Bittersweet

It is New Year's Eve, and in a few hours it will be the first day of 2011.  Many people are out celebrating and bringing the new year in, and others are reflecting on the events of the past year.  I'm trying to do a little of both.  We got some favorite snacks and a couple movies and will quietly bring 2011 in with a glass of wine. 

This day is bittersweet for me.  My beloved father died one year ago on this day, in the late morning hour.  He was 82, but it was not expected.  He seemed in better health than me and many other people, old or young.  Every morning he did his stretches and went for a half mile walk.  He ate a nutritious breakfast of Oatmeal, took his vitamins, and then helped his son on the farm.  Truthfully, I don't even know what he died from because he just fell over and died.

This morning it was the first thing I thought of when I woke up.  Then as the day progressed, I found myself thinking what I was doing one year ago when I got the call....I had been resting in my chair with the heating pad and thinking about what I was going to buy for our usual New Year's Eve snacks.  I heard the phone ringing, but I didn't answer it because I was sort of dozing off, and my friends and family know that I don't answer the phone in the morning.

Pretty soon my son came down and handed me his cellphone.  He was home from college, and my brother had reached him on his cellphone.  He said, "Mom, you need to take this."

The first thing my brother asked was, "How are you feeling this morning?"  I told him I was fine.  Then he asked me if I was sitting down.  I told him I was, and asked why.  He said he didn't want to alarm me, which really alarmed me because when a person asks if you are sitting down, how good can it be?

I could tell he was stumbling for the right words.  Is there any good way to tell a person something like this?

I found out later that my brother (who is my closest friend in all the world) wanted to make sure that he was the one who told me because I have a history of depression, and he was afraid of what it would do to me if it didn't come out gentle.  As it turned out, I handled it well.  At first I didn't believe him and thought it was a joke.  But I couldn't think why he would tell a joke like this?  And then I asked if he had proof.  He said the coroner had been there and announced him dead.

I asked him what we were supposed to do.  And for once, my big brother had no answers.  Suddenly it hit me that I had to get to my mom's as fast as I could to help her.  Some type of instinct took over and I immediately forgot about myself and put all my focus on mom.  I guess we each have our way of coping, and this was mine.

I didn't really cry until months later in a therapist's office.  I don't think I even mourned Dad's death until then.  And I'm not sure I'm finished truthfully.  I think I may just be beginning to understand the reality of my father dying.

In another way, I'm not sure he will ever be dead to me.  I didn't see him die, and he was cremated right away, so I never saw his dead body.  So it's more like he is just gone somewhere.  And with my deep spirituality, I feel a link to his spirit.  I dream about him, and I pray with him every day.  My father and I understood each other after many years of hard work getting to know each other, and that understanding has not died.

Today, I wore some cross earrings to honor him, (He was a strict Catholic) and a green ring since green was our favorite color, and some very old special perfume that somehow seemed appropriate.  I talked to him in my thoughts, and I have no doubt that there is still communication between us in a different way.

My back hurts a little more today, and my eye kept dripping tears all day, and I'm not all that hungry for some reason either, but in my heart I know that Dad is OK, and I am OK too.

There's been some big changes with mom, and other things, and each situation must be approached carefully since this is all brand new.  There are new hurts, and new smiles, and new people.  There is new wisdom and new pain too.  Dad didn't like change.  But we all have to deal with it, one way or another.

I am grateful that I had my faith to help me with times like this, and I think Dad is in my heart, telling me how to go on.  After all, we have no choice but to do so.

So I raise my eyes to heaven and thank God for my tears because one thing I will always carry with me is my father's love.  For a daughter, that's the best gift he ever gave me.

Happy New Year friends.  May we take with us into 2011, the best of love.

"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."... Annie Dillard