Hey Dad,
I'm avoiding a work email I need to send out, but thought I'd stop by quickly to tell you that I had fun, fond memories of you all week long. Jonathan was in town to help Tim build this cool new wall that will define the modern, minimalist-style space of our new Arcadia Courtyard. I wanted to be out and about in all the hubbub but not enmeshed in their process. So I stained the pillars of last year's project, the deck off the west side of the office (dubbed affectionately and ironically by Ulisses as "The Lobby" when it was nothing but a pile of mud and rotting plywood planks).
The smell of the stain took me back to my early childhood.
To images of you handcrafting wooden boxes whose open-air windows showcased 3x5 index cards containing Bible verses you were committing to memory.
Thank you for sharing your handiwork with a curious girl too young to do anything but get in the way.
I never felt discarded by you. I wonder how much patience that required. I'll never know -- because you never let on that I was anything but a delight to have around.
Thanks for embedding your kind and practical father-goodness deep within me. So deep you've even captured the ancient smell centers of my brain.
xoxo
k.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Thursday, March 7, 2013
today I meet the smartest man in the world
Dad,
It was an unbelievable day, sitting down with a world renowned neuropathologist to discuss the results of your autopsy.
which were, in the end
inconclusive.
Your brain. The part of you that held your soul and released it to us one word, one action at a time. Distilled to its smallest possible form. Studied at 40,000 levels of magnification. And even then, the cause of your crushing life closure is ultimately unknown.
September 12, 2010. The scientist sits at his desk. Another day, another slide. Slips it into his microscope. As your cells come into focus, things begin to get interesting. An infection, yes. How cool! Incredibly rare. But the specific pattern your cells display? He's never seen it before. And yet, there it is, present in multiple eloquent places in your brain. Even though they take up a tiny fraction of the total mass of your brain, their look is so distinctive, he knows as soon as he sees them he's stumbled onto something that demands an explanation. Since there's no one to call and consult with (pathologists don't specialize in infections because they'd have nothing to do), he turns to his computer to tackle the literature reviews. What he finds is sitting next to impossible. And just like that, you become a file he'll never forget.
Well, Dad, perhaps eventually I'll spell out every last detail in the event they don't keep medical records where you are. But tonight I'll keep it brief. He only found ONE OTHER CASE that totally matches yours! Imagine that! Only two of you, in all the known world. But if that isn't wild enough, the next fact is truly beyond belief. The other guy's cellular changes were caused by a viral infection....so the logical conclusion is that yours would have been caused by a virus, too. But your brain tissue contained. no. viral. organisms.
Cause of death? A viral infection of the brain.
Inconclusive because....?!?............. no virus was present in your brain.
Well dad, what can I say? Your status as the Ultimate Medical Mystery lives on. No one could figure you out as your life was leaving us in all those dramatic fits and starts. And now that all your secrets have been laid bare, we are, acutely, none the wiser. You were unknowable in life, and now you are enduringly unknowable in death.
It almost feels magical, this space you take up in our world.
I wish you were here with me tonight....we'd both be enjoying the fitting irony of it all.
xoxox
k.
p.s. You will never leave the inbox of the smartest man in the world. How do I know? Because he said so himself as he put down his rubber band and paper clips, shook our hands, and walked us out the door. Well done, dad! Your science-nerd daughters are very, very proud.
It was an unbelievable day, sitting down with a world renowned neuropathologist to discuss the results of your autopsy.
which were, in the end
inconclusive.
Your brain. The part of you that held your soul and released it to us one word, one action at a time. Distilled to its smallest possible form. Studied at 40,000 levels of magnification. And even then, the cause of your crushing life closure is ultimately unknown.
September 12, 2010. The scientist sits at his desk. Another day, another slide. Slips it into his microscope. As your cells come into focus, things begin to get interesting. An infection, yes. How cool! Incredibly rare. But the specific pattern your cells display? He's never seen it before. And yet, there it is, present in multiple eloquent places in your brain. Even though they take up a tiny fraction of the total mass of your brain, their look is so distinctive, he knows as soon as he sees them he's stumbled onto something that demands an explanation. Since there's no one to call and consult with (pathologists don't specialize in infections because they'd have nothing to do), he turns to his computer to tackle the literature reviews. What he finds is sitting next to impossible. And just like that, you become a file he'll never forget.
