Writer’s note – this is by far the most indulgent thing that I have ever published. No apologies…just a warning. This one was for me. Here’s hoping divine circumstances have something in it for any and all who read…
I am very much looking forward to 2016.
Very much so.
To say the least, 2015 was a crummy year. To put it more succinctly, 2015 was painful.
My biological dad died in May. He left behind a benevolent legacy, deep friendships to most all who knew him, a loving wife, and a mountain of broken glass.
I’m not much of a janitor, but have been doing my best to dispose of that glass since his passing.
My adoptive father (the man who raised me, and whom I have called “Dad” the longest) has slipped so far down the rabbit hole of dementia that it is hard to recognize the man that I once knew inside of the mortal shell that houses his current being.
There were other hardships in 2015. We lost my wife’s grandfather, and attended two additional funerals this year in support of a close friend and an even closer family member who also lost loved ones.
I suppose I didn’t expect to be bombarded with the realities of time’s passage at the ripe old age of 39. Perhaps I was ignoring the truths of which I have espoused in previous writings.
Mostly, I just miss my Dad(s).
I’ve heard from others that the holidays are particularly hard for those who have lost loved ones. I can attest that they are. Albeit, not for the reasons that I had expected. It’s not the memories of happier days, or the ghosts of Christmas past, or even the time spent reflecting that hit me this Christmas. It was the hard stop to life’s daily grind. That’s what got me.
I’ve always appreciated the respite and renewal that the last two weeks of the calendar year bring. Not so much this year. As most sunk into the tradition and revelry set in motion by the annual anticipation of ringing out the old and looking forward to the new, I was forced to (finally) allow the spiritual and temporal inertia of things that have been occupying my time and carrying me for these many months to bring me to a place of stillness and real reflection.
Words have always been my coping mechanism. Speaking them helps a little, especially if spoken to the right audience. But, for me, there has always been a magically cathartic quality to writing my thoughts down. Whether it be a personal shortcoming, or a spiritual gift…I am never really able to let go of a thought until I express it in writing. I am ready to let go of 2015.
So here goes…
The Four Seasons of Gratitude’s Perfection (Why I am Grateful for a Mostly Crummy Year)
In hindsight, the worries and anxieties of the new year’s winter paled in comparison to the other three seasons that made up 2015. Hindsight, being what it is, was little help to me during the months of January and February as I watched both of my daughters struggle at the things that had brought them success and joy for most of their lives.
First, my oldest was struck with a string of significant swimming related injuries that led to the realization that she had a choice; continue to grind and hope that her doctors’ warnings of potentially very serious injuries did not occur, or dial it back. She chose the latter. Which lead to a lot of heartache and eventually culminated in her walking away from the swim club that she got in to after working harder than any kid I have ever seen work. She took it OK. My heart broke for her.
My youngest went through a separate, but equally frustrating time on the basketball court. It wasn’t the end of the world. It was eighth grade, and actually made her more determined to succeed in the game. But, it still wasn’t easy to watch.
For those without kids of a certain age, both of these events will seem trivial.
They are.
My girls are amazing and not at all defined by what they do. It is who they are that makes them special. And, if you have read anything that I have written in the past, then you will note that I am a big fan of using adversity to become a better person. With all of that having been said…it’s not easy to watch those whom you love the most struggle due to reasons and circumstances that lend validity to the notion that life isn’t fair most of the time.
I prayed for peace most of January and February 2015.
Then, as is so often the case, Spring did in fact spring eternal. My Lilly (the swimmer) decided to focus her energy on serving others. She thought that she might want to go into Nursing after college, and spent the spring applying and interviewing for an internship with one of our local hospitals. She not only got selected to participate, but out of the hundreds of interns that were selected from an even larger pool of applicants, she was the only one allowed to choose the area in which she would work over the summer. She chose the delivery ward. Her dad was grotesquely proud of her.
Gabs (the baller) tried out (and didn’t make) the AAU team that she had been dreaming of playing for since she could understand what an AAU team was. However, the coaches asked her to come in and practice with the team a couple of times each week. If she wanted to, she could go to games and sit on the bench in street clothes and help out where needed. They told her they thought that she was good, just not quite good enough to be on this team…which they thought had the makings of becoming a very good squad.
