Happy Father's Day - in Memory of My Dad

 

Tomorrow is Father’s Day and I’ve been missing my dad all day.  Well, that’s not exactly true…I miss my dad all the time – not just today.

 

He’s been gone almost five years now and in my head I can still hear his voice say, “Hel-lo, Jane” when I’d call my parents every Monday afternoon precisely at 5:01 p.m.  He’d even answer the phone that way before he heard me speak. And my parents were not extravagant enough to spring for Caller ID back in the day.

 

Guess we were both just creatures of habit and it was a pretty safe bet that I would be the one responding, “Hel-lo, Dad!”

 

I miss him. I miss his quiet, calm presence. I miss his words of advice and his selflessness in taking care of us. If I were visiting, he’d get up and, before I knew what he was doing, he’d come back with a glass of wine for me. Before every visit, Dad would go to the store to buy a bottle just for me since neither he nor my mother drank red wine.

 

Granted, it wasn’t an expensive bottle. Anyone who knows anything about wine would probably turn up their noses at the choice he made – but, to me, it was the finest of wines just because he picked it out for me.

 

Toward his later years, I was honored to return the favor. When it came time for a meal or happy hour, I’d be the one heading to the kitchen to prepare and provide. It was my pleasure since they had both spent years taking care of me and my siblings.

 

When I was cleaning out my parents’ home in Alliance almost five years ago, I came across an old yellow platter with a flower design on it that definitely had a 60s vibe to it. It had been stashed under the sink for years – decades even – and it brought back happy memories of my childhood.

 

Mom normally cooked breakfast and dinners every day of the week. And at some point, she decided that on Sundays it was Dad’s turn to prepare a meal for the six of us.

 

Somehow he invented the charcuterie board before it was a “thing” and we had meats and cheeses and crackers and fruits and all sorts of goodies on that round yellow tray. Granted, it was probably bologna and Kraft singles and Saltines, but we thought it was the coolest new tradition on Sunday afternoons at the Domian house.

 

I can’t remember how long we enjoyed this new style of eating, but I’m guessing it wasn’t long. My parents were admittedly frugal having grown up during the Depression and would have been horrified if anything had been left uneaten.

 

But no matter. It is still a happy memory for me – all of us sitting together around the platter snacking on our favorite bites.

 

Other happy memories come to mind. Summers in Cape Cod at Parkwood Beach. Walking down the street to the beach carrying our towels, plastic shovels and pails to build epic sandcastles. Splashing in the water and showing off our newfound swimming abilities. Getting up way too early and driving to Plymouth to go deep sea fishing with my dad and siblings. Remembering my dad – even in later years – with his line in the water, turning to me and saying with a grin, “Here, fishy, fishy!”

 

Of course, I can’t think about happy memories without also thinking of the sad memories. But I don’t want to dwell on them today. I have enough sadness in my life right now and it takes very little for my tear ducts to get a workout these days.

 

So I think I will close with my wish for all dads out there – have a Happy Father’s Day! Enjoy. Make happy memories with your kids, whether they’re infants or middle-aged.  They will remember.  (Well, maybe not the infants quite yet – but you know what I mean.)

 

And anyone who is still lucky enough to have their dad here with you…visit him. Pick up the phone. Make sure he knows you care. Life really is short and you may not always have the opportunity.

 

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I miss you and I love you.

A Love Letter to my Friends – Old and New

I cannot thank you all enough for the love and support you’ve shown me since the passing of my beloved Vince. I’ve read every card and note and text and email you’ve sent. I’ve written more than thirty thank you notes for the flowers and food and gifts you’ve sent. If I’ve neglected to send you a thank you note for something that slipped by me, please know that I am very grateful. (And I apologize for my oversight.)

If I had to write thank you notes for all of the sympathy cards I’ve received, well, I’d be suffering from severe writer’s cramp right about now.

But please know – I have loved hearing from friends and family and am in awe at the outpouring of care you’ve all shown me.

So many of you have asked how I’m doing. I am okay. Sometimes. I have days where I feel semi-normal and other days when I feel completely lost. I have moments where I’m doing all right and moments later where I’ve collapsed in a puddle and I’m not sure how I’ll go on.

This is grief. Intellectually, I know it – and I also know I just have to go through it.

It’s not easy. And it’s not something I’d planned on. But who does?

One of the daunting tasks I’ve been working on since Vince’s death has been to (try) to declutter this house. It keeps me busy and I need that sense of purpose.

