Tag Archives: Dad

13 Down and Across

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One of the strongest memories I have of my dad is opening up a fresh “Games Magazine” and doing the word puzzles with him. In the car, at a diner, in the park, by the pool … Games Magazine was a staple of our relationship. When he died, I had the remainder of his subscription mailed to my house. A few months ago, when it expired – I renewed it in my name.

I haven’t touched them. They just pile up on my bedside table, waiting. Waiting for what, I’m not sure. Part of me feels like it’s wrong to do it without him, and part of me knows he’d be horrified that I have all of those great puzzles there and I haven’t touched any of them.

It also occurs to me that I hadn’t done any kind of crossword in about a year. I miss them. So today at lunch, I picked up the newspaper and sat down to a puzzle.

Didn’t go great – but I’ll get in the swing of it again. I’d do better if I had Dad for a consult. Happy Birthday, Dad.

Not a day goes by …

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I know, it’s Mother’s Day – but this one is a little rough for me, so please bear with some rambling. It’s the one year anniversary of my father’s death. And I still can’t believe that it’s true.

Literally, not a day goes by where I don’t absentmindedly think to pick up the phone and call him. Sometimes just to tell him something, and sometimes just because I’m bored and I miss him.

It’s been a really rough year. Anything associated with my dad seemed to come tinged with drama, and this has not been an exception. My relationships with his family, instead of growing stronger, seem to have become even unhinged, as I try to work through my own grief and somehow still end up as the center of support for everyone else. I’m consciously trying to take a step back from that role, and … it isn’t always pretty.

Mourning him is so difficult. My dad was such a polarizing figure, and people have strong emotions about him. And very often, I feel like I’m the only one who bears that burden. I know that’s not entirely true, but on some level – it is. We had a very complicated and unique relationship. He was more my friend than a dad in a lot of ways (although I’m realizing, now that he is gone, how much I really did learn from him – it’s so hard to accept that I can’t tell him that …) and in a lot of ways, I really was my dad’s best friend. It’s a heavy mantle.

I keep thinking about how much he’s missing. And whenever I do or experience something fun, I think about how much he’d love to hear about it, or what he would say. And I think that’s where I get tripped up. Because as my sister has pointed out – he’s not missing it. He’s dead. He doesn’t know he isn’t here. It’s really more about me, wishing he was here to share it. It’s a fine distinction, and I think it helps. When I think about it from what I would consider “his” perspective, I feel sad for him, and almost guilty that life goes on. When I think about how I feel about it — well, I mean – that’s just healthier. It also helps, because my dad was many things, but unpredictable wasn’t one of them. I can almost hear and predict, word-for-word what he would have said in almost any situation, and sometimes — that helps.

So, life goes on. And I’ll continue to try and untangle some of the messes he left, try to find ways to honor him as life goes on, and keep his voice in my head. But today, one year later? I’m just sad.

Really? That’s what you thought was appropriate?

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It never ceases to amaze me what comes out of people’s mouths. And luckily, I have a blog to share all the “Did they REALLY just say that?” horror.

I was at a gathering of strangers with a common goal this weekend (okay, it was a WeightWatchers meeting) and the Leader was asking people how they did over the week, was their eating under control, etc. Normal stuff. And this  one weird, fidgety guy next to me raises his hand and says that he ate and drank a lot this weekend. More than normal. “Why?” He goes on to explain that his friend died. One of two people that died as a result of Hurricane Irene. He was rafting. And he was very upset. His daughter (wife?) pipes up that he never drinks.

So, that was awkward. We are strangers. He’s obviously in need of comfort, but I don’t know him from a hole in the wall. I  make a murmuring “so sorry.” And then some guy in the front row (whose wife earlier grilled someone about what she was doing in a McDonald’s) asks what the dead guy’s name was.What? Why?

The guy responds with his name.

Then Mr. Sensitive in the front row responds “Oh! Yeah. They found his body this morning.”

Well, gee sir. Thanks for proving how up on local news you are. Congrats.

Douchebag. Like, on what planet is that something you think a guy’s friend would want to hear on a Sunday morning at his weight loss support group?

I’ve had my own share of “wtf?” moments lately. I know that when you decide to get married and have a wedding, everyone has an opinion or  a piece of advice to offer. I was prepared for that. What I wasn’t prepared for was for a large majority of people, immediately upon hearing I am getting married, ask me (verbatim) “Well, now that your dad is dead, who is walking you down the aisle?”

It’s like a knife in the heart, every time. Now first off – I never intended to have my dad walk me down the aisle. I always saw this as a solo trip. But I am very, very keenly aware that my dad isn’t here to share this day with me. And that I’ll never get to have the option to offer him that honor. Or have a dad-daughter dance. Or any of those things. And the fact that people bring it up as soon as I share my happy news? Kills me.

