How to Celebrate?

My dad would have been 71 years old today.  This day, more than any other, brings sadness and longing.  I don’t so much mourn the day on which he died, because his death took away his pain and suffering.  Instead I mourn the day we would have celebrated together because of the joy and happiness I’m missing.

When I was a tween, we would typically celebrate my dad’s birthday with a float trip.  I have lots of memories of floats on the Black River and bond fires late into the night.  I don’t so much remember what we would do to commemorate his birthday while I was in high school, but I vividly remember the first birthday he had while I was in college.  He turned 50 that year and I had been at school for a little over a week—went early for sorority rush.  My mom had a party for him.  I had bought him a figurine of girl that was titled “Daddy, I’ll never fill your shoes.”  I called during the party and listened as he opened the box and then got quiet.  His voice cracked as he said, “Thank you sissy.”  I, of course, lost it.  After college, I made that we would celebrate his birthday the way he wanted every year.  Usually that involved fried chicken from somewhere and ice cream.  When I lived in the City that would often mean Hodacks and Ted Drewes.  When we moved back home I would have everyone to my house.

It was my dining where we celebrated his last birthday.  My mom had gotten a cake decorated with a guy in a red pick up truck with dogs in it since my dad had seemingly adopted Jeffrey’s pooches.  I brought home fried chicken and made vegetables.  We didn’t yet know the pain and suffering, heartache and tears the next eight months would bring.  Dad knew he had a chest xray with a spot, but he hadn’t told me yet.  That being said, even if we had known, I can’t believe we would have celebrated any differently.

I made everyone get together to celebrate the first birthday after his death.  I was 34 weeks pregnant and in the middle of being sued by a wack-job former parent, so no one argued with me.  I held myself together for most of the day, but it was a chore.  And while we tried to be convivial, it just wasn’t happening.  Since then I haven’t involved anyone else in my remembrances.  Last year I hit a KFC drive through for chicken legs complete with a full sugared Pepsi.  My system revolted from that shock. 

So here we are, it’s been six years since the last time I celebrated with him.  I don’t know who around me knows that today would be his birthday. (Last year mom let it pass without a mention.)  As I wonder what I do to honor this special day, I have decided that it does not need to be an overt gesture, instead it’s this:  I will continue to work to live my life in a manner that would make him proud.  My dad once told me that he measured his success as a parent by whom my brothers and I were as adults.  I want him to know he was the best.

141/365: A Sound That Catches My Ear

These wind chimes hang outside my back door.  The music they make takes me to a happy place.  I often take for granted their melody, but often enough, it reminds me of those I love and miss.

Poppy was my dad's dad.  He was from Southern Illinois.  He and my Maama lived there until the 1940s when the CCC work was done and Poppy needed a job.  He walked into the B&O Railroad to see what they had available.  They asked him if he could type.  He told them he had taken typing in high school.  They told him to sit down and get to work.  He responded that he hadn't brought dinner (lunch) with him.  They told him there was a diner across the street.  So Poppy worked there until the late 70s/early 80s when he retired.  After he retired, Poppy got into a lot of things.  One of the things he did was to make wind chimes.  All of his kids soon had a set.  While his chimes weren't as pretty as these, the sound of wind chimes always make me think of him. 

These chimes, in particular, hold a special place in my heart.  When my daddy died almost five years ago, my cousins bought these for me in leiu of flowers.  Their hope was that these were more permanent than flowers or a plant and that the sight and sound of them would bring me happiness.  It does. 

27/365: Important Moments

I took a ton of photos today, but I chose this one because it sneaks a peak at a special moment between a boy and his grandpa. If there was ever a boy who loved his Papa, it's Boo. Papa walks on water in his mind and is all knowing. This conversation was about Boo's recently behavior struggles in school. He's a good boy, but he takes after his mommy with being on the go constantly. His need to move and talk comes out during unstructured time at school and gets him lots of warnings, and a trip to the assistant principal when he did it on the school bus. Papa was sweetly explaining that Boo needs to stay in his seat and listen to the driver so everyone can be safe. And of course, since Papa said it, it's the gospel.

The other reason I chose this photo is because Boo was also the light of my daddy's life. There was hardly a day go by that my dad didn't come over to see him. I would watch my dad, who struggled with severe arthritis in his hip, get on the floor and rough house with my toddler. The last words I heard my dad speak were to Boo as he climbed on his bed. My dad patted him and said "my boy." I've had bitter moments where I've felt my kids were cheated because they didn't have the opportunity to really know how great of a grandpa my dad was. But then I quickly am thankful for my father-in-law because he is the only person in the world who could rival my dad for "world's best grandpa" title.

