Dad,
I miss you. It still comes in waves. Someone who didn't know pops up and I start re-telling all the details. I'm there again. It all comes rushing back.
Mom is trying to decide if she wants to move here. Michael is too. Of course I want that. I hate her being alone all the way over there. She's low right now Dad. I mean of course she is. She wants to teach, to honor you. You told her to keep teaching. In some ways it's helping her I think. But I see her pain. A light is out. She is tired, no exhausted. She seems beat up. I want her here so I can take care of her. Prop her up and hug her everyday. She needs that. It's so hard without you.
We are going to Big Sur and San Francisco still this Christmas. I'm taking your ashes there. I hate even saying that. But you said you were looking forward to that trip. I really was too, for you. I wanted it so bad for you Dad. I wanted that trip and those memories. So we will still go. And bring you with us.
I hate cancer and I love you.
Christal
Monday, November 24, 2014
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
November 12, 2014.
Dad,
Yesterday was a month. It was also Veteran's Day. Mom also went back to work. It was a big, emotional day. From what I hear, your wife was as courageous and wonderful as you'd expect. She told me she broke down finally at the end of the day in the bathroom. But she was surrounded by teachers who loved on her and let her cry.
I can't sleep lately. The last two nights, as soon as it is dark and quiet, I sleep for maybe an hour and then I'm awake, most of the night, with anxious thoughts of you. I dreamt that you were in my house in your hospital gown. You kept saying it was ok, but I felt scared and unsettled. It's like my mind is obsessively playing those last days.
I don't want to only think of those days. I don't want those days to define my memories. I'm sure they won't. I guess right now they need their time in the light though. They need to mulled over so that I can digest them.
I also don't want to just complain. Even when you were tired, tormented with sickness and brokenhearted by diagnosis, you tried to find joy. I know it was hard for you. But I know that you tried. So I will too.
Today I'm thankful for the beautiful California sun that greets me most mornings. I'm thankful for my silly and tender-hearted son who read books in my lap this morning and waves at everything from people to hard boiled eggs. I'm thankful for a husband who wakes up at 5:30 in the morning and makes breakfast for him with a smile, and jokes and laughter. I'm also thankful for the trip we are planning with mom and Michael and Paige this Christmas to Big Sur and San Francisco. We are still going Dad. For you, with you.
I love you so much.
Christal
Yesterday was a month. It was also Veteran's Day. Mom also went back to work. It was a big, emotional day. From what I hear, your wife was as courageous and wonderful as you'd expect. She told me she broke down finally at the end of the day in the bathroom. But she was surrounded by teachers who loved on her and let her cry.
I can't sleep lately. The last two nights, as soon as it is dark and quiet, I sleep for maybe an hour and then I'm awake, most of the night, with anxious thoughts of you. I dreamt that you were in my house in your hospital gown. You kept saying it was ok, but I felt scared and unsettled. It's like my mind is obsessively playing those last days.
I don't want to only think of those days. I don't want those days to define my memories. I'm sure they won't. I guess right now they need their time in the light though. They need to mulled over so that I can digest them.
I also don't want to just complain. Even when you were tired, tormented with sickness and brokenhearted by diagnosis, you tried to find joy. I know it was hard for you. But I know that you tried. So I will too.
Today I'm thankful for the beautiful California sun that greets me most mornings. I'm thankful for my silly and tender-hearted son who read books in my lap this morning and waves at everything from people to hard boiled eggs. I'm thankful for a husband who wakes up at 5:30 in the morning and makes breakfast for him with a smile, and jokes and laughter. I'm also thankful for the trip we are planning with mom and Michael and Paige this Christmas to Big Sur and San Francisco. We are still going Dad. For you, with you.
I love you so much.
Christal
Thursday, November 6, 2014
November 6, 2014.
Dad,
I follow an instagram account of this young doctor in Phoenix. She recently posted about how some of the major things in life happen in an instant. For her, becoming a doctor was one of those. One minute she wasn't and then the next minute, she was. It wasn't pretend, it wasn't training, she had made the major switch. She was now the doctor. I've been thinking about that. I became a momma in an instant. Of course there are the 9 months of pregnancy. Just as there are the years of working before you are called Dr. But his presence, my role, my life. It all changed in an instant. Suddenly he was there and life was forever changed. And death. One minute you were here and the next minute you weren't. My mind keeps trying to play catch up. Something so life altering happens so quickly. And every moment after that you realize, little by little, what it means. We knew it was coming. We witnessed it with our eyes. But it wasn't until you left this earth that my mind stopped treating it as a hypothetical, and was forced to deal with the reality of it.
