Sad Days

View from the cemetery where my father's parents are buried

View of the cemetery where my father's parents are buried

It’s been a really rough week.

Saturday we scattered mom’s ashes at the cemetery where my dad’s parents are buried, per her wishes. It’s a beautiful place in the country, with a picturesque view of the land my father’s family farmed for generations. It was a small, simple gathering of just a few family members to say a prayer and say another farewell to their sister, wife, and mother.

Honestly, it wasn’t as hard as I was expecting. Not that it was easy—it definitely wasn’t easy. I cried more than I’ve cried in quite some time. But it was comforting to be in such a peaceful place that I essentially come from, with that small group of people related to me who loved my mother.

Sunday was actually the hardest day for me. I think it was hard for many, many reasons, one of which was that I hadn’t prepared for it. I felt prepared for Saturday, and then it was over, and suddenly there was another day. I didn’t sleep well Saturday night, so that added to my feelings of crazed despair and anxiety. Another problem with Sundays, in general, is that Max typically leaves on Sundays. He offered to stay another day so I wouldn’t have to be alone on Monday, but I didn’t feel like he should miss another day of work right now.

Monday was my mom’s 54^th birthday. It was a very difficult day for me, and everyone else in my family. I wanted to take everyone’s advice and “remember the good times” and maybe even celebrate her a little, but it’s too soon for me. So I cried a lot and I missed her.

Sometimes I do the things “they” tell you not to do. I stuff my face when I’m sad. I stay in bed when I don’t feel like facing the day. I ignore phone calls and texts from people who care.

Because the truth is, while I am healing (I feel it happening constantly), I am still so, so sad. I am the saddest I have ever been times infinity. I am so sad I am sick over it.

But I am also doing my best to be healthy. I am exercising, keeping an eye on my diet, spending time with friends and family, writing about it, and I’ve started looking for a new job. I think about my mom and how hard she worked to be healthy and happy, and I think she’d be proud of the steps I’m taking. 

(Happy) Father's Day

Mom and me, Kassie and Dad

My dad hasn’t always had an easy life, but is always grateful for what he has, and doesn’t complain when things are difficult, because to him, there isn’t a point to complaining. I’ve heard him say “well, that’s life” in response to worries, complaints, or criticisms voiced by my sister or me. And it’s true, as we’ve all learned at one time or another – life is definitely not fair. Life is tumultuous and full of unexpected twists and turns, yet so many of us fight these unwanted shifts and turns and find ourselves depressed or anxiety-ridden when circumstances change. Not my dad.

This is not to say that he doesn’t feel the pain of loss or change. I told you – he is surprisingly complex. I believe he feels these things just as much as anyone else might, but with one difference – he doesn’t indulge the childish voice inside that constantly reminds us, in that whining, sad voice, “it just isn’t fair.” No, it isn’t. But “that’s life.”

Father’s Day is a difficult holiday for my father. His father, my granddad, passed away Father’s Day weekend of 1990. When Dad reminded me that it had been twenty-two years since Granddad died, I was shocked. I audibly gasped. I don’t have a lot of vivid memories of Granddad, but I have a lot of feelings associated with him. When I think of my Granddad, I remember feeling secure, special, and loved. I also remember that it was important to mind my manners and be good, or I would be in big trouble. Much like my own father, Granddad never yelled, and I only have one memory of ever seeing him angry.

I don’t know for sure how old we were, but we couldn’t have been older than three years old when Kassie, Granddad, G-G (what we called my dad’s mom) and I went to Wendy’s for lunch after church. I was so upset that Kassie got to sit by G-G, that when Granddad wasn’t looking, I decided to crawl under the table to G-G’s side. I didn’t make it very far. He grabbed me by the belt loop on my jean shorts and pulled me back out from under the table, swatted me on the rear (in front of everyone!) and made me sit by him the rest of the meal. I was so surprised! My family and I laugh at this memory because Granddad didn’t really tend to get angry (much like my father), so he must have been pretty angry at me that day if he felt the need to spank me in public.

Mom and Kassie, Granddad, G-G, Dad and me

 Another memory took place at their house in the country. They had a pretty big yard next to some railroad tracks and a farm with horses. There were some huge trees in the yard that my sister and I spent hours playing under and climbing. One afternoon when I was three or four years old, I was climbing one of the trees and slipped, landing on something soft. The air was immediately filled with the sounds of screams.

I’d landed on a rabbit. If you have never heard a rabbit scream, you are lucky. The rabbit was fortunate that day because I was still pretty small at that point. He scurried away and got stuck in a basement window well. I was so upset and worried about the rabbit. Granddad calmly put on his medal-working gloves, while explaining to me why it wasn’t ok to pick up a wild animal with your bare hands, and rescued the rabbit. He let me pet him and apologize to him, and then he took him to another shady spot away from where we were playing and let him go.

My dad is a lot like Granddad. I remember lots of times when my sister and I were little when my dad would explain things to us, show us how things worked, or tell us stories. He was and is always calm and patient. I was (and am) very much my mother’s daughter, but as I’ve gotten older, I have started to appreciate more and more his perspective on the world. We don’t see eye-to-eye on many things (like politics and religion), but he is a gentle soul who bases his entire worldview on doing what’s right, even if it is hard or impossible.

Being a good father is about so much more than paternity. My sister and I are so blessed to have a father who has cared for us, provided for us, nurtured us, looked out for us, taught us, and loved us through everything (which I imagine was not always easy with twin girls – especially through the teenage years). We were so lucky to have parents who epitomized the ideal of marriage and being in love with one another until the end and beyond.

Dad and Mom on their wedding day, December 18, 1976