Why does that happen? What is the trigger? I’m out for a nice evening walk with my dog, happily thinking about how things have been so calm and wonderful and peaceful lately and BAM! I see a man shooting hoops in his driveway and 5 minutes later I’m crying.
The man shooting hoops in his driveway was totally the trigger. Why? He looked just like my Dad, a younger, healthier version, but it was him. The Dad I remember when I was about 11 years old. The one that would chase me around the front yard while I was laughing, thinking that the sight of my Dad just running alone was hilarious. I started missing him. After almost 10 years of him being gone, you still miss them, but you learn to live with it. You never get over it, but you learn to not think about it every single day anymore, you learn to remember him without feeling so sad, but you can remember him with a fondness and a warm wonderful feeling or sweet memories. Every once in a while though, you let the pain back in and you just miss them.
Last night as I walked and thought about him, I found myself wishing so much that I could just sit down and talk to him again. I would ask him what were his greatest moments in his life? What were his regrets? What brought him the most joy? What advice he’d offer me now, knowing what he knows about it all.
Since leaving the church 8 years ago, it leaves me to formulate my own opinions about what happens to us when we leave this world. It used to be so easy, it was all mapped out for me, 3 degrees of glory and all. Now, a lot of that has all fallen apart, and I have been asked by some family members what I believe now, and the answer is probably what a lot of people think, “I don’t know”. I just don’t, but I hate the thought like I've heard in some Mormon doctorine that they are too busy doing the work, and they are needed somewhere else, or happier somewhere else (words of "encouragement" like that just proved to completely piss me off at the time it happened)... I like to think of them still here. I like to think of my Dad occasionally with me, when I find myself in those moments when life forces me to my knees, pleading for help, or driving home with tears streaming down my face and me simply asking “why?”. I like to think of him there, just with his arms wrapped around me, not saying anything grand, but just loving me. Sometimes, most times, that’s all we need is just to know that there is love there.
Dad and I had a different relationship than the rest of my siblings. We just got each other. He was always at odds with my brother as he woke him up early on Saturday’s to mow the lawn, because that’s what men did. He was always very protective of my 2 other sisters, babying them and standing up for them. But with me, he just sort of let me free knowing that I would be okay. It was like an unspoken trust and appreciation. He also just let me know in his way that he was excited to see what I’d come up with, all on my own. I like to think he’s watching now, it breaks my heart that he won't be there to see me have children, raise a family. It's a heart ache I will always have, but again, I've learned to live with.
The man shooting hoops in his driveway was totally the trigger. Why? He looked just like my Dad, a younger, healthier version, but it was him. The Dad I remember when I was about 11 years old. The one that would chase me around the front yard while I was laughing, thinking that the sight of my Dad just running alone was hilarious. I started missing him. After almost 10 years of him being gone, you still miss them, but you learn to live with it. You never get over it, but you learn to not think about it every single day anymore, you learn to remember him without feeling so sad, but you can remember him with a fondness and a warm wonderful feeling or sweet memories. Every once in a while though, you let the pain back in and you just miss them.
Last night as I walked and thought about him, I found myself wishing so much that I could just sit down and talk to him again. I would ask him what were his greatest moments in his life? What were his regrets? What brought him the most joy? What advice he’d offer me now, knowing what he knows about it all.
Since leaving the church 8 years ago, it leaves me to formulate my own opinions about what happens to us when we leave this world. It used to be so easy, it was all mapped out for me, 3 degrees of glory and all. Now, a lot of that has all fallen apart, and I have been asked by some family members what I believe now, and the answer is probably what a lot of people think, “I don’t know”. I just don’t, but I hate the thought like I've heard in some Mormon doctorine that they are too busy doing the work, and they are needed somewhere else, or happier somewhere else (words of "encouragement" like that just proved to completely piss me off at the time it happened)... I like to think of them still here. I like to think of my Dad occasionally with me, when I find myself in those moments when life forces me to my knees, pleading for help, or driving home with tears streaming down my face and me simply asking “why?”. I like to think of him there, just with his arms wrapped around me, not saying anything grand, but just loving me. Sometimes, most times, that’s all we need is just to know that there is love there.
Dad and I had a different relationship than the rest of my siblings. We just got each other. He was always at odds with my brother as he woke him up early on Saturday’s to mow the lawn, because that’s what men did. He was always very protective of my 2 other sisters, babying them and standing up for them. But with me, he just sort of let me free knowing that I would be okay. It was like an unspoken trust and appreciation. He also just let me know in his way that he was excited to see what I’d come up with, all on my own. I like to think he’s watching now, it breaks my heart that he won't be there to see me have children, raise a family. It's a heart ache I will always have, but again, I've learned to live with.
Last Sunday my sister and I were at my Mom's house and we got talking about him. My sweet niece Annie who is almost 4, started asking questions about "our Dad that died". She was so sweet, and at one point just turned to me and said in her sweet 4 year old way, "I'm really sorry that your Dad died Jen." I think that was the best condolance anyone has ever given me about the situation, and it happened almost 10 years later. It was just so sweet and so sincere. I'm sorry too Annie.
3 comments:
Jen, I hope you don't mind that I stumbled across your blog and here I am commenting.
About two weeks ago I saw a man at the grocery store (here in Atlanta GA) that looked like your dad and a few memories of him flooded back to me and I told my husband about him.
Like how your dad ALWAYS would snow-blow the sidewalks all the way up and down the streets for everyone after a big storm (which made me so happy because that meant I didn't have to shovel as much myself), or the time he was trying to show Kellie and I how to hit a golf ball correctly out on your front lawn and then Kellie and I later tried to see how far up in the circle we could hit them (I think I never made it much past the curb).
But I have a feeling you already know the answer to one of the questions you wish you could ask him, what brought him the most joy? Your mom, you and your siblings. The love is definitely still there.
Aww, thanks so much Eliza, that is incredibly sweet of you. I love to hear that people noticed all the kind things my Dad did for other people.
It's great to hear from you! I miss the old days in the Bountiful 20th ward!! I hope you and your adorable family are happy and healthy!
Jennifer, I don't know you at all. I came across your blog through Kirstan's. You stated something in this post that I know not to be true. They are never far from us. We have lost a son, my wife her father and two brothers, and the one think I have learned through it all, is that those we love continue to love us and play a more active role in our lives than we can imagine. Not that it makes missing them any easier.
I appreciated your post. Ten years from now, I want the loved ones we have lost to be just as important as they are today.
Post a Comment