It has been a year since my dad passed.
It is still so foreign to think this, to realize this, to say it out loud. I will admit that, surprisingly, this has been the quickest year of my life. Maybe it rushed by because this was our year of 'firsts', so every first holiday or birthday without him seemed to loom ahead, which made it arrive that much quicker. It wasn't that I dreaded the occasions, but it was the fact that someone who was always there, suddenly wasn't going to be. No walking in to see his smiling face, hugging him tightly, inhaling his cologne. No more hugs. No more smiles. Gone.
As time passes, I feel that people think grief should subside, as if there is a time table and, miraculously, the wound should heal, leaving you whole again. Losing a loved one, to me, is truly like losing a piece of yourself. You will never regain it, but you will learn and adapt to how to live without it. And it never for a second means you do not miss it. That doesn't mean it gets easier, just different. Life is change, is it not? Between you and me though, sometimes change really sucks.
On my first birthday after dad, my mom called and played me The Beatles' 'Birthday Song'. Dad did this every year when I lived at home. He would crank it up and we would all dance and sing in the living room together. I started doing it for Miss G and Li'l B on their birthdays. They love it as I did. And this year, when I would play it for them, I would close my eyes and dance with dad.
For ALS Awareness Month, I posted a picture everyday promoting a movement which I had created in honor of dad called, Moving Out ALS. It didn't really catch on the way I had hoped, but I put myself out there. Dad was worth it. I think he would've been proud of my effort.
My brother Chris, his family, mom, and our family of four went to the beach for a little vacation this summer. It was Miss G's and Li'l B's first time ever seeing the ocean. As they ran towards the surf, arms spread out as if they were flying, giggling at the wonder of the vast waves, I watched them through blurry eyes. All I could think was how dad would've absolutely loved to see their reactions. Dad was in awe of the sea.
We went out one night, divided up dad's ashes in sea shells, and laid them in a hole that we had dug in the sand. We all stood there and watched as the ocean made its way in, sank into the hole with its watery fingers turning up the ashes, and withdrew back out. We all said goodbye as dad left us one last time.
One occasion in particular was extremely tough because dad really was the reason for it - Our ALS walk. Our captain was not among us, and the feel of the walk was completely changed. Something as simple as checking a box to indicate why you're walking was enough to bring on tears. In Honor to In Memory. I think a lot of us never thought we'd be checking that box. Now everything is In Memory. During that day and throughout the whole walk, when I felt like breaking down, when the void became overwhelming, I smiled. In Memory.
We created a new tradition. Every year, around dad's birthday, we go to a Browns' game together. The stadium felt electric. We cheered loudly, we clapped until our hands hurt, and we missed the reason we are all Browns' fans. Sundays are not the same when watching our Brownies play. But dad's love for the Browns taught us about loyalty, picking yourself back up when you've been knocked down, to never give up on anything, and that Brown is Beautiful.
Another tradition that the kids and I started is celebrating Day of the Dead. Gabby in particular has had a hard time with her Pop-pop's passing. She knocks the breath out of me a lot with her questions and observations. We decided to print out pictures, collect all of Pop-pop's (and other family members who have passed) favorite foods, mementos, and decorations, and say what we love and miss about them. Gabby missed everything. She stole my answer.
Christmas was last on our list in our year of firsts. I know all of us were not looking forward to it as dad loved Christmas. I made mom her traditional 'Grandma's Brag Book', and dedicated the last page to dad. The book was one of the hardest things to create. Mom mentioned that this was the last book that he would be in, and she began to cry. Gabby also cried. She had asked me why God couldn't just let Pop-pop come down for Christmas so we could give him hugs and presents. I had no answer for her. It was becoming my usual response to her questions because I, too, have many questions with no answers. Most times, that's what death brings us. But we all celebrated and smiled and laughed at Christmas, because that's what dad would have wanted, for us to celebrate.
I had someone who had just lost a parent ask me if it got easier as time passed. "No," I answered without hesitation, "it just becomes different." I still think I hear him clearing his throat, smell his cologne, or hear his voice when I'm visiting mom. Then the harsh realization swoops in, and I have to remember that he's gone. I've learned that a heart can break over and over again, and we survive it. I dream of him, but in those dreams, I know he's not supposed to be there, and I find myself crying. And when I wake, I have two opposing feelings jockeying to be dominant; joy, because I just got to see dad again, and sadness, because I know it wasn't real. Sadness always wins. Stupid sadness.
The year after our hardest goodbye has been rough. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. Many times I've wanted to tell dad about things going on, have him reassure me about a decision, or laugh at our latest debacle. It's true that our favorite moments ultimately become memories. But that's also one great thing I've come to realize this year; we have a ton of wonderful, special memories to share with each other and with our children. I find myself telling Miss G and Li'l B lots of stories about their Pop-pop, to which I am welcomed with squeals of delight and, "Tell it again, mommy, tell it again!" And I do. As long as we keep dad in our present, he will forever live with us. In Memory.
"Death smiles at us all; all we can do, is smile back."
