My dad's scarlet letter

There is nothing quite like the glint of fake jewelry soaring through the hot Nevada air toward their demise to cement a memory.

My dad was a baseball player. Actually, he was a man-of-all-sports, but baseball was his true love, the one that could have taken him to college and beyond, had the motivation been his and not just the talent. Raising four fairly girly daughters kept him from tossing the ball around in the back yard. Since girls didn't fit the definition of "ball-tosser-arounders," it's likely it simply never occured to him to attempt it. When grandsons finally showed up after six granddaughters, it didn't make a difference. He was out of practice, but some talents never leave us.

I wonder if he realized the irony that two of his best pitches, the ones that clearly demonstrated that even rusty, the man had an arm that was meant to throw, were fueled by defeat. Part of the events that had brought us to that moment are second hand; I had spent the night with my best friend at her mom's house in West Las Vegas, while my parents trolled the Strip. Sometime before I returned, but after their morning breakfast buffet of thinly sliced prime rib and sugary pastries, a desperate man approached them, jewelry in his hand, deceit in his heart. He was losing badly at the tables, and needed to shed some valuables to get back in the game. The  flash of gold, the promise of value beyond the price contained in the watch and the necklace, sunk deep into my dad's heart. And possibly my mom's too, as, in her own words, "I pulled out my hundred, too." I imagine the deal was over almost as fast as it began.

It was after that moment that time began to stand still. By the time I had rejoined them, doubt and regret had started to eat at my dad's heart. Both were emotions he knew well; doubt was always right behind all of his schemes to get something more from something less. The wooden duck decoy business. The reverse osmosis laundry ball. The myriad of real estate deals that never panned out. Oh, how he wanted to be a success. To finally edge away from his regret over his blue-collar lay off and his inability to provide for his family in the aftermath. What he didn't realize was that being laid off is generally more forgivable than spending your entire life afterward in a funk of desperate regret. 

They had already started to bicker as I climbed into the car at our rendezvous point. Dad was trying to convince himself and his wife that the item's imperfections implied that they had value. Mom was blaming him for his impetuousness. Both were dreading the inevitable. I don't remember much as we drove to the hotel where my uncle was a security guard to find a jeweler. I know there was a long walk through the casino, trays of necklaces with tiny tags, and expectations that were predictably dashed. The finality of the jeweler's eyepiece as it dropped back to his chest, swung a few times, then lay still.

It is impossible for me to leave Las Vegas without remembering. The air in the car was thick with blame and regret and guilt and shame. Words didn't help, nor were they easy to find. To keep talking about the event made it worse. Small talk was crowded out by past and present and future.

Just after you climb out of the valley of sin, the desert stretches north. Somewhere in the midst of all that nothingness, we suddenly stopped. I watched my dad climb from the car. The necklace and watch were ceremonially cast away, as far as my dad's once-golden arm could get them as his wife and daughter looked on. He hoped that by casting them away and then making a pact to never talk about the event again, it would be erased. The fingerprints would bake away in the sun. The rust that had already started to eat away at the necklace would be helped by the wind and rain. The watch would run out of time.

But the ache of that morning lives on. The attempt to erase acted like cement. Knowing my dad was trusting and too-hopeful and eager to get something for nothing became a rust that degraded my faith in him. Oh how I wish it hadn't. The glint of defeat that is my last visual memory of the jewelry was never erased by any subsequent success my dad could show me. He couldn't process it for himself, so I neither could I. I could neither side with him or against him, because to do either was to go against one of my parents, and that didn't feel right, even though it was the general way that things were played in our family.


How I wish I could tell him that I forgive him for being hopeful and eager. Assure him that those aren't bad qualities. Joke about the glints of flying gold to take away their power. What I understand now is that it was never about the loss of a few hundred dollars. Those few hours and cheap items became a glowing symbol of all the ways he failed those around him, instead of a moment of poor judgement.

He wore that necklace and watch, and all that they implied, on his heart until the day he died. Only three of us could actually see them, but I regret to say that almost everyone could feel them.

Gratitude 4: My earthly father who now lives in heaven

Today, I am grateful that my dad is dead.

My dad's reality for the last 6 years of his life wasn't fun. The few months before Ben was born showed me a dad I didn't know. He was vague. He had a lost, lonely, despairing look in his eyes. I worried about him driving by himself. I worried about the tone that was in his voice: one of hesitation, confusion, a grasping for conversation that was new for a man who usually had more than enough to say. He lost interest and enjoyment with his coffee shop friends - people whom he had spent hours with everyday for years and years. It was awful. I remember that his diagnosis - which came when Ben was 10 months - was awful, but it at least explained why my dad had lost himself in so many strange ways in a year.

