold of him anywhere. I was feeling out of sorts because I hadn’t really talked to my Dad yet about the trip or the writing gig. I had been trying to, but (as I know now) he was in so much pain in the midst of kidney failure and severe bone lesions/pain – that he and I hadn’t really had a good talk since Christmas.

In other words, I think I’ve been waiting almost two years for that good talk. That’s why I’ve been out of sorts.

Everyone tells you when someone dies that the pain fades. And it does. But I’m realizing now, that the role that person played in your life – that role never gets filled. It just leaves a hole. Or maybe, in my case, it’s like removing and inch of the leg of a table. The table gets wobbly and unstable and no amount of time will fix it.

Talking to my friend Beth this weekend about her own loss of her own father recently, is when it really hit me. I’ve been out of sorts for a year and a half. Sometimes this means I’m quick to anger and yelling. Sometimes this means I’m quick to tears. Most days I struggle finding peaceful sleep and am in a constant battle with my own anxiety. It’s a revelation to me, to realize it’s not the Big Event or Big Cause I’ve been switching blame to for almost 2 years. It’s the SAME event. The SAME cause. Not moving. Not painting. Not buying a home or getting laid off. Not spring musicals or soccer season. I’ve been blaming my instability on so many things and it finally occurred to me: I just miss my Dad.

I spent a lot of time thinking about this over the weekend. My brother went to Chicago and sent me a picture from in front of The Bean. That day I went to Chicago, the day my Dad was hospitalized, I was very much looking forward to going to Millennium Park and photographing The Bean. But the free time I had that day, which was minimal, was spent waiting in my hotel room for updates and phone calls from family members and doctors. And Dad. I talked to him that day. He told me, “I’m fine. I’m not dying. Stay in Chicago. Your brother is on his way here even though I told him not to come.” We learned later Dad was very aware he was dying, even though no one had told him yet.

I’ve been really out of sorts since that day.

My Dad filled such a pivotal role in my life, as a friend, a counselor, a confidant, and an adviser – that my table is still very wobbly in his absence. His role would be impossible for anyone else to fill, as the words that came from his lips to my ears were the words of my father. The same words uttered by anyone else, wouldn’t mean the same. But not only was he my father – he was one of the few people in the world who I ever felt truly understood me. He knew what to say, what counsel to give. Hell – he knew what to say even when I wasn’t needing counsel. The funny thing was – we were very different – and a lot of those differences were mysteries to him. Yet somehow, even when he was simplified mystified about something that I was doing, or that was bothering me, simply talking to him always helped.

Whenever Dad would come visit me, he would always make a comment either about (a) my weird desire to constantly pick up the clutter on my counter or (b) my cooking. He thought both were very odd tendencies since in his household? Those were always considered a waste of time. Why bother? Why put so much energy into fixing a meal that gets eaten in 4.2 seconds? He thought that long before I even really learned how to cook, since that’s been a transformation in his absence. But when he made this observations, it was always the type of comment that made me feel good. I knew he liked how I cared for my home and my family. Somehow, his simple words of commendation or awed praise, those words always helped get me through the mundane domestic struggles of caring for a family.

Another example: Me training for the marathon. I called him every weekend after my long run to tell him how far I had run. I knew Dad could really appreciate the road it took to get me to that point because he remembered my struggle to run a mile in my youth. I would call and say, “I ran 10 miles today!” He would always be in awe, SINCERE awe, and make some comment about not understanding why my brother and I take on these challenges. I always thought it was a compliment he grouped me in the same sentence as my brother since he’s a real athlete.

It’s really hard to put into words, the specific role my Dad played, but I realize now that my life has been unstable ever since I lost him in it. Some days I cry when no one is looking. Other days I yell at my kids for the most minor of infractions. My table is not shaking because of any of the reasons I’ve been blaming it for months. It’s because I have yet to figure out how to live any sort of stable existence without my Dad.

Not a weekend goes by that I don’t drive somewhere and thinking about calling him. That was my ritual. On one of my weekend errands, I would call Dad. It would give me the closure I needed on the events of the past week, telling him in review. And it would prep me for the upcoming week, letting him know what was on tap for our family. Without those talks, without him here in my life for almost 2 years, I’m missing that closure, that prep.

I’m out of sorts.

And like with any Big Life Revelations – I sit here and say, “Okay. So this is the cause of my emotional distress over the last 18+ months. NOW what do I do?” Besides the obvious, I guess, learn how to stabilize the table without my Dad. Nothing I can do will ever make the table perfect again, I guess. But I need to do my best to figure out how to stabilize it a bit.

