Dad

My dad has been on my mind a lot lately.  It's been over ten years now since he passed away.  I was in the car the other day, driving along and listening to the radio when a Pink Floyd song came on (one of my dad's favorite groups).  It was the song "Brain Damage".  Of all the things, it brought tears to my eyes.  I was raised on Classic Rock.  It's all my parents listened to.  I didn't even know there were other genres of music until I was close to ten.  I thought groups like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and The Beatles were all that was out there.  So, my brother and I heard the "Brain Damage" song a lot growing up.  My dad had the "lunatic" laugh down pat.  To.A.Tee.  So it became a habit for my brother and I to ask my dad to do the lunatic laugh.  More like beg him to do it.  Beg and beg and beg.  And the more we begged, the more stubborn he became about not doing the lunatic laugh.  I think he just liked hearing us beg.  :)  My dad was always a prankster.  It wouldn't be until about five minutes after we stopped begging that the maniacal laughter would begin, which would make us laugh like lunatics too.  Anyway... Who knew a Pink Floyd song could be so sentimental?

I often wonder what life would be like if dad were still here with us?  Less empty I think.  Not that life feels horribly empty.  There are just certain times in life when I really would like my dad to be here.  Like when my brother graduated from the School of Mines this last December.  I can honestly say it was the first time I ever felt angry about my dad being gone.  It kind of took me by surprise that I could be so incredibly mad about it after so many years.  And then there have been the times when I've had babies.  As joyous an occasion as it was, there was always a little hole there.  My dad was gone by the time I had my last three kiddos.  Their blessing days were really tough on me.  Beautiful moments, but tough.  I'm sure my dad was their in spirit, but I really wanted him there physically.

For several years after he died, I couldn't look at pictures of my dad.  And when thoughts of him would come to my mind, I would push them away.  I would go days and weeks without thinking of him at all.  It was almost as if I thought that if I could forget he had ever been there, then I wouldn't feel so sad.  Of course that wasn't true though.  And I was fooling myself to think I could ever forget.

I always thought the more time that went by, the easier it would get.  The truth is, it never gets easier, you just learn to cope.  I still miss my dad as much today as the day he died.  In some ways I miss him even more.  I miss seeing him grow older with my mom.  I miss seeing him be a part of my kids' lives.  I'm sad that my three youngest kids didn't get to be with him in this life.  He was such a wonderful grandpa in the few short years my two older boys got to be with him.  Trenton still remembers being thrown sky high in the air by his grandpa.  And the wrestling sessions.  My dad used to lay on the floor on his stomach and let Trenton jump all over him.  We're talking running down the hall, great flying leaps.  We all thought it was hilarious until Trenton started to do that to the kids in nursery.  I guess he thought that was how you played with other people because that's what he did with grandpa. :)  Oh, and then there were the "bonks".  My dad would tell Trenton, "Give me bonks."  To which Trenton would promptly give my dad a head butt.  And when my boys were babies, you have never seen such a baby hog in all your life as my dad.  Which is so funny to me because when Trent and I first told our parents we were expecting a baby, my dad was mortified that he was going to be a grandpa.  At the ripe old age of forty, he was convinced he wasn't yet old enough for that.  But the closer I got to the end of my pregnancy the more the idea of being a grandpa grew on him, to the point that he told his boss and coworkers, "If I get the call the my daughter is in labor, I'm out of here, I don't care what is going on."  So much for not wanting to be a grandpa initially.  ;)

I had a dream about my dad not too long after he had died.  In my dream he was blind, but it was his task to lead us to our destination.  We were traveling by foot, through grassy meadows, forests, and uneven, rocky terrain.  And although my dad was blind, he never tripped or stumbled... not once.  I kept saying, "Dad, you're blind.  How are you going to lead us to where we need to go.  You can't even see!"  He repeatedly told me that he didn't need to see, he knew the way, and that everything was going to be fine.  I couldn't stop worrying about the fact that he was our leader and he was blind!  But he was also the only one who knew the way to where we were going, so I finally just had to trust that he could get us there.  That dream actually brought me a lot of peace and comfort.

I know we will get to be with my dad again.  That is the beauty of Heavenly Father's plan.  And I know my dad is still here with us, even if we can't see him and talk to him.  We have our very own guardian angel.  And there have been several times we have needed one.  Like the time Preston was a little younger than two.  He fell down our unfinished basement stairs to land on the concrete floor below, and the only thing he had to show for it was a tiny little bruise, the size of a dime, on the side of his cheek.  Or the time Vivian's porcelain piggy bank fell off the top shelf of her closet and landed right on her head, breaking into tiny porcelain shards all over the place.  The only mark it made was a tiny little cut on the side of her knee.  And there have been many other times that I swear we were protected by the arms of an angel.

I can look at pictures of my dad now.  I actually love to look at them.  Sometimes it brings tears to my eyes, but I'm okay with that.  And every time I think about him, I embrace the thoughts that come.  I don't push them away any more.  I think it means that after all of these years, I'm starting to heal.  :)