We crossed so many milestones. There were the good times after his diagnosis when he knew what was happening but was still with us. I spent Thursday afternoons with him for a few months during this stage. We would go get a coke and drive around my old hometown. We might see a friend or family member and chat with them. He knew who I was, he knew who my kids were, and he showed his love in so many ways - he held the door open for me when we walked in the gas station; he hugged my kids and patted their backs with his large, familiar hands; he said thank you for the tomato-macaroni soup I made him. But he wasn't himself; he didn't see our emotions anymore; I hit myself in the head with the pantry door one day when I was just on my way to go home; I left in tears of sadness and pain, but he couldn't see those emotions. He didn't register Amy's tears one day when we all met with his therapist, seeming shocked when it was pointed out to him that she was crying. He didn't know that my mom's heart was breaking when he left to go live in the rest home and she rested her head on his shoulder and cried. So many tears shed with him unable to understand any of them.

The last few years I both dreaded and loved spending time with him. I put on a cheery face and a happy voice. I told him stuff that we did. I showed him pictures and took his picture and pretended he understood what I was doing and knew who I was. I repeated myself incessantly if I said a phrase that he responded to, even a little, just to see if he would respond again. I tried to do the talking for two, but I knew deep down that there was really only one: me.

But now: I know he knows who I am and hears my words. And that has been the case since August 5, 2011.

He comes me on my runs, putting grasshoppers on the trail to remind me that he is there (I don't know why he chose grasshoppers, but that was his mode of communication a few weeks ago as I ran on the Jordan Parkway.) He comes to my kids birthday parties, an uninvited but welcome guest. He reminds me to watch over my mom and love my sisters. He comes back to me all the time in music and pictures and memories and silly phrases. He has so many hopes for our family's future and he's praying on the other side that those things will come to pass in their time. He sends off his great-grandchildren to this world with a hug and many pats on the back and a silly joke that might border on inappropriate. They leave heaven knowing him. Luckies.

I feel him now more than I ever could when he was trapped inside his mind for so many years, and I am thoroughly, 100% grateful he is able to do that. He missed so much.  He was so limited on earth for so long. I know there was some sort of recompense, some sort of solace for his soul, though I don't know what it was. But now he is free and doesn't have to be bound by the constraints of this world. By dying, he became the father he couldn't be on earth.

Place Marker...

Although this is far from the post I want to write, I want to mark this occasion, this day.  My dad died this morning and I was so blessed to be there with him along with my mom and sisters.

I love you Dad. 'Til we meet....

June/July in review

I'm not loving my old 10 list format, so I'm trying something new. Hopefully it works out.

Things I want to remember:

1. Doing Ragnar with Shane and Amy and all my friends.  It was better than Christmas.
2. The barbecue we had at my sister's house for my mom's birthday.  My kids played in the pool for 5 hours straight and loved every minute.  My youngest great nephew and two great nieces were there and so it was a little like baby heaven (they were 3, 2, and 1 month, respectively. So cute!)
3. We celebrated my dad's 69th birthday.  Amy fed him cake, my mom gave him a diet coke, and I took pictures while our kids chased rabbits around the courtyard of the resthome.
4. Talked about blackmail photos with my niece Haley.  She apparently has some good ones on me, so I should be nice about her.
5. Turned 36.  Sigh.
6. Gave a talk in church. It was the first time since I've been an adult that I've spoken in sacrament.  I based my talk on Elder Bednar's talk on revelation.  I love the way  his mind works - he explains gospel concepts very logically and I'm all about logical gospel concepts!  I'm now set for another 15 years on giving talks I hope!
7. Found out my bestest friend Rebecca is going to have a baby. I am so excited for her and her husband Steve!
8. Sunday bike rides at the Jordan River trail with the kids.
9. Going to Snowbird to ride the tram look at wild flowers.  The weather closed the tram so we kind of had to kick it and find someway to entertain ourselves.
10. Thomas and Ben finished fourth grade and kindergarten in June, and then started fifth and first grades at the end of July.  I have two kids in all day school - I've reached Nirvana.  I'll let you know when I get more than one day in a row of being home to enjoy it. 
11. A night out with my sister at my work's retreat.  We giggled the whole way through Sundance's Sound of Music.  Someone around us in the audience even farted. It was awesome.
 