Well, Dad, perhaps eventually I'll spell out every last detail in the event they don't keep medical records where you are. But tonight I'll keep it brief. He only found ONE OTHER CASE that totally matches yours! Imagine that! Only two of you, in all the known world. But if that isn't wild enough, the next fact is truly beyond belief. The other guy's cellular changes were caused by a viral infection....so the logical conclusion is that yours would have been caused by a virus, too. But your brain tissue contained. no. viral. organisms.
Cause of death? A viral infection of the brain.
Inconclusive because....?!?............. no virus was present in your brain.
Well dad, what can I say? Your status as the Ultimate Medical Mystery lives on. No one could figure you out as your life was leaving us in all those dramatic fits and starts. And now that all your secrets have been laid bare, we are, acutely, none the wiser. You were unknowable in life, and now you are enduringly unknowable in death.
It almost feels magical, this space you take up in our world.
I wish you were here with me tonight....we'd both be enjoying the fitting irony of it all.
xoxox
k.
p.s. You will never leave the inbox of the smartest man in the world. How do I know? Because he said so himself as he put down his rubber band and paper clips, shook our hands, and walked us out the door. Well done, dad! Your science-nerd daughters are very, very proud.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
2 Years, Tomorrow
Hi Dad,
Tomorrow, or actually it's already tomorrow, ends the second year that we have been here and you have been there. I'm still not all that invested in afterlife daydreams -- just what exactly IS dad doing with all his free time?! -- preferring instead to focus on ways in which my life is muted without you here with me.
Example one. We're driving with J & B to Colorado -- Durango of all places -- and I had no idea the depth of my exclusive childhood connection: Colorado = Dad. It doesn't hit me until several days into our trip and we're making the trek over the mountains from Durango to Telluride. I see the grandeur of the terrain...the heights, the sheer dropoffs, the carpet of evergreen trees...and I see you, in memory form, as a type of overlay that brings a haze of present tense into each scene. Had I chosen to write them down, stories of "You in Colorado" would have filled all the empty spaces of our car. It was physically painful, in an odd sort of way.
Example two. We have a puppy. You'd laugh with Tim and me, watching her antics. Clearly, at 3 and 1/2 pounds, she's no German Shepherd. Not a real dog. More like part rodent, part feline, part bat, and last and least, part dog. Despite the combo, I know you'd approve and though she's just a pet and not a child, there's a tiny part of me that thinks the experience of bringing her into the human world would be fuller, if you could share it with me.
Well, I think I'd like to copy down a story that I would have read to you, perhaps at your birthday gathering later this month, that would have made you smile:
Tomorrow, or actually it's already tomorrow, ends the second year that we have been here and you have been there. I'm still not all that invested in afterlife daydreams -- just what exactly IS dad doing with all his free time?! -- preferring instead to focus on ways in which my life is muted without you here with me.
Example one. We're driving with J & B to Colorado -- Durango of all places -- and I had no idea the depth of my exclusive childhood connection: Colorado = Dad. It doesn't hit me until several days into our trip and we're making the trek over the mountains from Durango to Telluride. I see the grandeur of the terrain...the heights, the sheer dropoffs, the carpet of evergreen trees...and I see you, in memory form, as a type of overlay that brings a haze of present tense into each scene. Had I chosen to write them down, stories of "You in Colorado" would have filled all the empty spaces of our car. It was physically painful, in an odd sort of way.
Example two. We have a puppy. You'd laugh with Tim and me, watching her antics. Clearly, at 3 and 1/2 pounds, she's no German Shepherd. Not a real dog. More like part rodent, part feline, part bat, and last and least, part dog. Despite the combo, I know you'd approve and though she's just a pet and not a child, there's a tiny part of me that thinks the experience of bringing her into the human world would be fuller, if you could share it with me.
Well, I think I'd like to copy down a story that I would have read to you, perhaps at your birthday gathering later this month, that would have made you smile:
Monday, July 2, 2012
it's just a regular day
Hi Dad,
It's just a regular day today. My heart isn't hurting especially much for you right now, which is perhaps why it's possible for me to set aside a few moments and connect with you. Life is so normal now, compared to how it was when you were sick, or right after you died. So when waves of missing you come over me, i feel somewhat surprised and it feels foreign to "lean into it" like I had no choice but to do during all those months of intense grieving. I think of this space, and how I'd like to meet you here, but then I decide just to wait passively until the wave passes.
