When will it get easier?

Dear Dad,

Some days, like today, the pain is so heavy that is hard to breath. I miss you more than I ever believed it was possible to miss someone. I am in a lonely, dark place, still trying to navigate this world without you. Barely managing. Amidst all the Chriatmas bustle, I just want one thing. 

I want my dad. 

I want my dad. 

I am not sure how we will get through the holidays without you.  Mom is broken. The kids still miss you terribly. The void you left will never be filled.  Our family will never be whole again. 

Clearly, Dad, I'm having a rough time. You've been gone 7 months and so far, not much is getting easier. Yes, there is an ok day now and then.  But that is all. 

I want my dad. 

Love your sunshine. 

6 months later ....

Hi Dad,

We are approaching the 6 month mark of living without you and I can say that it still sucks, a lot.  I can't believe that I haven't seen you, or enjoyed a conversation with you in 6 months.  I have meagrely navigated life without my beacon that always flashed quietly and steadily in the distance of my daily life.  You were always there when I needed you.  Now, there is a vacancy that causes sadness, stress, emptiness, loneliness, some anxiety and a great deal of pain. 

I don't blog very often.  Because it takes me to a very sad and painful place that I need to have the time and emotional capacity to handle.  And life is just too busy and demanding to be able to do that very often.  The kids keep me busy.  Mateo is struggling a bit with his behaviour at school.  He has been less than respectful and well-behaved these past months.  He has made bad decisions that land him in the principals office.  We worry about him and I often wish you were here to talk to him.  He has lost one of the most wonderful role models a little boy could ever have.  And he is sad.  He misses his Grandpa every day.  He talks about you every day.  He still cries a lot.

I talk to him about integrity and honor.  I tell him that those are the things that Grandpa had and that we must all live up to what he was and what he taught us to be.  He seems to understand and some days I think he is really trying. I don't really worry for his long term well being because I think he does have a good heart and will find his way.  He will always hold his memories of you close to his heart.  He talks about when you 'babysat' him on a sick day, just one month before you died.  He wasn't really that sick and you spent the day with him and made him do some 'homework' that you prepared for him.  While Mateo pretended to think it was unfair, I know he actually enjoyed your pseudo-strict act with him.   That day, you made him lunch and told him stories of your days in the RCMP over lunch.  You told him about the criminals and the prison at the police station and he listened so intently that he had nightmares that night.  That was you Dad, a devoted Grandpa, a passionate ex-RCMP officer, a man of true integrity and honor.

How lucky we all were to call you our own dad, grandpa, husband, father-in-law.  You taught us that if you live your life well, you will live on forever.

 

I am grateful for you.  You made me happy.  You still nourish my soul, Dad, and guide me through life by the lessons you taught me, the way you lived, the man you were.

 

I love you and miss you so much, still, 6 months later.

 

Love your sunshine.

"What will it be without you"

 

Dear Dad,

 

Mateo misses you.  He wrote this letter to you and said he was going to put it out by the bird feeder and that you would answer him.  It is so hard to lose such an incredible grandfather, role model, protector .... someone who gave so much unconditional love.  He has wonderful memories with you.  It is just that none of us understand "how it will be without you".  Not yet anyway.

 

Love your sunshine.

xo

 

 

Dear Grandpa,

 

If you get it when I pray

If you see me from up there

I miss you and I love you

You loved me and cared about me

What will it be without you?

 

 

 

Coming home

Hi Dad,

We got home from our European vacation about 10 days ago and I must say, I am glad to be home.  Being on holiday was surprisingly miserable for me.  Because I thought of you constantly.  And cried a lot.

Now, I am back home, back to work, back to the routine of life and keeping busy.  Just the way I like it.  Just the way you liked it too.  You were not a traveller.  No desire to be anywhere other than in your home, in your neighbourhood, in your city, with your family.  When I reflect on that now, I think you must have been incredibly at peace with your life.  You were not someone to search for things.  You didn't need adventure and new sights and sounds all the time.

I think that is awesome.  In the real and literal sense of the word ... awesome.  It is rare and unique and undervalued and special.

I learned so much from you, Dad.  A lot of which I am learning now, after you are gone.

I miss you so much.  I think of you a million times a day and just want to pick up the phone and call you.  I want to tell you about my day.  I want to tell you about my experiences and hear the pride and interest in your voice. 

I want to be home.  I mean, home in my heart.  I am in a foreign place as I walk through the world without you.  Nothing feels right or comfortable without you.

I hear that time heals.  So I will wait.

I love you, Dad.
Your sunshine
xo

How did you manage?

Dear Dad,

I think back on your life before I was part of it. You told me some stories when I'd ask. I learned about events and some people. But I never asked how you managed it all.  How did you manage the loss of your mother and father when you were just in your twenties, a newly wed and young Mountie starting a family of your own?  I have never heard a single word of you losing it or getting depressed or finding it hard to cope. And I am sure it was hard to cope. I think that was also around the same time you were diagnosed with type 1 Diabetes. And only a few years earlier, your friend and colleague was shot on duty - in a situation that could easily have been you.  How much can a person handle?  I am barely handling the loss of you from my world.  How did you do it?

