Approaching two years without you

Hi Dad,

This time of year just sucks.  It will always suck.  As the buds on trees slowly emerge.  As the ground thaws and the birds speak up.  These things will always remind me of the saddest, scariest, most awful day of my life.  The day you left us.  I still find it hard to navigate without you.  I wish you were here to see so many things, to talk about life, to share experiences.  I need your advice on a couple things dad, but you aren't here to talk to anymore.  I need to hear your voice.  I need to feel the comfort that came with being beside you.  Sometimes I can't find it.  I even find it hard to remember and I feel so alone.

Yes, for the most part, I am ok.  We are all ok.  But somedays I am not ok.  Today is one of those days.

What is it like wherever you are?  Are you comfortable and happy?  Are you peaceful and calm?  Are you seeing everything that is happening here in my life?  Do you see how Mateo is these days? What do you think?  Is he going to be ok?  What do you think is going on?  Is he just being a regular little boy, testing my limits?  Or is something wrong?  I would really love to hear what you think.  I know you would just take him to the park and play catch with him and he would be so happy.  You would take away his burdens, his worries, his troubles.  You would let him just be a boy, playing ball and goofing around.  You would remind him that it is important to be good.  You would joke around with him and trick him into doing the right thing.  He looked up to you. He loved hanging out with you.  You were one person who just played ... just let him be .... it was so easy and simple and nice.

Life is overwhelming me these days.  I feel like I am drowning slowly and can't get my head above water.  I am scared and lonely and sad.  Hopefully it is just today .... and the pain will pass again.

May 8th approaches.  Mother's day.  I am dreading it.  It never really gets any easier.

All I hope is that you are at peace.  You deserve that.
I miss you more than I would ever be able to express.  It is a deep wound that will never heal.

Love your sunshine ... not so sunny today :-(

I am ok

Hi Dad,

How is it possible that I have navigated this world for one whole year without you?  Tomorrow, it will be 365 days since you walked on this earth as my dad.  One year since you got out of bed to face another day with hip pain and foot pain and that damn diabetes.  Another winter came and went even though you weren't here.  I was glad you didn't need to shovel snow or walk the dog in the frigid temperatures.  But holy crap, do I ever miss you!  It has been a hell of a difficult year.  I needed you many, many times.  I wanted to call you on a million different occasions.  I longed to hear your comforting, calm and most loving voice telling me to give you a call if I needed anything.  I walk through life without the bullet proof vest I always had.  I swim without a life jacket and often feel like I was am driving without a seat belt.  I don't actually drive without a seat belt, of course Dad .... I would never do that.

If there is one thing I have learned it is that I can cope with way more shit than I ever thought I would be able to cope with.  I am way stronger than I thought I was.  I told Maelyn the other day ... "Look at us!  One year without Grandpa and we are ok!".  It was an expression of complete shock and true gratitude, actually.  I never thought I could live without my dad.  I really didn't.  I always knew I would have to one day but I couldn't even fathom how that would be possible.  But it is.  And I am ok, Dad.  I am ok without you .... because of you.  You taught me so much.  So much of which seemed to be hidden somewhere in my unconscious and has emerged as needed over the past year.  I see the world a bit differently since you died.  I see it sort of through your eyes.  You had an inherent sense of kindness and trust of people.  Not naïve - in fact, just the opposite.  You knew something that not everyone knows.  You saw people for who they are and treated them with simple kindness and respect they deserved.  It was all so natural and easy with you.  You didn't need to advertise kindness or tell anyone else how to live.  You just lived it.  I am not even sure you knew how good you were ... which was maybe what was so amazing about you.

So, we made it through all the "firsts" ... but I am not convinced the seconds will be any easier.  I have given up on waiting for it to be better.  Now, I accept that things will never again be the same.  My world changed on May 8th, 2014.  I lost part of my comfort zone and safety net.  I lost the constant pride and support you so easily gave me all the time.  I lost the one person in the world I felt I could count on one hundred and fifty percent no matter what.  But I slowly gained a whole lot of strength over the year and that sustains me now.  You, Dad, transitioned from being physically in my life, to being my strength and guide in life.  So I am ok.  Some days are still brutally difficult but they are really more moments than days now.  And I am ok.

Love your sunshine

Merry Christmas, Dad.

Dear Dad,

It is Christmas Eve and, like every year, I am sitting by the fire next to the white-lit Christmas tree in your house. Unlike every single Christmas Eve, I am so full of sadness. I miss you so very much. I want to have a beer with you. I want to hear about what you got mom for Christmas. I want to see you out shoveling your driveway. I just want you to be here. 