It's interesting, how your other children are faring. I wish we could each of us experience more closeness together through our grieving, but the path is so personal, and each of us is so different from the other! And each of us experienced your illness and death so differently. Perhaps in the years to come we will feel more common ground in our sense of missing you.
This week coming up is the 4th of July. I think perhaps it will be the first time every single one of us has been together since your memorial service in Phoenix.
The room will feel empty without you.
xoxo
It's just a regular day today. My heart isn't hurting especially much for you right now, which is perhaps why it's possible for me to set aside a few moments and connect with you. Life is so normal now, compared to how it was when you were sick, or right after you died. So when waves of missing you come over me, i feel somewhat surprised and it feels foreign to "lean into it" like I had no choice but to do during all those months of intense grieving. I think of this space, and how I'd like to meet you here, but then I decide just to wait passively until the wave passes.
It's interesting, how your other children are faring. I wish we could each of us experience more closeness together through our grieving, but the path is so personal, and each of us is so different from the other! And each of us experienced your illness and death so differently. Perhaps in the years to come we will feel more common ground in our sense of missing you.
This week coming up is the 4th of July. I think perhaps it will be the first time every single one of us has been together since your memorial service in Phoenix.
The room will feel empty without you.
xoxo
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
november 1
hi dad.
you'd love to hear that i'm doing something completely new.
COMPLETELY.
i'm writing a novel. 50,000 words in 30 days. or at least that's the idea.
i know it's just a little thing. but because of the fluid life that tim has taught me to live, such a black-and-white goal feels completely foreign to me.
if you were here, you'd give me courage. tell me that a goal is a good thing. but that it has no bearing on my worth. go for it, just don't freak out about it.
ok well that last sentence is your ideas, my words.
i wish i could read each chapter to you as they roll off the presses. because you'd listen carefully, innocently, always with a smile. no fear.
i hope my sense of you doesn't fade with time.
hugs to you,
k.
you'd love to hear that i'm doing something completely new.
COMPLETELY.
i'm writing a novel. 50,000 words in 30 days. or at least that's the idea.
i know it's just a little thing. but because of the fluid life that tim has taught me to live, such a black-and-white goal feels completely foreign to me.
if you were here, you'd give me courage. tell me that a goal is a good thing. but that it has no bearing on my worth. go for it, just don't freak out about it.
ok well that last sentence is your ideas, my words.
i wish i could read each chapter to you as they roll off the presses. because you'd listen carefully, innocently, always with a smile. no fear.
i hope my sense of you doesn't fade with time.
hugs to you,
k.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
aging
hi dad.
today tim is 48. It's hard to believe that he's almost 50. 50 seems so old when life is still so slippery, so hard to digest. like grandpa told me a year before he died, you never stop needing to grow.
texas continues. when (and how) will the adventure end? sometimes i'd just like to hit the pause button, other times i want to rip the dvd out of the player and chuck it out the window to be crushed when the trash truck comes.
i still can't bear to contact mrs. cherry. seems i can't fathom it unless tim can come too.
i continue to be amazed at my limitations for living extended times without tim in the room. 8 days has come to be my natural, near comfortable limit. what sucks is that he can go for weeks in a well-adapted solo rhythm, buying groceries for himself, fixing chicken dinners, running, working 10 straight hours a day, taking out the trash, not locking himself out of the house. his main glitch seems to be washing the striped, fitted sheet to the king sized bed. not bad, all things considered.
i like not thinking about you every day. the dying you, that is to say. i like not feeling the constant weighty presence of fresh grief. but forming instead is a vague new longing.....a sense of all that could have been had you been a 60-something HEALTHY dad. along with the sadness is a frustration, for despite my obsession with fiction, i have a terrible imagination. i wonder if i should nurture the ability to create mental scenes of what will never be, or just leave well enough alone.