She cried when I told her she didn’t make the team. I took her out for a milkshake and told her to pay more attention to the good that they saw than the not-good-enough that kept her from earning a jersey. Being the baller that she is, she dusted herself off and went back to work. Within 2 weeks of practice the coaches decided she had earned that jersey. Then she earned some playing time. Followed by a little more. Then she shaved over a minute off of her previously best 800 meter time on her track team. The girl who had been broken by winter’s events decided to show the world what she was made of in the spring. Again, her dad was awfully proud.
Then, in the middle of the night in the middle of May…my phone rang.
And time stopped.
My dad had died of a massive heart attack. I was the first person notified. Lots of wheels were set in motion and lots of things happened that I led or took part in. Most of those things occupied a great deal of my time. Many of those wheels remain in motion today. But I swear to you that for the remainder of the spring of 2015, time stood still.
The only way that I knew to get time to start again was to pray. I prayed most of May and early June 2015 for a return to some sort of normal. I also prayed that in all of this, I would, once more, make my dad proud.
Normalcy began to return in the summer of 2015.
It turned out that the baller’s coaches were right. This team was very special. The little bit of playing time, turned into major minutes. And, those minutes contributed in a real way to that team winning the NTBA 8th Grade Girls National Basketball Tournament in Myrtle Beach. The tournament was amazing. Myrtle Beach was gross. My other dad (the one who raised me and who I love just as much as my biological dad) came to one of Gabs’ games. He was sweet and cheered at the right times. He hugged her and told her good job. I’m going to visit him in a few days. He won’t remember anything about the game…or much about my childhood either. He is still alive, but in a lot of ways he has already left. That’s the wicked cruelty of dementia. I pray a lot that a cure is found. I hope that dementia doesn’t steal a father’s pride for his kids…but I suspect it does.
Back to happier news of the summer, Lilly had an incredible internship experience and got to be around for the birth of our neighbor’s new son. She knows for sure that nursing is what she wants to do. Both Lil and Gabs have a grotesquely proud dad, a fact that only made the physical loss of one of my dads and the mental loss of the other that much harder to take.
Friends reached out to me. I reached out to others. There were offers to get together and talk. I wanted to. I even agreed to meet up with a couple of them.
I never saw any of those friends. I didn’t want to talk. As cathartic as words are for me…there is a time and a place for them. I wasn’t ready. Looking back, that was very selfish on my part. Even if I didn’t have the emotional capacity to talk about it, I should have been better at following through.
I prayed a lot to hear some words (from the here and now as well as that which lies beyond) from either of my dads during the summer of 2015. Those words didn’t come either.
For the first time in a long time, I was at a loss for words. And, at the same time, was mourning words that had been lost.
Then came autumn, which was both of my Dads’ favorite season. I never asked them why. Maybe it’s because football really gets going. Maybe it’s because the leaves change colors. Maybe it is because there is something in the air that makes things feel and smell and sound different…more so than any other time of the year.
This autumn was weird. The leaves never really had a chance to turn. They just seemed to fall to the ground all at once. Science blames El Nino. I say it was just a fitting end to 2015.
That brings us back around to Winter…which just started. I’ve prayed that things that seem to have fallen all at once, are lifted just as quickly in the coming spring…and stay that way going forward.
They won’t.
And, so we’re left to sort out the task of remembering the presence while experiencing the absence.
How do you remember without sinking back into despair? How do you reflect without coming apart at the seams in a year like 2015? I don’t pretend to have all of the answers, but I can tell you that the one thing that has helped more than anything else, has been finding the commonality in all of these experiences. From the ups of being a proud dad in 2015 to the downs of losing my dad(s) in 2015 there is a common truth to which anchoring my emotion has led to real comfort.
I love my daughters. My dads loved me. In the end, when everything that seemed so important reveals itself to be completely insignificant, love is the only thing that matters. I believe it is the only thing that can both go with us to the next life and stay here to help those of us left behind to carry on. Indeed, love wins. And, for that anchor…that ability to remember with joy…that flickering of light in the distance that allows for hope to remain constant…I am truly and profoundly grateful.
Love and gratitude…those are the answers to all of the tough questions.
And, as far as 2016 goes…to all those who I avoided seeing in 2015 because I just didn’t have the words…
For auld lang syne my dear, for auld lang syne, I’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.
