hula hoops and hampster wheels

So it's approaching. One year since my dad died. Grief is funny - it sneaks up on you once you think you're ok and reached some sort of acceptance, something pops into your head when you least expected. A year ago - I would have said I have a pretty healthy grieving process - I've lost grandparents and aunts and uncles and great aunts and great uncles and pets and friends and yet nothing really prepares you for losing a parent. I don't know if I'm doing it right - but I get up each day, put my pants on one leg at time and carry on - that's the plan anyway.

Everyone deals with the grasp on mortality a little different. The religious are convinced that the loved one is in heaven and safe and good. I don't really believe in the heaven/hell concept. But if there is one adage my Dad referred to was - although pessimistic and depressing, 'You start dying the day you are born' and the other classic one was 'After you die - you just die, you are put in the ground and become worm bait.' So someone asked me - knowing that my religious convictions are on that border line between non-existent and recovering if losing my dad has brought me back to Christianity. I think that quite the opposite has occurred. My dad was not a religious man - he believed what he wanted to believe and what that was I'll never know. But in the end -- we all die, Jesus will not save you from death or becoming worm bait. I guess the biggest thing that happened was the confirmation that it doesn't matter. You can believe in whatever you want - and pray as hard as you want but it doesn't change things that have or haven't happened - it can make you feel better and that can cause change - but you don't get to pray for an undo.

This may seem juvenile or selfish but I jealous when I think about things in life yet to come and how it'll be different without having my dad. Like today for instance - Clinton's dad was on the phone with his granddaughter talking about the Easter bunny coming and what she got in her basket. My dad would have been a good grandpa - a little cranky but good but I'll never really know. Or when I'm watching a chick flick movie and the bride and father have the father-daughter dance- not that I'm a big wedding person - but now I'll never have that option for the dorky dance. It's also weird to refer to everything as my mom's now - my mom's house, having Clinton meet my mom - instead of meet my parents. Or like today - I talked to my mom on the phone while at Clint's - and she said to say happy easter to everyone. So I said to Clint's mom - that my mom says Happy Easter. She then inquires oh well what are they doing? I don't know how to reply - So I just say that my mom and brother and sister are just hanging out making cake. It some how ends up sounding like my parents are divorced or I'm omitting my dad on purpose - but I just don't know what they know and I don't always feel like sharing for fear I'll start crying and being emotional girl. Then Clint who refers to his parent's as the folks - said 'I needed to get back to my folks' place for dinner' as we were leaving the brunch - so maybe he feels awkward too - or it was just a singular/plural slip up. Then there is the other obvious possibility and that is that I'm cranky and irritable and overly emotional due to having my period.

I remember being little and watching national geographic tv shows with my dad. He was trying to take a saturday afternoon nap and knew that the only way I'd fall asleep is if he made me watch and listen about Elephants and Tigers.

I remember learning how to ride my bike -- I just got my training wheels off and he would jog behind me holding the metal loop of my pink banana seat bike and then how he let go -- and I was doing it by myself and then relized it -- I fell and scraped my knee.

I remember my dad calling me at work at 3:30 in the afternoon almost every day -- telling me what creatures were in the back yard -- or talking about the cake he just made. Then arriving home at 6 or so -- he wanted me to help him frost it and then eat it before dinner and give him my official thumbs up for approval.

I remember when I would be sad over a tramatic junior high or highschool relationship ending in turmoil and how he would offer to go over and talk to him and or beat him up.

I remember how in every year book he would write compliments of the chef. And I'm overwhelmed at see his handwriting on a scratch of paper.

I'm finding it harder now to remember his exact voice. But I can hear him from time to time crystal clear.

I remember fishing and working in the garden with him -- digging for worms, not afraid of leeches or nightcrawlers.

I remember once we left early in the morning to go fishing and we stopped somewhere to get breakfast and I wanted a California burger -- and the waitress said they weren't serving lunch but my dad asked her if they would be able to make french fries and serve them with pancakes.

I remeber learning how to mow the yard, and then him shaking his head when I finished and it looked like a drunken kangaroo was in charge of the yard.

Things I don't remember -- I don't remember the last time we hugged or said I love you- instead we spoke through the cats -- Riley Roo loves you dad -- Maxwell loves you Kristen.

Right now I'm living in this new world. Everything is now on a spectrum - before and after my dad died.

Funny things like a mounds bar can bring me to tears -- just because it was his favorite. Or today I had to take my car in to get an oil change -- this is something my Dad used to do for me since he knows I hate to wait around.

So I go to Slim's. I've never been there myself but my car is there almost every 45-50 days for it's oil change (yes, I drive that much -- sad isn't it?) But today I had to take it in myself -- last month my mom did this for me -- but she was busy today so voila -- I took a day off of work to hang out with my sister who is in town and my mom made me an appointment.

SO I get to Slim's park my car -- pull the seat back since no one but my sister could possibly sit in the drivers seat with it being pulled all the way forward.

