The Missed Fall

It is starting to feel normal to live with this ache in my heart and that terrifies me! For the first several months after Dad died the pain was so acute that it was difficult to function or think about anything other than how much I missed him. Grief, in that form, is exhausting and all consuming! My mind, body, and soul were frantically trying to make sense of his unexpected death and I felt like I was in survivor mode—get up, go to work, eat, take care of family, try to sleep, repeat.

I remember driving home from work one day in November and noticing, for the first time, that fall was almost over. How had I missed my favorite season? Had that much time really passed? I started crying and had to pull over because I realized Dad had missed an entire season and that I had missed it too. Nothing magically changed that day but I understood that life was going to continue and that, eventually, I would need to dive right back into my life to honor Dad fully!

The holidays were exceptionally hard for me and I struggled to find any reason, other than tradition, to celebrate. I would find myself going back into survivor mode to find the strength and energy to get through an event or gathering, it was a safe place. One of the hardest things for me was my inability to sleep and the crazy dreams that came whenever I actually slept; my dreams were dark and twisted for months! I was exhausted, scared, and emotionally spent when the holidays were over.

Time has continued to pass and every day it seems that I move farther away from the acute pain and isolation that consumed me. I have come to realize that there is comfort and safety in that form of grief—you protect yourself from visualizing a life without your loved one. You are isolated from the world and your pain becomes proof that he lived and was loved. Pain becomes part of your identity and the fabric of your life; you learn to live with sadness. I now understand why some people have such a hard time embracing life after the death of a loved one and appear content to live half a life. The true test comes in finding the strength to not only grieve but to give yourself permission to feel happiness again. For me, I can’t imagine missing another fall.

I’ve discovered that the real risk and pain comes from moving forward and finding your footing again. There are days that seem almost normal and then I become terrified that I am accepting a world without Dad. The question, “how can I move forward without Dad?” has been a constant thought in my head. It seems so much easier to remain stagnant in my grief than to put in the work to rebuild my security and life—every assumption and plan I had for my future has changed in the last 8 months. I have felt and witnessed the absolute agony his loss has created in our friends and family. I have learned first-hand how cruel and unstable the world can become. Moving forward without him takes courage, strength, and a huge leap of faith.

Working through the emotions of his loss is a process that will take me years. It is something that no one is prepared to do and there is no magic cure to avoid the messy emotions. The question in my head needs to change from “how can I move forward without him?” to, “would Dad be happy with how I am living my life and who I have become?”

People have told me that life will eventually fill-up the hole in my heart; especially when I get married and have children. They say there will come a day where I can remember my Dad and not feel pain but, instead, love and nostalgia for a great man. I want that! I want love to fill up this ache in my heart and to live my life in the way Dad taught me—with integrity, compassion, laughter, and love. The best way for me to honor Dad is through a life well lived! It is time to trust the world again and look forward to the beauty of spring! There will always be bad moments, days, weeks, and but I have to find the courage to face life head on even if I risk this pain again because I will never (as my Dad and T.Roosevelt would say) "live with those tired and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."

Opening Day 2012

The Colorado Rockies hosted Opening Day 2012 today at Coors Field. It is only the second time since 1993 that my Dad did not attend. The first, several years ago, he was out of town for an important deposition he couldn't cancel--though I am sure he tried. And today, while I am sure he was present in spirit, marks another occasion where the world moves on without him.

I spoke about the importance of baseball in my family at his service. So many of my childhood memories revolve around attending a game or watching it on TV with my Dad. The best days were when we went to the game together, with our snacks from 7-11, and stayed for the whole 9 innings. Dad was the only person who would willingly sit through 9+ innings of baseball with me without complaint.