i can't wait for the day when photos of the sick you seem completely foreign to me. and photos of the healthy you take me back to the simple joys of growing up with you as my dad. it was a privilege to live so close to such a hopeful, optimistic, honorable man. i do so wish you could still be here. i'd build a new, spacious room for you in my heart. Create a sensibly luxurious spot for you in our tiny studio space -- the moment you would ask. i'd happily share my life, my space, my time, my skills. sick or strong, i promise i'd try REALLY hard not to hold back. just come back home to me.
if heaven can wait for all of us here, it could wait again for you. i wouldn't keep you here forever. just a year or two, or more. we have a lot of birthdays yet to endure, and i'd really rather not do them without you.
today tim is 48. It's hard to believe that he's almost 50. 50 seems so old when life is still so slippery, so hard to digest. like grandpa told me a year before he died, you never stop needing to grow.
texas continues. when (and how) will the adventure end? sometimes i'd just like to hit the pause button, other times i want to rip the dvd out of the player and chuck it out the window to be crushed when the trash truck comes.
i still can't bear to contact mrs. cherry. seems i can't fathom it unless tim can come too.
i continue to be amazed at my limitations for living extended times without tim in the room. 8 days has come to be my natural, near comfortable limit. what sucks is that he can go for weeks in a well-adapted solo rhythm, buying groceries for himself, fixing chicken dinners, running, working 10 straight hours a day, taking out the trash, not locking himself out of the house. his main glitch seems to be washing the striped, fitted sheet to the king sized bed. not bad, all things considered.
i like not thinking about you every day. the dying you, that is to say. i like not feeling the constant weighty presence of fresh grief. but forming instead is a vague new longing.....a sense of all that could have been had you been a 60-something HEALTHY dad. along with the sadness is a frustration, for despite my obsession with fiction, i have a terrible imagination. i wonder if i should nurture the ability to create mental scenes of what will never be, or just leave well enough alone.
i can't wait for the day when photos of the sick you seem completely foreign to me. and photos of the healthy you take me back to the simple joys of growing up with you as my dad. it was a privilege to live so close to such a hopeful, optimistic, honorable man. i do so wish you could still be here. i'd build a new, spacious room for you in my heart. Create a sensibly luxurious spot for you in our tiny studio space -- the moment you would ask. i'd happily share my life, my space, my time, my skills. sick or strong, i promise i'd try REALLY hard not to hold back. just come back home to me.
if heaven can wait for all of us here, it could wait again for you. i wouldn't keep you here forever. just a year or two, or more. we have a lot of birthdays yet to endure, and i'd really rather not do them without you.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
a couple little things
i never thought i'd be the type of person who would need to keep in some sort of odd touch with the dead. but, i guess i never really thought about what it would be like to live without a dad. we didn't rely on giving each other updates when our lives were criss crossing here. but somehow i must have known that dad always bent his ear, never rushed me through my vocalizations. especially as a little girl. i remember the bike rides, how i would petal and he would run beside my purple banana seat bike. it worked well for both of us, i guess: because i had to go kinda slow (my front wheel would wobble sometimes), i had plenty of air in my chest cavity to do all of the talking, and since you had to go kinda fast to stay in step, you had only enough air to say "uh, huh" ....which was all the encouragement i needed to continue on. occasionally i'd wonder at your interest, because you weren't saying much, but then you'd look my way, and smile, and i knew you were all mine.
so, here are my updates:
* my kindergarten teacher contacted me. One of the most influential women in my whole childhood, one who nurtured me solidly onto a trail of continuous-feed learning. my heart is so full of, i don't know, just so full, that i begin to choke up with tears just thinking that she can still be in my life after an entire childhood has come and gone, and all of my early adulthood years as well. i know without a doubt that she was the firstI knew that heros could exist beyond moms and dads. I was taken, to my core, with admiration and the strongest urge to make her proud. well she contacted me via email, can you believe it, and she lives in Tucson. i just cannot wait til i can pull myself together and go give her a hug from the deepest place of childhood love. and sure enough, she's proud of me, and you, and all we did together as you died.
* tim has taken a job that has given us an unbelievably exciting new-life adventure. we get to live in texas too! it's very cool. i think you would love to do a tour of the manufacturing "plant" -- huge office, really, where they build their boxes, the ones that sniff the air for toxins. I think you'd be fascinated, and would ask tim such best questions that he would actually begin to feel that it was him that was so fascinating. I loved how you could do that. tune in so well that people felt better about themselves by just having a simple conversation wtih you.