I didn't know last Christmas was my last with you. It seems unfair that I wasn't given the opportunity to really treasure last year. I wasn't warned about the pain I would feel. I wasn't ready to say goodbye. 

I miss you Dad. 

But .....

I know you would want us to have fun. I know that you would want it to be about the kids. So I will go forth in your memory and do that. Because you did everything for us. 

I love you. 

Merry Christmas, Dad. 

Love your sunshine. 

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

Don't wait ....

Dear Dad,

We were sitting together on that summer evening a few years back, looking out at the muskoka sunset over the lake. I told you that one day, when I am retired, I will spend my days in a setting like this enjoying something creative - painting or making jewellery - doing what I like to do. At that time, I was in a job that brought me no satisfaction.  You surprised me with your firm advice - "don't wait". You told me that there were a lot of things you wished you had done rather than waiting to do when you retired. Like going on a bike tour, maybe through the Cabot trail.  You spoke of regret and that now it was too late for you. It surprised me because you were always of the conservative pursuation - keeping things stable and secure. Not a risk taker. But I heard your advice, loud and clear, and have never forgotten it. 

You died on a Thursday evening. The following days were a blur. Visitors arriving from all parts. Sadness so thick that I couldn't see ahead of myself. Funeral arrangements, phone calls, obituary, sorrow ..... Deep, deep sorrow. Visitation on Monday. Funeral on Tuesday. Goodbyes to visitors.  By the weekend it was silence and emptiness. I went back to work on the Monday. Some thought it was soon and I should take more time but I wanted to get back. I needed a distraction from my new reality. And as you know, I like my "new" job. There is something I am thankful for - that you were alive to see me change jobs to something I enjoy.  I know that it was hard for you to see me in a job I disliked for so long. You advised me not to leave the civil service though - again, your conservative side spoke. I am glad I listened to that. Now I have a job I like, and found my creative pleasures in my on-line jewellery shop, of which you were so supportive.  You were always so supportive of everything I did. Do you know how much strength and confidence you gave me?

I can only hope that now, as a parent myself, that I can give the kids what you and mom gave my brother and I - unconditional love and support. 

What am I going to do now, going forward in life, without you to talk to about things?  No one will listen and love me like you did. I guess I will need to draw on the 41 years I had with you and all the love you gave will carry me through. It won't be easy but it will be ok ................. eventually. 

Love your sunshine

Dear Dad, I miss you.

Dear Dad,

When I was a little girl, you called me your sunshine. You always made me feel so safe, and loved, and protected. How blessed I was to have you as my dad. 

I will never forget that evening in early May.  It was a day I knew would come eventually and I dreaded its arrival. The phone call from mom, the look on Kaya's face, him shaking his head at me when he said "it's your dad". I knew that was it. The dreaded day had arrived. 

The scene was out of a movie and I felt like I was watching from afar. Watching in slow motion as the police officer said the words "I am so sorry for your loss". Mom cried and said "he is gone, Shannon".  I crumpled to the ground as if I'd been puched in the stomach. I wanted so badly for someone to be wrong. I wanted it to be just a close call. I wanted, more than anything, to wake up, shaken with the realization that I needed to treasure each moment with you before you are gone. But that didn't happen. I didn't wake up. It wasn't a mistake. It was real. It was my new reality. You were gone. Really gone. 

I always knew it would be difficult. I wondered how I would go on without you. Now, nearly 3 months have passed and I can say that it is more difficult than I ever could have imagined. I miss you more than can be put into words. Yet, I am hoping that the words I write here will help me heal. Maybe too, if anyone else ever reads them, maybe my journey will help someone else who has lost their dad. Because as much as it aches now, and as much as somedays I think I will never be happy again, I do still have faith that time will heal and that someday I will think of you and not feel my heart is broken into pieces. 

For now, the pain I feel everyday is so deep. It is a hollow and dark feeling like I have never known. Some days, it hurts to breathe. The tear ducts are wide open all the time. Just a thought of you and I feel the pressure and tingling in my face. I swallow hard to fight back tears.  I inhale deeply to try to fill my lungs with oxygen. Trying to replace the pain. Trying to fill the void you have left behind. 

I know you had to go. And I am grateful for the way you went. It was the way a man like you deserved to go. Peacefully. Easily. Gently. In your home. In your sleep. 

But I miss you. So much. 

Love your Sunshine