Days after learning of my father's unexpected death from complications of ALS (much sooner than the doctors told us), I found myself standing in front of the fridge going down memory lane. I knew I needed to eat something despite my lack of appetite. I found eggs. The simple protein source reminded me of my dad's farmer phase. At one point in his life, he had a small farm, complete with horses, goats, a cow, geese, turkeys, chickens, and more. I don't remember gathering eggs from these chickens or even what kind of coop they had. I just remember planting a garden which the chickens devoured before anything even started to grow. It was a life lesson that we relived through his storytelling again and again over the years. Don't plant something, leave it unprotected, and expect everything to be okay. Take care of the things you create.
My dad went through many phases in his life. There was the boat phase, the fishing phase, the entrepreneurship phase, the gardening phase, and the bike phase to name a few. Some phases were fun, others taxing, and a few we'd rather forget (I hope to never eat another trout in my lifetime). Regardless of the phase theme, he was always passionate concerning whatever had captured his attention, with extreme enthusiasm. From the moment he and my stepmother started a tour bus company, he could tell amazing facts and stories about anywhere the coaches ventured, making him lots of fun to wander around with. His gardening phase quickly morphed from growing a couple seedlings to plant around the yard to filling a greenhouse and supplying young plants to practically everyone he knew. The bike phase went from fixing up a bike or two into a mission giving refurbished bikes to those who needed them - especially foster kids. He probably gave away more than a thousand bikes. And it didn't stop there. He also taught many others how to fix up bikes, a valuable skill for anyone to know.
A phase we would prefer to forget was his battle with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma 15 years ago. He was so strong throughout the treatment despite it taking a horrendous toll on his body. After surviving this, I honesty thought nothing could take him down. Instead of just getting back to his life, he decided to dedicate himself in various ways to fighting cancer of various forms. He became so passionate he rode his bike from Beaverton Oregon to St. Paul Minnesota just 2 years ago to bring more awareness to eradicating breast cancer.
Distracting me from my revelry, the doorbell rang. A friend had sent flowers. They were so pretty and brought a smile to my face. This, of course, had me recalling the many times my dad brought me flowers for congratulations, holidays, and even just because. My dad was the guy who kindly helped his ladies (his wife or one of his three daughters, usually) into the car, then turned with a shuffle step and a little do-do-do hum with pointer fingers waggling, before making his way to the driver's side of the car. He liked to make people feel special.
Our relationship was not all sunshine and rainbows. In fact, my father often drove me nuts. He told the same stories again and again. He told jokes that only he would laugh at. And he always wanted a hug. Always! He held a special talent for driving me up the wall just by loving me and constantly reminding me that he did.
The emotions I have been feeling since receiving the news have been intense and overwhelming. I feel as if I am in an ocean being hit with waves from both the tide coming in as well as going out. A predominate feeling is one of guilt. Guilt for not rushing back to the US, despite Covid and closed borders, as soon as he was diagnosed. Guilt for choosing annoyance instead of acceptance when he was over the moon about doing this or that. Guilt for refusing to listen to his life lessons and instead seeking out my own.
As guilty as I feel for not having been there with and for my dad over this past year as his body was taken over by a horrendous disease, I’m also lucky in a way. When I think of my dad, I think of him as healthy. I won’t have the memories of him loosing most of his verbal skills, being confined to a wheelchair, and being so angry at his loss of independence. Although he was wobbly for years preceding his diagnosis, he’ll always have a spring in his step in my mind. For better or for worse, distance alters our perception of people.
Instead, I will remember his trip to Japan in 2018 and his exuberance over bicycle parking lots; adoration of temples and shrines; as well as willingness to try new things that would usually make him stop. I will cherish the knowledge of how much he loved my son and how he was never hesitant to tell me how proud he was of me. I'll never look at a beach without thinking of him, as it was one of his favorite places in the world to be, regardless of the weather. I will think of him saying grace before meals, trying to remember everyone and everything that he was grateful for, often making us wait for a long time as he made his way through his long list of gratitude.
My dad lived a very interesting life. It was filled with intense ups and downs. But no matter the struggle, he always made his way back to finding joy and something to be excited about. And I might miss that most of all, because of all the lessons my dad taught me, the most important one was to seek joy and hold onto it.
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