I push it back -- and go inside. There is a older gentleman behind the counter -- his patches on shirt read: Slim's Motor Clinic on one side -- and Slim on the other. I go up to the counter -- say I am here for an oil change appointment and give my name. He's asks if I'm Randy's daughter and proceeds to tell me how sorry he is for my loss -- and that he knows it's hard and that he liked my dad and thought he was a real charachter. I hand over my keys and he says he'll get things started right away.

After sitting and waiting -- he pulls up the file in the computer and asks me what car it is -- I tell him and he wants to know which one -- he has two in his system -- I state the 06 - and that I traded the 04 in on a whim -- he's like that's right your dad said that. After my oil change he puts out his hand to shake -- I shake his hand and say nice to meet you. He said he missed my dad but it's nice to meet me and said how nice it was for him to take care of me by bringing my car in. I smile -- on the verge of tears as I leave.

There were many adventures with my dad and he taught me so many things. But aside from the adventures there were just ordinary days.

My mom and dad were sitting at the kitchen table as I woke up to watch Saturday morning cartoons. They were drinking coffee, laughing and talking. Soon they were speaking in some sort of code, calling out numbers. I came out to see – and they were playing cards.

I loved to play games with my dad, but this is a game I had never played before. It was not Go Fish or War. There was a wooden board with a million holes in it, and a pair of green and blue pegs, I asked if I could play. My dad replied: “Do you want to win?” I nodded. “Well, we will be a team and try and beat your mom.”

We sat, side by side as the cards were shuffled and dealt. He said I might have to whisper so Mom couldn’t have any hints. The cards were top secret and so he carefully showed them to me and asked me “Can you add any of the numbers together to get 15?”
I pointed out a combination and he grouped together more. He told me we would have to give Mom two cards and asked which ones I thought were the least important. I picked the cards and the game started in play. 5. 10. 15-2. 25. 31 for 2 and a go makes 3. What were they talking about – the cards flew out of their hands so fast. I was frustrated – so they showed me what the numbers meant as I counted points off on the board. Dad said I’d have to watch a couple times to learn all the rules and how to play – but as I’m watching I could be on his team.

Soon we would play cribbage on our own and he would always win – he said it wasn’t going to help me learn if he just threw the game. For the first few times I’d beat him – he’d say in his teasing way “Congratulations Pumpkin, but you know- I let you win.”



Not too long ago, we resumed our cribbage sessions in our assigned seats at the kitchen table – the same spots for twenty years. “Peggty peg peg” is what he’d chant at me when he was getting close to winning the game. When he would win, he would brag a little, on the rare occasion that I skunked him he would look at me, smile and say: “I’m ready are you?” and we would play again as we would talk and laugh.





Kristen – May 2008

So It's coming up on two weeks and I'm amazed at how much time has passed - and how different things are now.


Denial, numbness, and shock: SO I found out over the phone - my legs collapsed and I ended up kneeling on concrete and crying until Dave scooped me up and held me -- then I went through this whole thing once I got home and my mom told me exactly what happened.


Bargaining: In this stage I wasn't bargaining with anyone -- I was more conscened with things that will never be -- and upset about a recent fight we had over something so trival.

Depression: Sleep and appetite disturbance, lack of energy and concentration, and crying spells are some typical symptoms. My family and friends helped me through this -- and I'm back to eating all the crap I used to eat -- I still cry now and again - and that's ok - and I'm sleeping hard and through the night.

Anger
I got angry -- and now I'm not angry.

Acceptance
I'm there - but I'm sure Ill back track from time to time - especially on holidays, when we inter the ashes and on special days.

Dear Dad,

I never got the chance to thank you for all you did. From the simple things like laundry -- or checking the air in my tires.
In all things you taught me, in all the everyday funny moments, in the comfort that you brought me whenever I was sad. I defending and caring for me if I was wronged or ill.
I can not adequately word how you shaped my life and I'll always remember you and your love.

Love,
Kristen

I love new socks. I used to be addicted to buying them... or perhaps it was prior to my fondness for laundry - I just bought them to avoid washing them? Anyway, It's been a hobby for some time to buy new socks and there is nothing quite like the feel of new socks to brighten anyones day. My toes are happy --- "No one has sweat in these babies before!" is what I imagine they would say -- if feet could talk...



So I recently picked up a plethora of new socks -- came home from work plopped my bag on the table. When I returned to fetch my socks after running to the bathroom. My dad had already snooped in my new bag of socks -- (all's fair if it's left on the kitchen table I guess -- just glad I didn't have lube, batteries or a pregnacy test in there with my socks. haha) Well I go to get my socks -- and if you think I love doing laundry, I can't hold a candle to my dad. My dad was already getting a basket ready to wash my new socks -- he was tearing labels off -- snipping plastic fasners that hold the socks together, removing the metal clips on the fancier socks, and I ask him what he's doing -- he looks up and says, laundry.

I said: Oh you really don't have to, I'll wear them first and then you can wash them, wanting to take my socks back and evaluate my sock purchases -- see how cute they would match certain sweaters and pants -- usual sock addict stuff.

He replies: You can't wear them -- they were made in China -- they probably have lead in them I have to wash them first.

I said: Really, I don't think there is anything to worry about -- can I have my socks back? Were they even made in China? I look a couple of the cotton ones were...

He replies: Once I wash them and they are safe for you to wear.