10 Things I Learned From My Dad

Father's Day got me thinking yesterday. With some time alone on my bike, I had a lot of opportunity to reflect and think about my dad. I often think about him when I race, and wonder what he'd think of the craziness of a crit or cx race. I know he'd be proud that I'm even out there trying--he was stoked when I finished the MS 150, so I can only imagine how he would have felt when I got my win earlier this season. But on Father's Day, I thought about his legacy. What did he teach me that impact the way I live now? There are so many things, but I limited it to the first ten that came to mind. Some are life lessons, some are just practical, some are just pure Donnie Ray.

1. Every home should have a good hammer, Phillip's & flat head screw driver, needle nose pliers, duct tape and super glue. While my dad began his adult life wearing a tie, he retired a master mechanic. His skills came from high school shop class and trial and error. He was good with an engine or a piece of wood. (His electrical work did scared me a little.) He impressed on me the need to be able to do basic maintenance myself. There was no need to hire someone or need a man to do it--not his daughter. When we bought our first house in Soulard and it needed renovation, he was in heaven. He helped me spend a weekend trimming out a decorative window on our third floor, including holding my legs while I leaned through the stairwell to put the cornices on the other side.
2. Love literature. My dad finished high school, barely. He was a hands-on type guy. Classroom learning wasn't for him, but that didn't mean he wasn't well read. During his stint as a real estate agent and an insurance salesman, he had a lot of flexibility. During the summer months when it was hot (and we didn't have air conditioning) we spent countless hours at the library. And as I got older, I went back and read some of the novels I remember him reading then and I got the chance to pass on great reads to him. As he got older, I started buying hardcover books because the print was easier for him to read. I have to consciously stop myself from doing that because he's always in my head when I'm browsing books.
3. Diverse interests make a person interesting. This lesson I gleaned from watching my dad live life. He was at home in the woods, behind a camera, with his nose in a book, under a car, or walking through the art museum. I would venture to call him a modern day Renaissance man. His approach to life has guided me in keeping a broad range of interests.
4. It's always time for a good cup of coffee. (and piece of pork) My dad's tastes were simple. He was definitely a "meat and potatoes" eater, though he would humor me and try whatever I concocted in the kitchen--I think it was a relief just not to eat my mom's cooking. He started the day with a good cup of coffee and a bacon or sausage sandwich. He kept the coffee flowing through the day. It was common that he was sipping on a fully leaded up at 9PM as well. The only time he deviated from this was during hot days when he was working, he'd still start and end with coffee though. And as for the pork, it won out over everything else, except maybe fried chicken.
5. The greatest reward for a parent is to see their child reach successes. The older I got, the deeper the conversations were between my dad and me. This is a direct statement he made to me. He told me the big accomplishments were wonderful, watching graduations, marriages, grandchildren being born. But little things were important too--my refrigerator having real food and not just milk and beer. He told me that the way I had grown up made him know that he was a good parent. That counts as one of the best compliments I have ever received.
6. Dull knives are dangerous. This was a practical directive from my father. When I was growing up, our kitchen knives could always split a hair. I think this came from his time hunting and butchering in Ava. I wish I would have learned from him how to use sharpening stone. He tried to teach me, but I never got it quite right. I have become as emphatic as he was about this.
7. Don't make promises you can't keep. Your word is important. It's a testament to your character and who you are as a person. My dad lived this and spoke it outright. If we promised to do something and a "better offer" came up, too bad. You committed, you stick with it.
8. Be respectful to the earth. My dad was by no means a tree hugger, but he valued the earth and what it provides. We didn't hunt or fish just for sport. You only kill what you can eat. You plant trees and flowers and make sure they are native to the area. Never disturb a bird's nest or animal's home.
9. Work ethic-you get paid to do a job, do it. No job is too menial. My dad sold real estate in the late 70s when interest rates were off the charts. It didn't bring in a lot of money. There weren't a lot of other good paying jobs out there. I can remember him working at a gas station to bring money in while he looked for something else to support us. I think this one goes hand-in-hand with keeping promises. You take care of your family, they are a commitment. He didn't take a lot of time off work either. Sick days were few and far between in our house. With the exception of my maternity leave, I have only taken three sick days in my career.
10. Never be afraid to tell someone how you feel. Life is too short to keep your feelings inside. While my dad always told me he loved me, a major regret he had was that he didn't say that to Poppy until he was in the throws of Alzheimer's. He regretted not being as affectionate with his own dad, and sons, as he was with me. That realization was important to him and he spent the next four years making sure he told my brothers that he loved and working on them to be more open with their feelings.

