I miss my dad. A lot. Not shocking news to anyone who knows me, because I talk about him often. Last week I posted a long bloggity thing on my personal Facebook page about how much I miss him, and how I tried (and liked!) a rum & tonic in his memory. Cruzan rum, of course, his rum of choice for the last few years of his life. Not that he'd turn down a drink made with any rum, of course, he wasn't a high falutin' guy or picky. I do remember about 15 years ago, I went on a cruise (the one and only cruse I've been on btw) that sailed in and out of Puerto Rico. I picked up some rum for him in the San Juan airport. My boss at the time had requested a bottle of Ron del Berilito from the duty-free shop. Since the shop sold things with handy three bottle carry-on boxes, I got a box for my boss, a box for me, and a box for my dad. It was good stuff. He really liked it. I also picked up a bottle of spice infused rum in Grenada on that cruise. It was some ridiculously strong stuff. It tasted like it had to be four thousand proof or something. The only time I've ever seen my dad empty part of a bottle, pour in regular rum, and mix the two back and forth to get something drinkable. I think I would have just used the spiced rum as lighter fluid or something. But he was a really frugal guy. Waste not, want not. Digression to a funny story I love telling about my dad: He and my mom lived in the same house for about 40 years. When they were offered a gorgeous waterfront house down the street from it for a great selling price, they bought. My dad's brother-in-law, my uncle, was helping my dad move his workshop to the new house. As my uncle was putting stuff in the trashcan, my dad was taking it out. Yup. Waste not, want not. String too short to save? No such thing! Save it!
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| My first rum & tonic. (Everyone else had the cocktail glasses in use by the time I made my drink, so yes, that's a stemless wine glass.) |
Everyone said the first year after his death would be the hardest. Every change of season has been hard, the first of all holidays without him, his birthday, Father's Day, my parent's 50th anniversary - all very emotionally challenging days for me. (Their 50th wedding anniversary was on Father's Day. How's that for a cruel trick the universe played? Ugh. I can't imagine how difficult that day must have been for my mom.) The most difficult day of all so far has been his birthday. That was HIS day. Father's Day is shared with all the dads out there. We celebrate them all. But on his birthday, we celebrate him. And we did - we had a birthday dinner at my parents' house. We didn't sing Happy Birthday or anything, but we had a menu very typical of what we'd have on his birthday, we had his favorite cake, and we talked about him a lot.
Think about him too much? Do I obsess over and relish in my grief? I don't think so. There's no such thing as missing someone too much. My older and wiser cousin, godmother, and good friend (she's all one person) told me that the depth of our grief and sadness is proportionate to the depth of our love for the one we lost. She's so right.
I had a few sessions with a Hospice grief counselor last fall. Once again, I can't say enough good things about my family's experience with Hospice. Amazing. Anyway, the counselor told me that at some point, we learn to embrace the grief. We accept it. It's like another being in the room with us. Our loved one is with us, but so is the grief. It's just sitting next to us, like an old familiar friend. I get it now. I think I've embraced and accepted the grief.
My four year old daughter talks about him and to him all the time. I think that's helped me embrace the grief. It's helped me accept that it's ok to still feel this deep sadness and miss him so much. My does and says really sweet things. A couple weeks ago, after a rain shower, she pointed at the rainbow up in the sky. "See that mama? Grandpa Bill's sitting up there on that rainbow. He's looking at us and smiling." Then she waved to him. "Hi, Grandpa Bill!" And my heart melted. A few days ago, she came into my bedroom (after I'd tucked her in, of course, the kid procrastinates going to bed like a champ), and drew a cross with her finger on the condensation on the water glass on my nightstand. "Mama, I drew a cross on your glass, so you'd always remember Grandpa Bill." And my heart melted again.
Thinking of you, Dad. I miss you every day and always will. 💜
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