I struggle, Dad, with people telling me it will always hurt, but it will get easier with time. I struggle because part of me doesn't want it to get easier. Somehow if it gets easier, it will feel like a betrayal. Like we moved on from you. That we forgot you. I know you'd want us to. And perhaps it's because it's still so new. I'm in no way ready to move on. I'm still understanding. I still miss you. I still replay everything so that I can come to terms with it.
I love you Dad.
Christal
I follow an instagram account of this young doctor in Phoenix. She recently posted about how some of the major things in life happen in an instant. For her, becoming a doctor was one of those. One minute she wasn't and then the next minute, she was. It wasn't pretend, it wasn't training, she had made the major switch. She was now the doctor. I've been thinking about that. I became a momma in an instant. Of course there are the 9 months of pregnancy. Just as there are the years of working before you are called Dr. But his presence, my role, my life. It all changed in an instant. Suddenly he was there and life was forever changed. And death. One minute you were here and the next minute you weren't. My mind keeps trying to play catch up. Something so life altering happens so quickly. And every moment after that you realize, little by little, what it means. We knew it was coming. We witnessed it with our eyes. But it wasn't until you left this earth that my mind stopped treating it as a hypothetical, and was forced to deal with the reality of it.
I struggle, Dad, with people telling me it will always hurt, but it will get easier with time. I struggle because part of me doesn't want it to get easier. Somehow if it gets easier, it will feel like a betrayal. Like we moved on from you. That we forgot you. I know you'd want us to. And perhaps it's because it's still so new. I'm in no way ready to move on. I'm still understanding. I still miss you. I still replay everything so that I can come to terms with it.
I love you Dad.
Christal
Friday, October 31, 2014
October 31, 2014.
Dad,
Today is Halloween. I know you never cared about this holiday, but I know you'd have loved Caleb dressed as the world's strongest man. I'm sitting here watching him nap right now. Your death (I still hate saying or even typing those words) has inspired me to slow things down. Watch him nap sometimes. Hug my husband before he leaves for work.
I'm collecting food for a local food bank and signing us up for charity walks. It's truly not much at all. But I feel the urge to fill my days with much more meaningful actions. Not everyone leaves a legacy like you Dad. Not everyone's death spurns others to live greater more meaningful lives. But yours did.
It's weird to celebrate anything right now. Even a silly day like Halloween. Moments of regular life or happy moments are sandwiched between thoughts of you. They aren't always sad. Some are. Some are the thoughts that make me cry and replay the last few weeks with you and mom. Others are more nostalgic and make my heart ache and my stomach feel a new type of queasy unsettledness.
You're everywhere though. In a way you weren't before. Or you were, but I didn't stop to notice it in quite the same way.
Some people are very matter of fact when trying to comfort me about it. "Life goes on," "Just a part of life," "We all go through it." All of which are true. All of which I would rather not hear anymore. I prefer those that don't say much at all. That seems like a better response to me. But as you would want me to, I'm being understanding and thankful for even the attempts people make towards caring about me and you and our family.
I love you Dad.
Christal
Today is Halloween. I know you never cared about this holiday, but I know you'd have loved Caleb dressed as the world's strongest man. I'm sitting here watching him nap right now. Your death (I still hate saying or even typing those words) has inspired me to slow things down. Watch him nap sometimes. Hug my husband before he leaves for work.
I'm collecting food for a local food bank and signing us up for charity walks. It's truly not much at all. But I feel the urge to fill my days with much more meaningful actions. Not everyone leaves a legacy like you Dad. Not everyone's death spurns others to live greater more meaningful lives. But yours did.
It's weird to celebrate anything right now. Even a silly day like Halloween. Moments of regular life or happy moments are sandwiched between thoughts of you. They aren't always sad. Some are. Some are the thoughts that make me cry and replay the last few weeks with you and mom. Others are more nostalgic and make my heart ache and my stomach feel a new type of queasy unsettledness.
You're everywhere though. In a way you weren't before. Or you were, but I didn't stop to notice it in quite the same way.
Some people are very matter of fact when trying to comfort me about it. "Life goes on," "Just a part of life," "We all go through it." All of which are true. All of which I would rather not hear anymore. I prefer those that don't say much at all. That seems like a better response to me. But as you would want me to, I'm being understanding and thankful for even the attempts people make towards caring about me and you and our family.
