Sharing

On January 26, 2018 I eulogized my beloved father. 

I woke up knowing it was going to be a terribly emotional day. I cried a lot. I got showered and dressed, looking as pretty as I could muster, as though it mattered. I sobbed some more. Then, on the road driving to the church, I got angry. What in the world were all of these people doing out on the road, like nothing big was happening? How DARE they go on like the world was the same?? 

My irrationality was real, and my emotions were raw, my nerves frayed at the ends. Yes, we had said goodbye two weeks before, but now, now we had to honor him in front of people....share a piece of ourselves at the memorial service and tell the world about him, as if that could ever encompass him, as if it could ever be enough.

By September of 2017, the writing was on the wall. We (if we admitted it to ourselves) knew that his body was failing him. Our hopes of a miracle, that he would suddenly be well again, were now turning towards hopes that we could get the most out of the time we had left. I decided that I needed him to know my thoughts. He deserved to know my feelings. How do you tell your hero, your biggest fan, your most special person how they have impacted your life? Well, for me, I write. So, I wrote him a letter. 

I wrote him my final letter. 

I read it at his funeral, taking out some of the parts. I barely made it through the reading of my own personal words to him, rubbing and worrying the emerald ring on my right hand that he designed for me on my birthday. I looked out at the crowd into the crying eyes of my mother, being comforted by my 12 year old son, who might never know how special that was. I saw my siblings sharing my pain. I found my husband's face and he smiled at me, giving me a shot of strength as he held my 3 year old sleeping daughter, who was missing her best friend, so she went to sleep. I found my 9 year old sitting next to him, shedding his own tears. I couldn't look too long, because I realized that I was talking to a PACKED sanctuary. People were spilling out into the narthex and watching through the windows. It was overwhelming, and, side note, I was not blessed with Dad's skill in public speaking...I despise it. Nonetheless, I proceeded.

Here are my words, that, had I not written them down, I don't think I could have told him. He may have known, but with the emotions flooding me, I would have been surprised to get them out. 

Dear Daddy,                                                                                                              9/30/2017

            I have been wondering what to say for months. I know it is in there, I know it is dying to come out, but yet, it stays stuck in my head…well, let’s be honest, in my heart. I am well aware that you are under no obligation to make me feel better. I want to make you feel better, after all. I can’t. That sucks. It sucks more than any suck that I have ever experienced before. You have never needed me to take care of you. I have often needed you to take care of me. I have too many memories to count of just that. This isn’t fair. This makes me angry. This leaves me…helpless.

            I was always so proud to be with my daddy—so  proud that you wanted me with you. The part that I most love to remember is when you would let me hold your hand. I have always loved holding your hand. Yes, I am a grown woman now, but there is something about holding your hand that makes me feel so safe, loved, and cherished.

            My memory bank would be totally incomplete without talking about my soccer career and the role you played. Not only you driving all over America with wisdom filled discussions about soccer and life as well, to let me play the game that I loved, but standing on the sidelines, cheering me on during the good, the bad, and the ugly. You wiped my tears when I was spent. You encouraged me when I was down. You got on me when I was lazy. You taught me that anything worth doing was worth doing well. Your wisdom, prayers, encouragement, and love were always felt. Always. I never wondered.

            You held me while I cried during a break up. You held me when I cried over leaving home. You held me. You didn’t know what to say, and in my teenage angst, I may have even bucked up against your involvement. I have never forgotten it. Nor will I ever. I never wanted to disappoint you. I hated it that I ever did.  I have watched you be the rock for this family through it all. I am one lucky girl to have such a smart man as my guide. I am so very proud to be your daughter. None of these words that I am saying will ever say it right. My heart swells when I think of you. When I hear others talk about you. When I read about you. When my kids call you Grandad. They are a little young to understand just how lucky they are. You are a real life hero. You are MY real life hero.

            The lessons learned are many, and most of all, learning from how you treated Mom. You taught me what I should expect from a man. You gave me the love and respect first, allowing me to know it when I found it. You taught me that parenting is hard, but so worth it. Including fun and laughter into our family is how you become strong. Honesty, love (sometimes tough), respect, God—all are necessary to a strong family. Thank you for that. I hope that my kids understand this from me the way that I understand it from you and Mom.

            These last few years have brought a lot of the unknown. Until recently, I believe that I was in a bit of denial about what we were looking at. I know that you are getting sicker before my eyes. It breaks my heart and I don’t know how to express it. I worry, I stress, I want to take it all away. I pray for miracles. I am not stupid. I know you aren’t either. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to admit that my hero won’t live forever. I don’t want to imagine what that will be like. I don’t want any of this. I don’t want to worry about Mom. I don’t want to worry about my kids not having their Grandad. But, I do. I do all of it. I am trying my damndest to live around it. It is getting harder. I am not expecting you to fix it for me, or make me feel better. I just need you to know. I just needed to express to you that I am not ready. I am not ready to watch you in pain. I am not ready to see your age. I am not ready.

But.

If there is anything that I have learned from you, it is that life is not about what we want. It is not about what we are ready for. We don’t get to control what happens. We control how we deal with it. We control our behavior and fight through the muck and the mire to come out on top. So I want to let you know, even though I don’t want to, I will fight. I will live life, I will love, I will take care of others. I will be there as a rock. Just like my daddy taught me.

I love you.

 Love,

 Angela

Even now, rereading this hurts. I hope I have lived up to my promises. I am continually trying. 

It has been a year since I eulogized my father. So much has changed, and yet, the feelings are the same. 

I urge you to share your feelings, thoughts, fears, and love with those in in your life. As hard as it is, it has proven worth every discomfort. There is no way to know if these dates will always hijack my day, but knowing that he knew my heart brings me strength to make it through them.