On July 4th, 2010 we were given tickets to a table at the restaurant in the outfield. It was a gorgeous day at Coors Field and the 4 of us (Dad, Mom, and Jenn) enjoyed great food, great beverages, and wonderful laughs! It was special! It also became the longest game in Rockies history and the best part of the restaurant is that they continue to serve alcohol long past the 8th evening. After the game we went to a steak house, had some appetizers and enjoyed each other before heading home and sitting outside watching the neighborhood. That was the last Rockies game I ever attended with my Dad and it was perfect.

Dad was a true fan and he adored his Rockies. I will always be a Rockies fan and I will always make trips to Coors Field to be close to my Dad. I wish I could have been at Coors Field today to represent my Dad but, I figure, 17 out of 18 Opening Day's is a pretty solid average.

Garage Parking

There are things in life that you are afforded by age-- the right to be blunt, to wear silly clothes, a glass of wine, control of the remote, and the coveted garage parking space. In high school I would grudgingly go outside early in the winter to start my car and scrap off any ice or snow that had accumulated overnight. I would spend most of the time glaring at my Dad through the front window thinking, "a really good Dad would do this for me." I once told him that while he sat on the couch drinking coffee and he just gave me a look that said, "are you crazy?"

My Dad earned the right to park in the garage! Growing up, I never realized why we lived in my Grandparents basement for several years. I never realized that in order to go to law school my Dad worked full-time and attended night school at the University of Denver. He completed a 4 year degree in 3 because of his determination, grit, and desire to work.

He sat on non-profit boards, coached our basketball teams, found time to ride his bike, kicked ass at his job, and never uttered a word about finding the correct work-life balance; he just found it! He told me this past summer that my generation was too concerned with work-life balance and that I should work until the job is done and not worry about hours. He took pride in his job and he took pride in his family. When Dad came home from a long day he pulled into his spot, placed his keys and wallet in the same place, and sat down in his chair to watch whatever game was on. He had earned the right to relax.

Since his death in August I have been the one parking in his space and getting control of the remote. I would argue for the right to for both privileges with my Dad when I was younger and he told me it was a gift of age and I'd have to earn it! Parking in the garage is actually painful for me some evenings. It is a visual and permanent reminder that Dad will never come home again. Somehow, I have become the working adult in my house and that terrifies me.

There are certain rites of passages that you look forward to for years and some that come way too soon. This summer I was finally able to buy a car by myself and it was a huge accomplishment. It was the first of many 'real life decisions' I had mapped out in my head and the next was going to be a 1 bedroom apartment with parking.

I never earned the right to park in the garage. It is one of the many things and responsibilities passed down to me through tragedy. Some things aren't supposed to be yours and, when they are, it brings a terrible weight to your soul. I would gladly scrap off my car each morning if it meant Dad's truck was still parked in the garage.

I can only be me

Please do not tell me what I need or what to do--I will not respond well.

Please do not expect me to act like you-- I can only be me.

Please see me for who I am--not who you want me to be.

I spent 6 years away from home figuring out who I am as a person and growing into the woman I am today. I discovered I am a little selfish, a little controlling, and fiercely protective of others and myself. I root for the underdog, cry at human interest stories, and love romance novels. I am adaptable to any situation and I love being around people completely different from myself. I like sports and muesums. I like wine, tequila, and beer. I love to cook and take care of others.

I enjoy hard work. I don't make excuses for myself or others. I am very self-contained and afraid of being hurt. I don't want to be the center of attention at a party but I do want to lead. I love being around people but I get energy from being by myself. I don't make myself vulnerable to others and I don't trust easily. I like organization, structure, and strategy. I like reading while drinking a cup of coffee and lazing around. I like going to bed early and waking up early.

I am confident in who I am and I can't be anyone else. I am not as open and carefree as others; I am serious and grounded. I love fiercely! I don't respect others because they have authority, I respect those who earn it. I value integrity, strength of character, and stability. I find joy in the little moments and happiness in belonging and laughter.

I need to grieve in a way that sits well with my soul--not yours. I can't and I won't pretend to be anything other than who I am. I need you to allow me to be who I am and, hopefully, you'll begin to understand who I've become.