Books that took up my time:

1. Cold Sassy Tree.  It took 3 attempts, but in the end I loved it.
2. The Graveyard Book.  I had it on my list for a long time, and finally read it thanks to my lovely book exchange.
3. Til we have Faces. My first non-Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe CS Lewis book.
4. Matched.  This is a trilogy, so if you hate waiting for books for years on end, don't read it.  But it's really good and written by a lady in Salt Lake who has reached the shangri-la of coming from this culture and writing a book that doesn't end with someone dying or getting baptized (or both.) 
5. Spoiled (I heard about this on NPR and it was awesome. It kind of brought me out of my nearly 18 month long book slump.)
6. Currently, I am reading Ann Patchett's State of Wonder.  It is so good!

Things I worried about:

1. My dad.  He is declining, and will probably not last much longer.  I will miss him but will be so glad that he is no longer trapped inside his body.  He is actually home now and we are helping to take care of him.
2. The debt ceiling debacle.  I think it's ridiculous that the greatest country in the world allowed itself to get that close to the edge.  Everyone in Congress should get fired. That would teach them for worrying about reelection when the reputation of the USA is on the line.  I blame NPR for being so awesome that I even know anything about the debt ceiling crisis. I think I liked things much better when I was ill-informed and oblivious to the things going on in the world.
3. Finding runners for next year's Ragnar.  I know, it's a year away. But team Still Chafing Tail is registered and ready to go but still needs some runners.  If you don't sign up right away, you just don't get in.  Now we are in.  I have some people I keep telling that they are running. I think they think I'm teasing, but I'm not.  They'll come to see things my way soon enough (insert evil laugh.)

Stuff I purchased:

1. Headbands from Sporty Girl.  I love them!  I would wear one every day if I could.  I got 3 and wear them whenever I run or go out in the sun. 
2. Some new shoes to replace my broken wooden ones.  I aparently found the only pair of shoes at the Nordstrom sale that weren't one sale.  But they are cute and I'll wear them forever, so it's okay, right?  Right?
3. A couch.  Or rather a set of couches.  I can't wait for them to come in!  I will not miss my hodgepodge 10 year old furniture.  I won't.
4. Admission for the Halloween Half Marathon for me and Shane.  It's all fun and games and costumes until you actually have to run down the canyon 13.1 miles.

Things making us happy (I'm kind of blatantly copying NPR's Pop Culture Happy Hour here, but oh well!):

1. Handstands.  My kids are obsessed with them.  I should do a post just on handstands because my kids are constantly upending themselves all over my family room.  It's awesome.  They are getting so good!
2. My new camera.  It does HD video!  It can zoom!  It doesn't take crappy pictures!  I love it.
3. Social Media is making Shane happy.  He's helping some people market their ideas and he's loving it.  They had a lunch meeting to work out all the details.  He is so excited to be helping them. 
4. Being home with my kids after school every. single. day. of the week.  This is a new experience for all of us, and has brought much peace to our evenings.  It's ironic that my kids get into all day school and I start working less hours, isn't it?  but I love it!
5. Self-portraits.  It's the only way I get in pictures with my own camera, so I take them. I'm kind of perfecting the art of the self portrait.  Enjoy the fruits of my labors:

What made you happy in June/July 2011?  Will you remember these months for anything in particular?

Alzheimer's Christmas, Part 2.

I went and visited my dad after Christmas tonight.

It was almost an afterthought; we had already passed both of the traditional freeway exits that take you to his residence.  But Shane was willing to drive through the sleepy Utah County streets, all the stores dark and peaceful and gearing up for tomorrow's returning frenzy.

For some reason, the moment I decided to visit my dad, I started to cry.  And I didn't stop.  I went in alone to visit him.  I found him lying in his bed, still a little awake.  I had walked through the locked corridors of his rest home trying to hold it together, but I lost it all over again when I saw him.  I knelt by his bed and sobbed. I don't know why; it was just too sad for me tonight that he is frozen inside his body.  His mouth opens only to eat, like a baby bird.  He does not smile or frown or laugh or cry.  He blinks and nods his head and shakes his head.  What this means only the Lord knows.  His hands are bony from clenching them all the time.

I told him how much I missed him.  I held his hand and got it all teary and snotty. I laid my head on his shoulder and wished for him to comfort me.  I held his head, like I do my sons when they are sick or sleepy on their pillows.  I told him as many things as I could.  But he never said anything back.

Maybe it's an every other year thing.  Maybe I just was extra emotional today. I'm not usually a crier, so I don't know where it all came from.

It was awful to leave him, alone and small in his lowered-to-the-floor hospital bed. What if he knew I was there and wanted me to stay, holding his hand and stroking his hair?  What if later, after I left, he said the words that I wanted to hear (not that I could tell you what those words were.)  I just wanted to hear his voice.  Let him comfort me in a fatherly sort of way.

I can't put any spin on this to help it end on a happy note. It is bitter to me. Alzheimer still sucks.