I think I’ve just been waiting for time to pass to heal all of the wounds over the loss of my Dad. Naively assuming it would take only that: Time. And time does help, don’t get me wrong. But there are some wounds that won’t ever be healed, some pain that won’t ever leave, and I guess I’ve just been ignoring that. Blaming it on any of the number of stresses in my life – but never truly recognizing it for what it was. My difficulty coping with my new life without my Dad.

So, now what? I don’t know. But as always – I throw this stuff out there in an effort to process it for myself, and to hear a kind voice across the way remind me that eventually – it will be okay. Someday.

This is a picture of Dad took when we were all together for his brother’s funeral. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen the actual picture he’s taking here.

Edited to Add: I found it! I spent all morning going through the files from Dad’s memory cards and I found it. The photo he took is here and the pictures together are here.

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.

Katie lost her beautiful Henry last night and I can think of nothing but the pain she and her family is in right now. I know we are all just watchers in each others’ lives, but my heart aches for her and wishes I could do something as the stranger who read her stories and followed her journey. There is nothing I can do for her, but I couldn’t let my blog sit here without some sort of acknowledgment of her loss. I want her to know that her beautiful Henry has been in my mind these last several weeks and that her family holds a place in my heart today.

DO YOU HEAR THE ANGELS SINGING?

This has been such an annoying and frustrating process. And Dad’s situation? Was actually kinda easy. He owned his house and car. He had no debt. And the amount of money in his various bank accounts fell well below the amount that the Tennessee Department of Revenue cares about, so no taxes had to be paid. He only had two beneficiaries. In other words, this process could have been a lot worse. Yet still? It took over a year and made me cry on several occasions. I thought I’d put together a list of pointers if – GOD FORBID – you ever find yourself having to deal with someone’s estate in probate.

• It’s never easy. I bet 10 different people told me this would be “easy” based on Dad’s situation. And either I really am the idiot they all acted like I was, or their definition of “easy” has been distorted from years working in this industry. I prefer to assume the later.
• You can never have too many copies of anything. Get at least 20 of everything that is official, like letters of administration and death certificates. Dad didn’t have a will so I had to be declared the Administrator, which is different from someone who is the Executor. If you’re the Executor of the will? Make sure you have 20 copies of whatever it is you need that states that officially. Non-official documents? Make at least 5 copies of those and make sure you NEVER send off your last one. Most people will send official documents back when they’re done if you need them, but you don’t want to have to wait on a bank.
• Find a lawyer that will actually help you. I could write pages about ways my lawyer actually made this worse, but I’m trying not to focus on that. Just make sure you have a lawyer that will answer questions, especially via email so you can have record to go back later and make sure you’re doing everything right. In theory, you don’t need a lawyer. I wish I hadn’t had one, now. It was a waste of money he was so unhelpful. But, I’ve heard stories from people who have had lawyers who stayed in touch, answered questions, and always repeated the same information. My lawyers liked to tell me different things at different times which does nothing to help someone who is already confused.
• Understand this: Everyone will treat you like you are stupid. I felt like everyone from lawyers, to probate clerks, to revenue officers, to title companies and medical billing departments – thought I was the dumbest person on the planet. And here’s how someone explained it to me: They all do what you’re trying to do: Sell a house, get a tax exemption, pay your bills – they handle those things every day. To them? It’s common sense what you’re doing and if you screw it up somehow? It’s because you’re stupid. Just go into it knowing that you are going to feel very stupid OFTEN. And you’ll find yourself proposing the situations to family to make sure you aren’t the only one who wouldn’t have known what to do. They will reassure you that it’s not common knowledge. It will not help.
• The internet is helpful. There were several times when my lawyer didn’t answer my questions or return my phone calls. So, I googled. I was surprised how many times I found good advice/answers to my situation. Sometimes just a translation of some of the legal language on probate documents was all I need. “Oh! So that just means I need to sign below? Why didn’t they just SAY THAT?” Sometimes there were even copies of the forms I was filling out with arrows telling me exactly what to do. Seriously – if you can’t afford a lawyer? Don’t panic. It didn’t really help us as much as I had hoped. Google was much more helpful.
• Remember: someone you loved died. This sucks no matter how proficient you are at legalese. Allow yourself several rants against THE MAN who makes you do such stupid things after someone you love dies. Those rants probably won’t make any sense, but they will make you feel better. Trust me.

A lamp my brother made out of some of Dad’s old stuff

Like it’s not hard enough, losing someone. I’m thankful it’s over and we’re just waiting for the official “CLOSED!” sign on the docket so I can finally wash my hands of all of this depressing legal crap. It turned Dad’s death into something more of a legal proceeding and I’m glad to be rid of that irreverent feeling. It’s no longer any sort of business transaction or court session. One year later and it’s finally back to being what it was truly all along: the death of a very wonderful father. Case closed.