Vince and I moved here nine years ago with barely enough furniture and things to fill a couple rooms. Through the years, though, we made use of the ample space and somehow managed to fill every nook and cranny.

There were several reasons we did this:

 

1.     In clearing out my parents’ cottage and home, I brought back many, MANY things. I was feeling sad and nostalgic and couldn’t bear to get rid of everything – so I kept more than we needed.

 

2.     I like checking out discount shops like Home Goods and TJ Maxx and found many little treasures to brighten up our home. If something didn’t “work” I tended to keep it and try it in another room. But sometimes those treasures ended up in storage.

 

3.     Vince was very practical and pragmatic – and loved “saving” things. Like old computer towers and pieces/parts of equipment. He thought there might be some later use for it. So much so that when he’d go to work, I’d sometimes go to the electronic recycle bins and fill them up. Nobody needs a three-versions-ago computer tower or cords that fit no technology we currently owned.

 

4.     And, finally, we were both sentimental ol’ fools. We kept things that brought back long ago memories.

Through the years here we made several attempts at clearing out some of those memories. Particularly after I spent so much time cleaning out my parents’ homes. I didn’t want to leave that overwhelming task for anyone – so a few years ago we made a New Year’s Resolution to toss cards and notes after only a few weeks so they didn’t end up saved in a bin somewhere.

In the back of my mind, though, I knew I had two large gray storage bins that I’ve had since I was in college. They were cards and letters and memories from that long ago time.

Back in 2001, shortly after 9-11, I went through those cards and letters. I didn’t read them, but I did organize them in folders by year. Do not ask me why. I guess I was bored. Or I thought they would be a marvelous trip down Memory Lane some year when I was old and grey.

Hmmm. I’m guessing that perhaps I now qualify? After all, I AM a member of the AARP and the Westerville Senior Center.

Egads. When did that happen?

Anyway, for the past few years I’ve known that no one – and I mean NO ONE – will be interested in those cards and letters from my youth. They will not read them or care about the Valentine’s Day card my Nanna sent with a $5 bill enclosed.

Nor will they know that when she told me to have some “fun” with it, I promptly translated that to mean go to the Thirsty-I and buy a pitcher of 3.2 beer for my friends.

Instead, should something happen to me, and someone is tasked with clearing out my belongings, they will simply dump those well-organized folders into the trash.

As well they should. Ain’t no one got time for that nonsense!

On the other hand, I am still here – and I have been finding comfort at looking through those old cards and letters.

So I’ve been reading them. And, yes, most of them are going in the trash afterwards. Some letters or notes I’m sending back to the person who wrote them to me so they can remember that long-ago time, too. I think they will get a kick out of it. And then they’ll most likely toss the card so they also don’t accumulate stuff that someone will someday have to clear out.

Such is the mindset of people as we age.

But what struck me as I read through these letters and cards is that so many of those people are still in my life.

I love that. And I thank God for their loyalty and friendship these many decades later.

Last night I had dinner with Debbie, one of my many roommates during my years at Ohio State. She was in town from Florida and said she wanted to give me a hug and spend a little time with me. So we talked and cried and laughed a little and caught up on each other’s lives.

I had saved a note her mother had written to me – and when I pulled it out of my purse, Debbie immediately recognized her mother’s handwriting. And she was excited to show it to her mom when she sees her later this week.

Debbie and I discussed that how “back in our day” (Ha! We definitely sound like old fogies now, don’t we?!) we had to write letters to keep in touch. We didn’t have social media to keep up with each other, nor did we have smart phones to text each other. And even our phone calls were very limited as most of the time it would mean a long-distance call – and our parents frowned on such frivolous spending.

I was struck by how we actually had to sometimes mail a note to the recipient to try to schedule an upcoming get-together.

But we made that effort. And I believe it led to richer friendships and relationships through the years.

So to all of you in my life (and you know who you are), I thank you. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for caring about me during the ups and downs of college life, and my working life, and all those romantic relationships that didn’t go anywhere.

And to all my “new” friends – thank you, too. Vince used to tell people that becoming my friend was like joining the mob. You can get in – but you can’t get out.

That always sounded a little intimidating to me – and might’ve also been a little scary to someone hearing it. But he was so proud that I was the kind of person who could cultivate friendships that persevered through the years.

Most of all – I thank you all for your support now. Because my relationship with Vince was the best thing that ever happened to me. And while I’m so unbelievably sad that he’s gone, I’m also unbelievably happy to have had him in my life for the past thirteen years.

And I thank you for being in my life to witness my happiness.