Octobers

That October, I laid down a lot. I listened to the same 18-track playlist A. made me, over and over and over and over again. I wrote a lot. I felt free to just sit and be quiet and stare down or out, without producing a lot of speech or thoughts. No one would hassle me or ask what's wrong, because they sure knew. I took refuge in the den-like basement guest bedroom at Aunt D's house. I took comfort in her familiarity with my father, both of us having grown up with him (her a generation ago with him as a child, of course, and I, just then, with Dad as an adult).

What was so obviously wrong? My Dad. He died 5 years ago this coming Wednesday.

That October I was stunned into silence and tears, wrenched by the tragic circumstances of my Dad's sudden death, and the sudden turn for my life circumstances that it would mean. That first October, I thought a lot, since I wasn't reading or talking or doing any of the normal college student things. I left school the day after I found out about his death-- in fact, he must have died on a Wednesday, because it was on the night of IV small group in C's suite in EC, and I called her last minute to tell her I couldn't make it. She asked could they all come to me, and I said no. I only called A. and wanted her to come to me right away. Sometimes only one friend will do to rise to the tall task at hand. I remember C., I., and G. coming to comfort me too. But I am so thankful A. took me to her suite, and got me out of mine, where I got that dreadful news. Where only 5 days before, Dad and I had a long heart-to-heart on the phone about (among other things) why Northwestern wouldn't be so bad for me for grad school (even then I knew I wanted a PhD in Sociology...and in that conversation, Dad pretty much accepted that with grace, and let go of his pre-med plans and hopes for me) -- even though Dad always believed U. Chicago was a better school. I did not talk to him again after that. He didn't pick up any of my calls. He was in the process of a very stressful event and didn't want me to know about it.

I remember Andrew calling me and telling me Dad had died. I was just stupified. I repeated over and over, "How? How do you know?" I remember trying to get online for some stupid reason. Probably to g-chat C. or A. and tell them. I couldn't get the Internet to work so I ran down to the first story of the Wallach Dorm, crazed and blurry eyed with tears, dizzy too, to the computers by the entrance. I guess by then I got my wits about me and called C. and A. I waited for A. to come get me in my room. It was horrible. What followed was a night of crying, awake, as friend after friend came to A.'s dorm room to visit and pray with me.

That October, I laid in the dark a lot. I replayed last moments with Dad, imagined him in his last moments, remembered distant, fond memories of us, wrote him letters, wrote him a eulogy, helped move out of our house (now that was a family endeavor to get that done in three days), was alongside my Aunt D. through the funeral arrangements, and then, after two weeks, decided wholeheartedly that returning to Columbia would be best. So I resumed classes. But I was able to lie low and I didn't care about grades anymore. Nothing but just meeting basic requirements for classes and mourning were my full time occupations. And I started reading the Bible too, an it started to mean a lot more to me.

That first October, a year after he died, I was in the thick of my first year teaching in Jackson. I was stressed, overwhelmed, and still getting nightmares about issuing student detentions, probably. I booked an airline ticket to Denver to visit Dad's gravestone that first anniversary of his death. I went to Arvada with A. We were listening to Spice Girls' "Mama, I love you, mama I care" upon driving into the cemetery. Strange, I know. I told A. to think of "Papa" being in place of "mama" for the song. I may have even voiced over to facilitate that. I can be very weird sometimes.

About the cemetery: I think I've only been back one other time, which was Christmas of either that or the following year. The gravestone looked good. I am glad we got the same inscription on it as Grandpa's has: "In God's Loving Care." Also, I am not sure if I did this, but I think I ate a sausage McMuffin for breakfast that morning to commemorate the ritual Dad and I had started, whenever I came home on breaks from college, we'd go have a McMuffin. Gah-lee, Lord, could dad have been any more perfect and loving? Not to get too Put-him-on-a-Pedestal or Rose-Colored glasses in my recollections, but it's true. There's not much that makes me feel more loved and comfortable and happy to this day than a man making me or taking me to breakfast. And not any man, either-- only one who I know loves me like Dad loved me.

By that first October, differences between me and my brother were mostly resolved. We were pretty close again. Which was a relief. We were at different points in the grieving process, though, I think. He did publish a really moving blog about Dad that year, which made me thankful as ever to have a sibling. I no longer cried daily about Dad, which is a good thing. I think he'd like what I was doing if he were alive to see me -- except the fact that I wasn't in Denver, of course!

That second October, I was a second year teacher. I was really into the sport of tennis by then, and coaching softball part time. I was in the second year of my Master's program at OM, and was kind of getting into it. I really felt at ease at work by now, because the spring semester of my first year teaching had gone well. Social stressors that I'd had, God had helped me work through by that October. I would say I was pretty darn free and growing like a weed, not physically, but spiritually. Maybe that is a really horrible metaphor to depict positive spiritual growth, haha. But really, I think that was kind of a hey-day for me: suffering and trials were lower, and I was enjoying the fruits of life! God was easing up on me and I enjoyed it. And I knew by then without question how good He is, and that He really did love me. I knew that with the help of a few very crucial Christian girlfriends. I had started going to C's bible study, and that group became my primary group, after my other close friends, S, J, and E, all moved out of Jackson. I'm in touch with them to this day--wow, God, you are SO GOOD! I didn't go to CO to visit, but I think I did the McMuffin ritual.

That third October, I was a third-year teacher (by now that was not a stressor for me hardly at all- amazing!) and had started dating T. We were exclusive by then. I told him the significance of the day and we "observed" it, kind of. He asked questions about Dad and we talked about memories and the day of him dying and how my life had changed since that day.  I felt like Dad was with me, smiling on my life (well, most of it, haha...I'm sure he'd be worried about the dating development. But I'd probably keep sharing details with him to a minimum at this point in the game). That October, 2010, I felt at ease. I felt God taking supremely good care of me. I felt the love of a man again, solid, sturdy love, a love that combined friendship, a desire to know me and all my history and details deeply, and spiritual compatibility. Then and now, I still regard this relationship as a gift of epic proportions.

That fourth October, I was a first-year PhD student in a new city. I was eager to see T. on fall break. But the day marking Dad's death itself I hardly remember. I do remember feeling as I looked at the two pictures of Dad and me near by bed, that Dad would be pleased with where I am in life. And that keeps me going.

This fifth October, I plan to remember him again. Don't know if I'll have enough time to get a McMuffin, but perhaps I should make a point of it. I scanned in a stellar photo of him and me after a varsity softball game at DCHS in 2005 when I was a senior. The fact that God gave me Dad is confirmation that God has already done enough in my life to fuel me until I die. My dad gave me everything: a love for reading, a love for education, knowledge of how to write and how to interact with superiors and peers alike, the ability to cope with stress, the ability to celebrate on Fridays and relax as a way to push hard when times are more demanding. He took care of me when I was sick, encouraged me when I doubted, wanted to hear my voice and help at any opportunity, and he disciplined me in the way I should go. Thank you, Dad.