I love you Dad.
Christal
Monday, October 27, 2014
October 27, 2014
Dad,
Yesterday we took Caleb to a pumpkin patch. We pulled a wagon and rode a tiny train and pet goats and ate corn on the cob. We went on a tractor ride around the farm. There was a man, surrounded by kids, wearing a shirt that proudly declared GRANDPA. I ached. I ached for the bond you and Caleb had. He loves you. And it was evident how much you loved him.
I promise that you will always be a part of his life Dad.
I promise he will know you, know your stories.
I promise if I am blessed with any more, they will know you as well.
I promise that any of Michael's children will too.
I still have a Dad. You are still here. I am so much of you. Michael is too. And mom.
I love you Dad.
Christal
Yesterday we took Caleb to a pumpkin patch. We pulled a wagon and rode a tiny train and pet goats and ate corn on the cob. We went on a tractor ride around the farm. There was a man, surrounded by kids, wearing a shirt that proudly declared GRANDPA. I ached. I ached for the bond you and Caleb had. He loves you. And it was evident how much you loved him.
I promise that you will always be a part of his life Dad.
I promise he will know you, know your stories.
I promise if I am blessed with any more, they will know you as well.
I promise that any of Michael's children will too.
I still have a Dad. You are still here. I am so much of you. Michael is too. And mom.
I love you Dad.
Christal
October 25, 2014
Dad,
Caleb and I flew back to California today. It's bittersweet. Bobby needs us and of course we need him. But I'm not sure I would have ever felt good about leaving mom alone in the house.
I cried for the first time since that last day in the hospice, after you passed. I think I've been wanting to stay strong for her. Coming home, and hugging Bobby signaled some type of release. We talked and cried together. Bobby built that table in the kitchen for you. We stood in the bathroom and looked at the light fixture you put in for us. You were sick with chemo and cancer and it made your hands shake and your body sweat. But you didn't stop until the job was done. You loved doing it. I love you for doing it. Thank you for your light.
I love you.
Christal
Caleb and I flew back to California today. It's bittersweet. Bobby needs us and of course we need him. But I'm not sure I would have ever felt good about leaving mom alone in the house.
I cried for the first time since that last day in the hospice, after you passed. I think I've been wanting to stay strong for her. Coming home, and hugging Bobby signaled some type of release. We talked and cried together. Bobby built that table in the kitchen for you. We stood in the bathroom and looked at the light fixture you put in for us. You were sick with chemo and cancer and it made your hands shake and your body sweat. But you didn't stop until the job was done. You loved doing it. I love you for doing it. Thank you for your light.
I love you.
Christal
Friday, October 24, 2014
October 24, 2014.
Dad,
Mom is trying to take care of everything around the house. The things you wanted done, in the way you wanted them done. She got the alarm system for the house updated and installed. She can turn on the house alarm from her phone, and though she didn't necessarily care about this feature, she knew you did. So she got it done. All the little life things that have to be done after someone dies. Canceling your phone and notifying different places. Mom does it with such strength, though I see how it hurts. Cements the whole thing. You'd be so proud of her though Dad. Your wife is a warrior. She is broken, but she picks up all those pieces and carries them around, singing a song, praying out loud, talking to you. I hear her tell herself everyday...it's ok. It's ok. It's ok. She does it for the same reason I'm doing it I think. I know how much it would hurt you to see us in pain. Even in the hospital. You told me that it was tearing you up to see what this illness was doing to US! Not to you, but to us. I know you wouldn't want us to just give in to the hurt too much. I can honestly tell you that the three of us are trying our best not to do that. We are grieving you, reflecting on this experience and trying to make ourselves stronger and better because of it.
But I miss you Dad. I know that because of where I live we didn't see each other all the time. Yet you were there. Present is some way in my life. I guess you still are, just in a different way. It's painful.
The feeling or image that kept coming to my mind as you passed out of this world was that of a tower or building that was made up of large blocks. Once you were gone, one of those very large blocks, from the bottom level of the tower was taken out. A big square void and a building with an uneven foundation. You were my cornerstone Dad. Even when I didn't realize it. I felt safe and protected because of you.
I know that's what you wanted. Job well done.
I miss singing with you. I will miss seeing you on my front porch singing and talking with mom. I miss your stubbornness, your goofiness.