I never really knew my grandparents - your mom and dad. But I know they were good people. Kind, loving, supportive, family people. And I know they did a hell of a job raising you to be the person you were. In a time that was certainly more difficult than I have ever known. 

Maybe my generation is just weak.  What do you think?  I wish you were here to have this conversation. But if I imagine it in my head, I think you would brush things off with the attitude of you just did what you had to do at the time. That was you. Never complaining about the struggle. A just-do-it kind of man. 

And you were never the kind of person to complain about "kids these days" either. You never made my brother and I feel ungrateful or anything less than exceptional actually. Man, we were so lucky to have you as our dad. 

I think the diabetes was the hardest thing for you to accept in your 71 years. What I blow that must have been when they told you and mom 46 years ago. It was a huge part of our family life. It was hard on all of us. My childhood was shadowed with fear of losing you to this stupid disease. I hated, more than anything, when you would have an insulin reaction. It scared me because you were so different when you were in a reaction. You could get angry and confused and sometimes you looked at me and it was as if you didn't recognize me. But talk about doing what you have to do to survive the struggle. We all did what we had to do because we loved you so much. And I believe you did what you had to do because you loved us. I will always be grateful for the way you managed your disease. You worked hard to stay healthy and as a result, we had you around for a long time - not long enough but still..... My kids were able to know their Grandpa and build important memories. 

All because of the way you managed life. With honour, dutifulness, and integrity.  Without complaint or self-pity. You were never a victim, Dad.  You lived your life until your last day. 

You taught me so much. 

Love your sunshine 

    My mom and dad on their wedding day, with my dad's parents. October 1967

Hey Dad, guess what I saw?

Dear Dad,

We are here in Germany on our Europen family summer holiday. I'd like to say we are having a great time but I am not. There is no such thing as a great time for me anymore, since you left the world. I can only hope that someday there will be something that resembles a great time but for now, I just exist moment to moment, wondering how the hell I will ever be happy again.

Enough gloom though. Every single day I see a dozen things I want to tell you about. In a split second I think about picking up the phone to call you .... then I remember you are gone and I will never again get to have those casual, easy chats with you.  I will never get to tell you about these things I saw in Germany ....

A robotic lawn mower. You would have thought it was so neat, and perhaps your answer to the over-sized lawn that was becoming too much for you to manage. 

Then there was this super cool hybrid motorcycle-scooter-car thing called a MonoTracer. It looks like a covered motorcycle with a front and back seat and it has retractable side wheels that come down when the vehicle stops. We passed one on the street and the kids and I immediately thought of you. It would have been a great topic of conversation with you. I would have looked it up on-line and showed you pictures and you would have smiled with great interest. You were always interested in what was next in the world of cars. 

But I know you loved bikes as much as cars. So yesterday I saw folks from the Smart Car company promoting the Smart Bike. Again, I wanted to talk to you about these. What would you think?  They look pretty sleek but I think they are expensive.

I know you didn't like to travel.  Your diabetes was more difficult to manage when you were out of your routine, especially if it involved different time zones. But, if you were ever to travel to Europe, I know Germeny would be a country you'd like. It is so organized and clean. Right up your alley. 

We would have enjoyed a German beer or two together, Dad. It would have been great. 

Now I need to get used to thinking about how great it could've been.  That sucks.

Love your sunshine

I'll call you if I need you

Dear Dad,

Do you remember when I was a kid and you would put me to bed each night?  Sometimes you'd lay beside me for a few minutes, sometimes you'd read to me, and you'd always kiss me on my forehead and say "Good night, Sunshine". Then, as you'd leave my room to head downstairs again, I would always say "I'll call you if I need you". It was like a security blanket call. As long as those words were said, I felt safe and secure knowing that if I needed you, I could just call out to you and you'd be there right away. I know I used it a few times too - for a glass of water or an extra hug when I was very little. And at every other stage of my life too. I called you to pick me up from a friends house. As I got older, I called you from far away places when I needed your advice, or was homesick. After I moved away from home, I called you from my new apartment when I needed something fixed.  After I was married, I called you when my husband was away and there was a mouse in my basement. I called you to take care of my babies when I needed to get a shower or go out for something. I called you to pick up my kids from school or sit with them when they were home sick from school.  I called you hundreds of times and you were always there, always happy to hear from me and eager to help.

You were my hero, my rock, my home base. You made me feel secure and confident. Nothing was impossible, because I could always call you if I needed you. 

Now you are gone. 

Who will I call if I need help?

I am lost. 

Someday I will find myself again ... perhaps by calling on the 41 years I had with you, and all the strength, love and courage you gave me. 

Love your sunshine