A Memorial for My Dad (Part One)

My dad died Sunday, on a brilliant sunny pre-Spring morning in colorful Colorado.  Shortly after I got the news I told my husband that my dad picked a great day to leave this crazy life.  It was the kind of day that he loved and, oh, how he loved Colorado. If it had been ten years ago he would have been lacing up his running shoes and heading out the door for a 4 or 5 or 8 mile super-fast walk.

A lot can happen in ten years.  A child can pass away, a marriage can hit the rocks, a series of falls and other mishaps can leave you helpless, resigned to living life in a wheelchair.  Relationships can end, health can go down the tubes.  An entire lifetime of living life to the fullest can come crashing down. These are things my dad experienced -- and lived through -- in the past ten years.  In so many ways, he outlived his estimated time of departure.

But those things did not define him.  What defined him, his legacy, was the way he grew up poor, yet served in the Air Force and received a college degree.  How he worked more than one job in the early years to support his growing family.  He worked at the FAA for years, then retired.  He began a new job with Martin Marietta, then retired again.  He loved his wife, his children, his grandchildren, University of Oklahoma football. He pulled over on busy Oklahoma City highways, risking life and limb, to save turtles from certain death.  His sense of humor, his ability to tell a story,  his gentle way of not saying much and then saying too much.  The list goes on and on; there were so many things he did well. I can see myself in so much of him and I can see each of my kids in him as well. What a legacy he left behind!

I am sad today, but not as sad as I thought I would be.  You see, for me, the grieving process began years ago.  As I've written before, my parents somewhat stopped being my parents when my brother, Scott, died nearly 9 years ago.  They loved their three children equally, but Scott needed them more, my mom would say, and there is some truth in that.  He needed them to fix him, but Scott was not a house on an episode of Fixer Upper.  What he required took more than a fresh coat of paint or a new sink.  He was simply beyond repair. Eric and I needed them just as much, only in different ways.  Our children needed them.  When Scott died, they died with him, inch by inch, minute by minute, day by day.  That is what I grieve and have been grieving, more than anything else.

I grieve the fact that things could have been much different.  My parents did not have a perfect marriage, but they had a life together that included three children, six grandchildren, travel, friends and a comfortable lifestyle.  Both were Southerners and were the ultimate host and hostess.  No one did hospitality like Jim and Mary Rose. They were simply the Best.

But in the end, the Best was not enough.  It wasn't enough to save Scott and it wasn't enough to save my daddy.  He fought a valiant fight and overcame so many obstacles.  He was such a great dad, such a great grandfather.  He loved with a passion those who he loved.  He never, ever let me leave him without saying "Be careful." He battled his demons, like we all do, and in the end, he succumbed. But he did not lose for he was not a loser.

I don't blame my dad for wanting to give up when Scott died. Part of me wanted to as well.  But, as I like to say, it all comes down to capacity.  Each of us has a certain capacity to handle whatever is thrown at us in life and he lived up to his.  I get that, I understand it.  I wish I could say that makes everything easier and okay, but it really doesn't.  It simply helps me cope.

So many friends have reached out, those who knew my dad and those who didn't, with words of encouragement, with prayers, with support.  So many people saw so much good in my dad and loved him so much. I can't even begin to verbalize what that means to me.  One friend told me that losing a parent not only hurts, but changes everything in your world.  I have to say that I agree with that statement, in part. Yesterday was the first day I woke up to a world without my dad in it and I feel strangely different.  I can't put my finger on it, but I do.  Maybe it's just the fact that I am no longer Jim's little girl; I am fatherless for the first time in my life.

Even so, I feel I lost so much of him such a long time ago. I reminded said friend of this and she sent a broken heart emoji, acknowledging the fact that each of us walks a different road with our parents.  Mine was perhaps just a bit bumpier than hers.

In a way, maybe I'm a bit better off because I have had time to grieve over the past several years.  My first marriage was similar:  I grieved it for years before it actually ended.  By the time it did, I was nearly out of tears. While I know I will never, ever run out of tears where my dad is concerned, the blow is lessened because I have had time to let go.  I didn't want to, but it was not my choice to make.

There are many other things I want to write about my father and I will, in time. Every single one of us has strengths and weaknesses. My dad was no exception and, in his own eyes, he felt he had way more weaknesses than he actually did.  But I know the truth: he left his mark on so many, including me.  And I am blessed to have been able to call him dad.