I said: Fine, as he has already ripped all the socks from the packaging and unpaired them all and they are sitting disheveled in a basket --

The next day my socks are paired -- and rolled together in little balls in the basket.

Since then -- I've been missing random socks -- maybe they were sent to the lab for lead testing? I will never know.

So I took today as a floating holiday -- I've stored and stashed plenty of vacation time up and I had some things I needed to do today so ta-da the magical floating holiday was used.

I slept in -- got up at 8:30, that's later than average for me. Normally I'm up during the week at 5:15 and on the weekends, 7:30 and I'm wide awake. Granted - I like to go to bed early, I'm old that way.

So I slept in, I took a bubble bath, played online, worked a little on plotting for the book -- poor Gladys is still so skeletal in her development as a charachter - I'm a really good procrastinator - -to illustrate this -- for my procrastination - I decided to reorganize my closet and drawers -- I have a crap load of clothes -- I usually wear the same 12 outfits but I found in my cleaning today some items that have been missing. I folded, hung items on hangers -- I gave up once it was time to match socks... another day.

I vistited with my mom, We talked about my Great Uncle Hank who is now in hospice care - and when we are going to try and visit him - maybe this weekend. I dread the goodbye visits -- but even worse is not having the oppertunity to say good bye, both of my grandfathers passed before I could say goodbye and my maternal grandmother too. I sent her flowers and she got them, but by the time I bought my amtrak ticket she had passed. So this news about my Great Uncle isn't shocking, but he's my favorite Uncle, and I'm worried about my Auntie Helen since they've been married for 65 years.

My mom got ready for work and left and my dad, did his fatherly duty and took my car into get an oil change-- ( I don't like to wait around for things like this) Well he came back and it turns out -- I don't have brake lights. It's not the fuse - it's not the bulb so I have to take it in to the dealership since it's covered by warranty. So I get my Dad to follow me there, and on the way we pass Ramsey Elementary School. Buses are loading, the speed limit lights go on, it's 35 miles an hour, and there is a crosswalk sign and lady in neon in the middle spinning her stop sign like a baton, it's not facing any one direction, I have slowed down below the speed limit, there are no children or crossing traffic, so I do what everyone would do, proceed to go through- do to the spinning nature of the stop sign it was not pointed at any one direction it was being twirled around and around. The lady in neon obviously wanted her spinning stop sign to be directed at me, so she put her little flag in front of my now stopped vehicle and began yelling at me--- so I do what any good commuter with a healthy dose of road rage does, at first I apologized as her directions were unclear and she continued yelling at me -- so I told her to get the hell out of my way and to learn how to do her job. My dad who was right behind, and also experience the twirling stop sign first hand and second hand-- also gave her his x-rated version of the same speech -- along with his vibrant hand gestures, and choice demeaning phrases. This lady needs to get fired, and join the circus so she adequately perform her baton moves. So today, for once my dad is my hero, normally he just the cantankerous asshole I live with that never has anything good to say and spends most his time complaining about politics, and the lack of the TV guide in the Star Tribune. But today, he's my hero --

We continue toward the dealership, I'm ahead by a couple cars, and I get stopped by a train, I wait the arm goes up- the car in front of my goes through -- and I go through and then the arm goes down again. I hate train tracks --- mostly since college and the dishboy I worked with at Sammy's got killed by a train -- and the ones on 47 have had several deaths associated with them -- I'm already nervous since I'm driving without brake lights, I had an encounter with lady in neon and now this... so I look down and see that I'm almost out of gas! What next! So by now my dad is stuck behind train number two and I'm on 169 now, pulling into the holiday station. I get gas -- brr it's fricking windy and then I carry on, back on track to the dealership. I get there, pull to the service door, give my info the guy in the nylon pullover my information and dispose of 4 empty coke cans in the nearby garbage. Meanwhile they guy is trying to convince me to get my 30K mile check up and that it's on special for $950 and that it's soo crucial that I get it done, and what better time than right now. I say no thanks and ask about the minimum 30 special only $350 --- mind you I'm not at 30K miles yet, I have a good hearty 3k miles to go -- the guy continues, saying he can throw in an oil change for free today with service --- Umm I just got an oil change, that's how I found out about the brake lights -- weren't you listening? And another note -- I really like this current situation where I give my dad a blank check and he goes to Slim's Motor Clinic for my oil changes and tire upkeep -- I prefer not to deal with the dealership except for warranty crap - and I really think women are over charged for not knowing crap about cars, so I like that my dad --- who had a carreer as an RV technician and although autos are not his speciality -- he can go in and know what's what - and nobody is going to give him any bs. Plus aside from being a cantankerous asshole -- he has a great bullshit detector and my little dad doesn't take crap from anyone. A little Napoleon complex maybe... but that's aside from the point. So I go out and meet my dad and we bitch about the lady in neon and then I tell him about the sales pitch I got at Morrie's Hyundai -- he was furious and he wants to have words with the dude in the nylon pullover. Then we stop and I get him gas for his troubles and top it off with a Mounds bar, his favorite. So anyways, that's my vacation day, pretty lame and uneventful -- but my dad got to be my hero today.