* on Saturday a guy broke into our back office and started stealing our Arcadia computers. then for some reason he started coming into the house via the pantry door at the same time that i was walking toward the pantry. I wasn't sure what I was seeing until I was looking at him through the glass door that I apparetnly had just slammed in his little dark hoodied face. i won't bore you with the details. but i guess the take home message is that i finally get why you men think doors should be locked. here all this time i thought you were being hypervigilant, because maybe you all were forced to give up playing cowboys and indians a couple years too soon. Tim rushed to the airport to catch a flight home to commence the Security Summit (I really do love how men think)...but was waylaid by some trouble of his own. i'll wait to let him fill you in on that bit. but overall, the experience has left me properly chastised for my resistance to door locking, and a firm believer in non-monitored alarm systems. i'm afraid you and your sons and your son in law have so carefully influenced me to embrace the DIY movement. you could NEVER get me to pay someone money just to be sure i properly maintain my alarm, i'd be working from them every day, having to drop all my bags and race to the alarm so as not to disturb the poor alarm workers. give me my pellet gun, and let's go glue glass shards along the back yard. i'm not sure that if you were here i'd be all that interested in your opinion -- you probably wouldn't be so keen on the "rogue" approach. But maybe if i got on my bike and you got on your running shoes, i'd at least fully understand how i feel about it by the time we've gone our 5 miles, and you'd be smiling, to watch your daughter come to a place of confidence just through her own time to talk out loud in the ears of a dad who never belittled or judged.
* Roxy died on the 5th month of your death. Two weeks before, I had started calling her my hospice dog as i knew the only way i was going to take her in to the vet was is she was clearly suffering. not suffering, her, but me suffering, yes. everytime i reached down to scratch her little chin to see if she was alive, i felt what it was like to be reaching for you, to see if you were still with me. I so wanted more of you -- and so little of her. Everything else about her dying was like re-living yours. Small scale, of course. I had to keep it in a box because I was just getting to a place where thoughts of your dying process, and our current loss, were not at the foundation of every day. Its been nice to be able to breathe a little, to tackle my job and this new two-life-project with some recent energy. I couldn't let a little weinerdog take me back under. But whew! Thanks to our true blue friend ulisses, Roxy was in good hands. just today we learned that ulisses' other half, Nicole, was there for the service and some gentle words were given on her behalf. And she is place north to sough, face and paws toward the west, to keep her eyes on the house. God rest litlle dauschund soul.
*Arcadia business continues to improve. If you were here, you'd be so good to ask about our growth, and we'd talk about numbers, and I'd probably get into the excitement of finally having a solid block of girls who want what we can give -- lots of classes and companionship, and help to structure their work so they don't get out of balance or overwhelmed. I truly love this work. and as I say this you would say something about how you think I'm good at it, then I would ask why, then you'd pause to think, then, well, hmmm, we'd find some angle, some spin on your thoughts that would leave me feeling that i was probably a great pic to try just about anything, after i spent time with you when we would speak about work, I always had this sense that you truly, deeply believed in my competence to tackle anything. That often meant the conversation had kinda come to a natural conclusion, and so tim would come in and disiss me. and then you'd be off in la-la-happy plane land. Two good ment. Giving eveything their skilss would allow to nurture the girls they loved.
- Spanish class continues. Love it. will be over May 10 so I will be so ready to get to extend our texas visits to about 10 days.
*that's about it for now. friend is staying with us, til her house sells. learning is a good thing.
so i have typed past my sleep medications picking in ....can't wasit to see what awaits me in the mornign.
so, here are my updates:
* my kindergarten teacher contacted me. One of the most influential women in my whole childhood, one who nurtured me solidly onto a trail of continuous-feed learning. my heart is so full of, i don't know, just so full, that i begin to choke up with tears just thinking that she can still be in my life after an entire childhood has come and gone, and all of my early adulthood years as well. i know without a doubt that she was the firstI knew that heros could exist beyond moms and dads. I was taken, to my core, with admiration and the strongest urge to make her proud. well she contacted me via email, can you believe it, and she lives in Tucson. i just cannot wait til i can pull myself together and go give her a hug from the deepest place of childhood love. and sure enough, she's proud of me, and you, and all we did together as you died.