 

An Atheist in Mourning

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Today is kinda eh. It’s not only the two-month anniversary of my dad’s death, it would have been his 55th birthday. I’m meeting my mom, sister, his girlfriend and one of his old friend’s for dinner to celebrate his life, share stories, etc. But today just sucks.

Sometimes it feels like he’s been gone for so long, and sometimes it hits me how new this all feels, and it hurts all over again. I’m used to missing my dad – he moved to Florida when I was about 12, and there was a long stretch of time a few years ago when I was denied regular access to him. So, missing him hurts – but I can deal. It’s the sudden, gut-punch of realization that the missing is never going to end that really gets me. I am not saving these stories up for later, or to write down for him. He’s just … never coming back.

And that’s what I think the hardest part is about being an atheist. My dad just isn’t there anymore. He isn’t in Florida, he isn’t on vacation, he just no longer exists. People will try to comfort you with things like “He’ll always be with you” or “He’s watching over you” or “You’ll meet him again.” And that’s just … not true. Sure, he’ll always be in my heart and memory and all he taught me and all that jazz. But he’s just not here anymore. He’s nowhere.

And I get it the whole comforting aspect of religion. I totally do. It would be so nice to believe that this isn’t the end, and that he’s out there, somewhere, just not accessible to me. But I don’t and never will. But sometimes I really, really want to.

The Good With The Bad

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Maybe it’s just because my life has been so dramatic and life-altering lately that I’m more sensitive to it lately, or maybe its just the summer and change of seasons, but it feels like something big is going on with every one  in my close circle.

My friends are facing heartbreak in all sorts of horrific and unexpected forms. And there are some moments where I am just consumed with grief. For myself, for my family, for my sisters. And I’m trying to just pull through and keep going. It’s the “new normal” and I have to live with my loss for the rest of my life. So, I need to learn how to manage it, and I know that it will get better. Eventually. It’s just hard to remember that when I occasionally pull out my phone to call my dad about something, or go to email him an article about something he would find funny or interesting. It hits me more and more how similar my dad and I were, and how there really isn’t anyone else I would share some of these things with. It was just ours, and it kills me. But … it is what it is,  I guess.

As I think I’ve mentioned before, for the most part – people have been incredible. There’s a few exceptions, but only a handful that stung. But one of my friends in particular, probably my oldest friend (since 1st grade) has been just … phenomenal.  She checks in with me almost daily, and just knowing that she’s there is probably doing more than she will ever know.

Anyway, I was talking to her about some mutual friend’s life-changing situation and we we’re talking about some of the crap that seems to be in the air lately and she reminded me of something. There’s also a lot to be happy about that we shouldn’t let overshadow all the shit. Last week we danced at a friend’s wedding, and in a few months we’ll be welcome a “niece” into our circle of friends. Who will live in the new apartment her parents just bought. Another friend’s heartbreak will eventually heal and she can be proud of making the hardest decision she’s ever made. I have other friends who have “fast forwarded” through their own dark days and are happier than I’ve ever seen.

Grief, as all encompassing as it sometimes feels, eventually fades. Sure, it may linger, and sometimes it’s healthy to have a good cry and wallow a bit (although eating a tube of cookie dough rarely falls into the healthy category), it’s important to remember that for the most part, this too shall pass. And when your world comes crashing down, there’s usually a new one just starting to spring up.  Or at the very least, a friend will let you stop by hers for a bit and pick up some seeds.

As it stands …

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First of all, I want to thank everyone. Both for the condolences and the reassurances that the internet is still here for me, and that you’ll stick with my little blog, whatever I write about. I know its corny and hokey and all that jazz, but it really, really means something to me. So, the lesson learned here is – if you are ever in doubt about reaching out? Go for it. It’s definitely appreciated.

What he left…

I have so many adventures in the wake of my dad’s death. I can’t tell all of the stories and have this remain a public blog for reasons that will become obvious, but I want to share a bit about what dad’s life looked like when he died. This way you’ll have a good idea of what I’ve been dealing with (both while he was living, and the aftermath.)

My dad lived in Florida. He moved there when I was about 12. I saw my dad pretty frequently (3-4 times a year) and we spoke by phone, I’d say … at least once a week? Give or take. Dad was bipolar, so there’d be weeks where I didn’t hear from him at all, and weeks where he would literally call me 3-4 times a day. But Dad and I have always been close.  He used to brag that I was more of his friend than his daughter. This was true. And not healthy. But it’s the truth.

My dad was married to my stepmother for about 12 years. This was his third wife. They separated sometime last year and have been living separately for about a year now, and it’s been pretty amicable.

My dad and stepmom are the parents of my two baby sisters (currently age 10 and 12.) We’re also really close. While technically my half-sisters, I’ve never referred to them as such, and vice versa.  Ironically, now that they are a little older, it’s harder to stay in touch. Sure, they have fancy cell phones and Facebooks, but apparently I’m just not as cool as I was when they were smaller. C’est la vie. I speak to them about once every week or so.

