Father's Day

This is only my reflections on my dad, I know that everyone had a unique relationship with him and my siblings may see things far differently than I do/did.  I don't believe that we've ever really talked about it before, aside from reminiscing.

With Father's Day coming up, lately, I can't help but think a lot about my dad.

Look how young and cute we all are.

Not to be completely biased, but I really do think that he was the best one out there.

He loved to each of his four children unconditionally

and with his whole heart.

He also loved many of our friends just as much- with all that unconditional love.

And cousins too.

And OF COURSE his precious grand babies- the ones he got to hold and love and know.

I tell the ones who didn't meet him that he held them and loved them in heaven for me before they came down to join our family.  I like to believe that is true.

I know that he loved Mark.

In the 8th grade, when I broke up with Mark (who hasn't heard that sad, sad story?)

I think my dad would have chosen him over me.

Have you ever noticed, when someone that you love is gone, you search for similarities for that person with the loved ones you are surrounded by?

Scanning their faces, stances, and expressions for little reminders of people gone?

I see it a lot in my Charlie.

Not just appearances, but in some personality traits too.

When he was graduating from high school, my dad was awarded a choral scholarship to Central Washington University.

I wish that I could remember what his voice sounded like before his injury, when he was able to sing beautifully.

Don't get me wrong, he always loved music, it was always playing whenever he was around, usually accompanied by his soft whistle or "bum bum bum" and some singing.

I swear I must have heard that darn Aaron Neville and Linda Ronstadt cassette in his jeep 10 million, billion times.

When I was eight years old, my dad injured his back at work.  During back surgery he was left without oxygen long enough to cause brain damage.  What I know about his condition may not be 100% accurate.  It's what I gleaned from him, which may not be the most reliable source...  Many times I don't know that he knew entirely what was going on with his health.

I wish I could remember him before his accident...

He was a proud man.

And very good and hiding what he didn't want others to know.

He had to work very hard to do tasks most of us take for granted.

He often saw things as either black or white- not a lot of middle ground on a multitude of issues.  I think that may be why I consciously try to keep an even keel, perhaps even to a fault.

Because of living so closely (yet maybe not closely enough) with his experiences, I think that's why this blog resonated so strongly for me.  (Please please read that blog, it's SO wonderful.)

Anyway,

he had a lot of time on his hands.

He couldn't work for the majority of the years I had with him.

So, he created "quality time" or "qt."  Really that was just spending a LOT of time with me and my younger sister.

Many, many (did I say many?) times it annoyed me.

And I think that delighted him.

He cultivated my love of all things old and quirky.  We spent countless hours together, driving all over the county oogling historic buildings which definitely fostered my curiosity of old buildings- eventually that interest grew into a profession for me.

He trained me to see the value in a wide variety of things others might cast aside as garbage.

Anyone who saw his car must have known he was a hoarder, though we didn't know that term at the time.

He was one.

And I was mortified by it.

I didn't know what hoarding was or why he was like that.

I didn't understand.

It was after he died that I watched a news story about hoarders on abc or nbc.  They had taken brain scans of someone throwing way seemingly useless things in a hoarder's possession- years old magazines or something like that. The person whose items were being tossed out had brain activity that was similar to a person being tortured. It was something along these lines or this.

I had gone to my dad's house and thrown away tons (literally) of garbage from his place.

I had tortured him.

Not out of evil intent, only good and loving intentions.

I didn't know.

Regret is a pretty awful feeling.

I regret that I threw away his possessions (truly it was trash not treasure-see?  I'm defending myself here?).

I regret the day I didn't answer the door when he tried to stop by to visit.

I regret that I wasn't more patient.

I regret that I didn't help him more.

I regret that I didn't advocate for him.

I regret that I didn't know that I should have advocated for him

I regret that I didn't hold his hand more often or snuggle him every chance I had.

I regret that he never got to attend one of my kids sporting events.

It dawned on me the other day that not only would my dad have attended every possible event.  He would have looked forward to it!  Pre-school and kindergarten graduations, football, basketball, and baseball games, cheerleading, concerts- all those things would have been the highlight of his day.

His grandchildren's schools would have been frequent halls for him to travel.

He was the most generous loving man you could imagine.

And I still miss him every single day.

An early happy father's day dad, I love you and know you feel me missing you.

*Shortly after writing this I spoke at a volunteer group meeting about my profession.  Afterwards I was approached by a woman who told me she used to sit across from my dad doing woodcarving.  It was an activity where he could be artistic and social in a safe group.  I was stunned and asked her how she knew I was his daughter.  She was very sweet but looked at me like she was thinking, "Duh" She kindly said he talked a lot about me.  I'm sure he talked a lot about all of us.  But I swear I felt like he was with me right then and there.  I wanted to hug her.  I don't know why I didn't- too reserved for my own good.  It's funny, they had asked me how I became interested in my profession and I almost answered- from hours and hours and hours of driving around with my dad (listening to Aaron Neville and Linda Ronstadt belt it out) looking at old buildings.  
"I don't know much, but I know I love you...  And that may be, all there is to know...."