* tim has taken a job that has given us an unbelievably exciting new-life adventure. we get to live in texas too! it's very cool. i think you would love to do a tour of the manufacturing "plant" -- huge office, really, where they build their boxes, the ones that sniff the air for toxins. I think you'd be fascinated, and would ask tim such best questions that he would actually begin to feel that it was him that was so fascinating. I loved how you could do that. tune in so well that people felt better about themselves by just having a simple conversation wtih you.
* on Saturday a guy broke into our back office and started stealing our Arcadia computers. then for some reason he started coming into the house via the pantry door at the same time that i was walking toward the pantry. I wasn't sure what I was seeing until I was looking at him through the glass door that I apparetnly had just slammed in his little dark hoodied face. i won't bore you with the details. but i guess the take home message is that i finally get why you men think doors should be locked. here all this time i thought you were being hypervigilant, because maybe you all were forced to give up playing cowboys and indians a couple years too soon. Tim rushed to the airport to catch a flight home to commence the Security Summit (I really do love how men think)...but was waylaid by some trouble of his own. i'll wait to let him fill you in on that bit. but overall, the experience has left me properly chastised for my resistance to door locking, and a firm believer in non-monitored alarm systems. i'm afraid you and your sons and your son in law have so carefully influenced me to embrace the DIY movement. you could NEVER get me to pay someone money just to be sure i properly maintain my alarm, i'd be working from them every day, having to drop all my bags and race to the alarm so as not to disturb the poor alarm workers. give me my pellet gun, and let's go glue glass shards along the back yard. i'm not sure that if you were here i'd be all that interested in your opinion -- you probably wouldn't be so keen on the "rogue" approach. But maybe if i got on my bike and you got on your running shoes, i'd at least fully understand how i feel about it by the time we've gone our 5 miles, and you'd be smiling, to watch your daughter come to a place of confidence just through her own time to talk out loud in the ears of a dad who never belittled or judged.
* Roxy died on the 5th month of your death. Two weeks before, I had started calling her my hospice dog as i knew the only way i was going to take her in to the vet was is she was clearly suffering. not suffering, her, but me suffering, yes. everytime i reached down to scratch her little chin to see if she was alive, i felt what it was like to be reaching for you, to see if you were still with me. I so wanted more of you -- and so little of her. Everything else about her dying was like re-living yours. Small scale, of course. I had to keep it in a box because I was just getting to a place where thoughts of your dying process, and our current loss, were not at the foundation of every day. Its been nice to be able to breathe a little, to tackle my job and this new two-life-project with some recent energy. I couldn't let a little weinerdog take me back under. But whew! Thanks to our true blue friend ulisses, Roxy was in good hands. just today we learned that ulisses' other half, Nicole, was there for the service and some gentle words were given on her behalf. And she is place north to sough, face and paws toward the west, to keep her eyes on the house. God rest litlle dauschund soul.
*Arcadia business continues to improve. If you were here, you'd be so good to ask about our growth, and we'd talk about numbers, and I'd probably get into the excitement of finally having a solid block of girls who want what we can give -- lots of classes and companionship, and help to structure their work so they don't get out of balance or overwhelmed. I truly love this work. and as I say this you would say something about how you think I'm good at it, then I would ask why, then you'd pause to think, then, well, hmmm, we'd find some angle, some spin on your thoughts that would leave me feeling that i was probably a great pic to try just about anything, after i spent time with you when we would speak about work, I always had this sense that you truly, deeply believed in my competence to tackle anything. That often meant the conversation had kinda come to a natural conclusion, and so tim would come in and disiss me. and then you'd be off in la-la-happy plane land. Two good ment. Giving eveything their skilss would allow to nurture the girls they loved.
- Spanish class continues. Love it. will be over May 10 so I will be so ready to get to extend our texas visits to about 10 days.
*that's about it for now. friend is staying with us, til her house sells. learning is a good thing.
so i have typed past my sleep medications picking in ....can't wasit to see what awaits me in the mornign.
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