July 23, 2015

[This is a very personal letter to my Dad. I am sharing it]

Dad,

Can you believe that six years have passed?

I cannot.

I have weathered many difficult storms since I last held your hand, since I saw you alive.
Our children are getting so big and there are moments when I look at them and at the very moment my heart swells with love, awe & bewilderment, something occurs in my peripheral view; a quick flash or reflection, a beam of light between rustling tree branches, and I pause for a moment to wonder if that is you?  

I miss you almost daily.
I find myself thinking of how badly I want to share my stories with you, or of moments where I could use advice from you, or the times where I am wishing I could just hear your compassionate voice when things are really tough.

I am so sorry that things fell apart after you made your departure. I couldn't give my all to Jen & the kids AND protect Mom from the chaos and the hurt and the destruction that came (too soon) after you left. I did my best to pick up the pieces after the destruction took its toll on her, and even all the heroic efforts and sacrifice made by me & a handful of my friends (people you loved so dearly), we find Mom back to where she started; he will do it again as he has done it before. I'm waiting patiently for the same old patterns to arise and am not certain that I can even muster the energy to pick up the pieces that will fall again. I am hoping that you would understand the things I did, the lines I drew, and why I do what I do now to protect my family.

After 6 years I sometimes have trouble remembering your voice. That is excruciating to me.

These days I have been replaying your obsessions with water conservation during our drought years, and all the work you did continually on making sure we had disaster supplies (I told someone the other day about your elaborate water storage regimen and remarked on how hilarious it is that my eye rolling of yesteryear now turns to a bright light bulb going off above my head in a most brilliant "AHA!" moment.)

You'll be happy to know that I celebrate your birthday every year with a warm glazed doughnut and I listen to a collection of your favorites; from Creedence Clearwater Revival to The Beach Boys... You have to forgive me for passing on your 'New Country Phase' from the late 90's to early 2000's.

It's been a tough run for me. Some folks say that they wholeheartedly believe that you know of the tough times, and as much as a part of me would love to believe that you're floating around and acting as some omnipresent guardian angel, I cannot believe that it is anywhere within the realm of possibility.

My brain still delivers some really sweet memories of you from time to time. Sometimes the memories flood in with such clarity that it blows me away... Most recently I remember that day when I was Zoe's age. We were fishing what seemed like an hour drive from camp outside Kings Canyon. It was close to 100 degrees and fishing sucked. I think I caught 3 small fish to your zero (as per usual). With fishing outlook being so dismal, you surprised me with your sudden sense of adventure... You thought you had found a perfect 'natural' water slide on this rushing creek. The creek seemed to cascade down a giant granite rock face that sloped gently downstream and whose erosion was very subtle but in a slide-like channel... so you hopped in and rode it down (hooting and hollering) and yelled for me to follow. I hesitated but was pulled in by your enthusiasm & encouragement. I remember every single moment; I waded over, sat down, and with a scoot I found myself hooting and hollering until I hit the pool at the bottom. The cool clear mountain creek was almost electric.

We took our time getting back to camp and I remember grabbing an ice cold root beer at one of those country general stores that had noisy wood floors. It was just the two of us & it was one of the best moments in my life. I can still hear your hooting and hollering in my head sometimes and I can't help but grin.

If I'm going to be completely honest with you, I would say that one thing I am amazed by is the recurrence of dreams where I relive moments (both good and bad) during the last handful of weeks leading up to your death. I want to believe that you knew I was there at the end. I am hopeful that this is true.

I do wonder sometimes if your soul was able to observe Mom & I in the living room with your body after you took your last breath? We were both so tired that night... We were both in shock.

I'm doing the best that I can these days. I am always adapting to new challenges and battling the things that cause me pain (physical) and setbacks (vertigo) as I think back on all that you endured for so very long.

Thank you, Dad, for the lessons you taught me. They have all merged with my life experience and have helped me to be the man I am today. I'm confident that you would be just as proud of me, if not more.

I love you and miss you something fierce.

Love,
Rob