I love you Dad.
Christal
Mom is trying to take care of everything around the house. The things you wanted done, in the way you wanted them done. She got the alarm system for the house updated and installed. She can turn on the house alarm from her phone, and though she didn't necessarily care about this feature, she knew you did. So she got it done. All the little life things that have to be done after someone dies. Canceling your phone and notifying different places. Mom does it with such strength, though I see how it hurts. Cements the whole thing. You'd be so proud of her though Dad. Your wife is a warrior. She is broken, but she picks up all those pieces and carries them around, singing a song, praying out loud, talking to you. I hear her tell herself everyday...it's ok. It's ok. It's ok. She does it for the same reason I'm doing it I think. I know how much it would hurt you to see us in pain. Even in the hospital. You told me that it was tearing you up to see what this illness was doing to US! Not to you, but to us. I know you wouldn't want us to just give in to the hurt too much. I can honestly tell you that the three of us are trying our best not to do that. We are grieving you, reflecting on this experience and trying to make ourselves stronger and better because of it.
But I miss you Dad. I know that because of where I live we didn't see each other all the time. Yet you were there. Present is some way in my life. I guess you still are, just in a different way. It's painful.
The feeling or image that kept coming to my mind as you passed out of this world was that of a tower or building that was made up of large blocks. Once you were gone, one of those very large blocks, from the bottom level of the tower was taken out. A big square void and a building with an uneven foundation. You were my cornerstone Dad. Even when I didn't realize it. I felt safe and protected because of you.
I know that's what you wanted. Job well done.
I miss singing with you. I will miss seeing you on my front porch singing and talking with mom. I miss your stubbornness, your goofiness.
I love you Dad.
Christal
Thursday, October 23, 2014
October 23, 2014.
Mom and I are back from the Keys. We thought it might help to get out of the house for a few days. We hoped for sunshine and sand, but we got buckets of rain instead. But we made the best of it. Caleb was our sunshine, getting us up and celebrating the day, even if we didn't feel like it. I'm trying to make sure Mom is well taken care of Dad. I always will. She keeps saying how you treated her like a queen. Her heart is broken. Mine is too. But I can't fully comprehend the depth of her pain. I can imagine it. I keep putting myself in her shoes. She met you at the same age I met Bobby. So I can imagine. Yet my mind won't even fully let me go there. Thank you for showing me, even now, what 30 years of intense love and wonderful marriage looks like.
I keep replaying the last couple weeks in my mind. I dream about you every single night. Some dreams you are healthy and young. Some dreams you are back in that hospital bed. I hope you were comfortable Dad. I hope you were comforted. I hope we did the right things.
I'm sorry that it took all of this for my eyes to open to the full picture of you. You were a bit of a behind the scenes kind of guy. Don't get me wrong, I knew how wonderful of a father, husband, pastor and friend you were. But I let things get in the way. Frankly I don't even know what those things were now. I was hard on you Dad. Maybe for the simple fact that you were my dad. Maybe it was because you were so tough, I knew you could take it. I don't know.
The cards don't stop coming in. The checks in honor of you as well. You were so well loved. You changed the world. I have so much to live up to, to make you proud. That's what I keep thinking. I have so much to live up to.
Me and mom and Michael are all trying Dad. Trying to get up with the sun and conquer the day for good. Just like you did. We are sticking together. Your family loves you and uses the strength you left behind.
I love you,
Christal
I keep replaying the last couple weeks in my mind. I dream about you every single night. Some dreams you are healthy and young. Some dreams you are back in that hospital bed. I hope you were comfortable Dad. I hope you were comforted. I hope we did the right things.
I'm sorry that it took all of this for my eyes to open to the full picture of you. You were a bit of a behind the scenes kind of guy. Don't get me wrong, I knew how wonderful of a father, husband, pastor and friend you were. But I let things get in the way. Frankly I don't even know what those things were now. I was hard on you Dad. Maybe for the simple fact that you were my dad. Maybe it was because you were so tough, I knew you could take it. I don't know.
The cards don't stop coming in. The checks in honor of you as well. You were so well loved. You changed the world. I have so much to live up to, to make you proud. That's what I keep thinking. I have so much to live up to.
Me and mom and Michael are all trying Dad. Trying to get up with the sun and conquer the day for good. Just like you did. We are sticking together. Your family loves you and uses the strength you left behind.
I love you,
Christal
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