When my dad and stepmother split up, he started dating a woman named A. (Well, that’s just her initial, but I don’t know how she’d feel about me using her name.) A. is (ready for this?) my grandmother’s (deceased) best friend’s daughter. A. has always had a crush on my dad. Apparently they were caught kissing as teenagers. (Yes, while my dad was dating my mom – my parents started dating when they were 14/15.)

Anyway, they reconnected sometime last year. She lives in New York. I haven’t seen my dad this happy in a long, long time. This was a good match. So, because she lived in New York, he’s been up here a lot. I’ve seen my dad more in the past year than I have in ages. Which is nice. But because he was in a new, long-distance relationship, it also means I had spoken to him a lot less lately. Which, at the time was good for both of us. I was trying to teach him to be more independent. Now that he’s gone? It hurts.

Also in Florida? My grandma. His mom. Who up until about two years ago, he had been estranged from. But they had made up and I was so glad he was down there to take care of her. Grandpa died about a year ago, and my aunt passed away about 8 years ago. My dad was all my grandma had left.

I know, this is all sad and morbid. I’m sorry. But I will leave you with this picture of the primary mourners at my dad’s funeral. His four kids (two sets of girls, two different moms), two ex-wives (my stepmother and my mother), a girlfriend, the girlfriend’s daughter, and his mother.

Not-mentioned, but also in attendance: an ex-girlfriend from 14 years ago, his childhood best friend Ralphie and my maternal great-aunt Dot.

It was one hell of a funeral.

 

This is the new normal.

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Hi. I feel like this blog post has been hanging over my head, and I don’t even know how to write it. And I’m not even sure what I want to say, but I need to say something.

The past few weeks, I’ve been thinking about the blog. The etiquette thing is fun, but I haven’t been keeping to it the way I should. And I lost my oomph. But then I felt stupid changing it, because well — I have a pretty header, and don’t know how to change the tagline. (Seriously, this is the kind of stuff that trips me up.) And I wanted to write about personal stuff, but all of my friends and family who want me to write about personal stuff forgets that they are part of my personal stuff. None of them recognize themselves as totally nuts, apparently.

So, then I did a blog giveaway about thank you notes. And while the lovely Carolann offered up an amazing prize – it didn’t get a lot of attention. And I feel awful about it. I still need to pick the winner (and I will!) but I needed to get this post out first.

I have a lot of thank you cards to write now. My dad passed away on May 13th. I think I am going to need to write about this. And my life, and my family and the mess that he left. And the people that stepped up and did amazing things for me. And while I can’t really write too much about the people who did or are doing less than amazing things, knowing I have an outlet of some sort, will help. And I think I need this to go back to being my personal blog.

I don’t really have a direction. It will probably be about my family (whatever stories are still appropriate to tell), the daily crazy things that happen to me, books I’m reading, the occasional rants about etiquette or advice columns or … I guess I’m going back to the beginning – when I first started this blog. Or rather when I re-christened it Lunchtime Blogging in 2009. I miss that.  I promise to not always be a downer, but I can’t promise it won’t ever happen. This is my new normal.

 

 

Clearing Up Bubbe Meises

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I wouldn’t call my dad a liar, but I would say that sometimes … well, truth can be slightly distorted. In Yiddish, we call these bubbe meises. Literally, it means grandmother’s stories. You know, like “old wives tales.”

So, anyway, my dad has been telling my sister and I stories about how he spent many, many hours with my mom’s older family, during our parents long-ago teenage courtship. He explains how he sat for hours listening to Dot’s stories or learning how to make Nanny’s soup.  Now, while it’s true my dad does love old people, this sounded a little … suspect. So, Marisa and I asked mom to clear up the confusion during one of our bi-monthly trips up to Stew Leonard’s.

And because I can never do this story justice, I offer you (almost) direct dialogue.

Me: Mom, when you guys were dating, did Dad spend hours with your family?

Mom: What?? No! Maybe an hour or two with Nanny learning how to make soup, and once to help Lillian or Dot with something, but not like, more than 4 hours total out of … years!

Marisa: Really? Because he said it was like, days upon days. Like a weekly thing!

Mom: No! He was busy with me, getting busy*!

Marisa: Mom!!!!

Me: … blink blink … brain washing … blink blink

Mom: (indignantly) What?!

Marisa: Mom, we don’t want to know that!

Mom: What did you think we were doing? Holding hands and making hamantaschen?

 

“Holding hands and making hamantaschen.”

 

The moral of this story? Don’t ask questions.

 

*Busy wasn’t the actual word used. But because I love my mother, I let her have some editing rights. But having her come up with another euphemism for what she actually said was almost as painful as the original conversation.

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