Anniversaries and Deaths.

Today marks the 20^th anniversary of my dad’s death.

I’ve think I’ve always had pretty decent perspective on his death and in death in general. Originally I took comfort in the idea of God and heaven and used that to help me through the hardest times of grief as a child. As adult who very much no longer holds faith in a god, I now take comfort in my own resilience. I find direction and purpose in the sentiment that our legacy is in the ripple of effect of our actions on others and I am thankful for the ripple effect both his life and his death had on my own. I am thankful he died the way he did, instead of suffering through the horrors of ALS. So in my day to day life, I may think about him, but I rarely actively grieve him.

But in this last year, I have grieved him in a way I haven’t in over a decade [or if we are being exact, when I had a bad trip on mushrooms and spent hours on the phone crying to a my very pregnant sister spiraling over the idea that her unborn child was part of our dad's legacy… MY BAD]. Being without my family on my wedding day and some of the complex dynamics surrounding that, left me feeling his absence immensely. It was both unbearable and soothing to think of him.

I find that the pain I hold now is just in not being able to share who I am as an adult with him; in not having the ability for us to get to grow in our relationship and build a new understanding of each other based on conversations and shared experiences. I’ve learned so much about him after his death instead of being afforded the opportunity to have him share with me during his life. I was only 11 when he died, we never got that far.

When I think of my dad now, I think of him in all of his beauty, sadness and complexity. I think of my dad as the person I would read bedtime stories to because he was too tired to read to me but we/I wanted time together at the end of his long work day; who would play softball with me in the backyard on weekends; who made mickey mouse pancakes on Sundays; who cheered on the sideline of all my soccer games and took me for ice cream after every big moment in my life; who sometimes fell short as a husband and father; who healed some but not all of the generational trauma of his family of origin; who showed his love by providing financial security and making sure our needs were met and passions were provided for; who put our shitty craft projects up in his office on proud display; who taught me how to fish and found so much peace near the water; who believed that you are defined by how you treat others, not how they treat you; who battled depression and was often fatigued by life; who had the most incredible ear to ear smile and epic ‘stache; who loved tanning in the backyard while reading the newspaper; who had a deep faith but didn’t care much for the church; who was a brilliant writer but often kept his words to himself; who tried to teach other men about self-love, grace, and empathy even when he struggled with it for himself. He was like every other human- deeply complex, filled with love, pain, suffering and joy.

My biggest take away from his death has always been that you should not wait for some future moment to live a life you love because you are not guaranteed any moment but this one. You have to actively choose your life every day and you deserve to have joy. If I died tomorrow, I can say I didn’t leave anything on the table. Love deeply, forgive yourself, be kind to others, enjoy nature.

If your father figure is alive and you have a good relationship with them, give them a hug or tell them something you appreciate about them in my honor.

If your father figure is deceased, out of the picture, or your relationship with them causes you pain in any way, I am sending you love and holding space for you and hope you do one thing today that shows yourself compassion and reminds you of your own resilience.