While a few of these lessons were spoken outright, I'm sure my dad didn't realize he was teaching me the others. He probably wasn't consciously aware of how much I watched what he was doing. That can be another lesson I learned from him--live a good life, because others are watching you--most importantly your children.

I'll Always Be His Little Girl

Yesterday was hard for me. I so didn't want to go to the bar-b-que my brothers were having at the farm. I could have given you a million and one reasons why--I didn't feel like driving that far, I was going to be tired from 65 miles in the saddle, the kids wouldn't get a nap--but it all boiled down to one main reason, I didn't want to cry. You see, the farm was my dad's piece of heaven on earth. I remember when he and my brother's bought the land he said that he didn't think he would ever really get to retire. He was buying the ground so that he could retire on the weekends while he was still working. Donnie was prophetic. He retired in August and left us that next April. So you see, there is a lot of meaning to the land for me.

The last time I had gone to the farm was the one year anniversary of his death. True confession time--I have never been, and will never go, to my dad's grave. I truly believe, with all my heart, he's not there. We may have buried his body, but I know his spirit lives on in the woods in Southern Illinois. The last time I went down, it was almost too much for me. I walked the woods and the trails and cried. I had a heck of a time getting myself together to even drive home that day. Even driving past the turn-off to get there has brought me to tears, so I knew yesterday would be a struggle. And you have to know, I don't like being upset around people. I always work at being a positive, happy person.

I did fine when we first got there. I sat in my chair, visited with old friends, and tried to relax. I may have made it through dried eyed, but then my maama and Uncle Lloyd got there. My maama is my dad's mom. She is the strong, most incredible woman I know. Her faith and resilency have been inspirational to me as long as I can remember. She'll be 93 this fall and is still living on her own. My Uncle Lloyd is my dad's older brother. There was never any mistaking the fact they were brothers. Lloyd was a little taller, broader shouldered, but otherwise they were identical. Uncle Lloyd always grabs hold of me and hugs me with such love and tells me he loves me. The same thing my dad did every day of my life growing up. Here's an insight into who I am--I had a pretty amazing childhood. I grew up pretty poor, we never had money and there were months I know bills weren't paid. The amazing part of it was I never knew that then. All I knew was that I was loved, supported and encouraged to try whatever I dared. My daddy told me he loved me every day and that I would always be his little girl. And he was very specific about why he told me he loved me so much. He said life was too short and too unpredictable. You never know when may be the last time you see someone and that you should never leave anything unspoken to someone you love.

I was feeling some emotion after visiting with them for a bit, but I was still fine. Then it was time to eat. Jeffrey's voice cracked when he asked me to stand with he and Michael while Uncle Lloyd made a toast to Pop and Maama blessed our food. Then I saw the bottle of Pepsi, my daddy's drink of choice, in Lloyd's hand. And Lloyd hugged me again. I could barely mumble "I miss him so much" as the tears poured out of my eyes. The last time we had all gathered there was the fall when he was diagnosed with cancer--one last cook out with him. I felt so alone standing there, surrounded by our family and friends yesterday. I felt so empty with him there. After Lloyd gave his toast, cousins and aunts embraced me as I sobbed, but I just couldn't stop. I walked away knowing what I needed. I told Sam I was going for a walk.

I took the main path down to the creek and talked aloud to him. I talked about walking the woods, looking for deer tracks. I asked if he knew how much I really hated hunting and that I did it for him. I reminsced about our times down there, the pig roast, hunting trips, weekends. Mostly, I just kept repeating how much I missed him. How much I wished, every day, my kids had known him. I got to the creek and just stood and watched the water. I wanted a sign--a cool breeze to blow, a young deer to walk by--to know that he was with me in spirit and could hear what I was saying, but those things only happen in movies. So I stood a little longer until I could get myself under control. I made the hike out of the creek bottom back to the party. Andy hugged and hugged on me because he saw that I'd been crying. And it was in that moment, I knew my dad's spirit lives on. I looked my incredible son and told him how much I loved him and that he'll always be my little boy, something he has heard every day of his life because nothing will ever go unspoken between us.