A Little “Woo Woo”

 

September 5^th would have been Dad’s 88^th birthday this year.  He admired and read a lot about Chinese and Japanese culture. As the date got nearer in August, I thought to myself, 88, a number symbolizing good fortune in Chinese culture. This would have been Dad’s lucky year.

 

Putting in some long hours to finish out August sales and prepare for September allocations, I turned off my computer and settled into bed late on Sunday, August 30^th.  As I fell asleep, Dad was on my mind as the end of summer always meant a birthday dinner and the Labor Day weekend with him.

 

It wasn’t long before I was awakened by the strangest sensation. Grief and sadness overcame me and I was crying in my sleep. But that’s not what woke me up. It was the sensation of liquid in my ears. Tears dropping and splashing in the pool of tears in my ears. My head was perfectly positioned to catch the falling tears.

 

As I came to and realized that I was crying, sadness overcame me. Gulping ugly cry. Trying my best to be very quiet about this to not awaken James, I got myself under control. Missing Dad, wondering if he has been watching how hard I have been working, I questioned, “would he be proud of me?” Yes, coming up on 52 years on this beautiful earth, I still yearn for my Dad’s acceptance and pride.

 

Now, this is where it gets a little “woo woo.”

 

I believe in spirits and that I have a few that hang out with me. After Dad’s passing in 2010, I would smell cigarette smoke in a room, or my car, or in the office. Not often, but noticed. And I’d look around to see if someone had come in that had been smoking. If it were outside, I’d look for a passerby smoking, or a car with the window rolled down. The smell would waft by and dissipate. I decided this was Dad making an appearance and letting me know he has my back.

 

When I awoke crying, I didn’t smell cigarette smoke. Being introspective, I wanted to keep the moment between me and him, even though there was no fragrance. I didn’t share what happened with anyone.

 

In the days that followed, I smelled cigarette smoke a couple times in the backyard. I thought it was the neighbor based on where I am working in the shed during the day.

 

I’ve told James and I think I’ve told Reyde about my “smoking spirit.” I don’t really know what they believe. And really, it is a little or a lot “woo woo”. It must have been a few weeks later, I was working away in the shed and Reyde pops in and asked me if I smelled smoke. I said no not right now, but I think it’s the neighbor. No, he says, Dad smelled it in the trailer and so he wanted to know if you smell it now.

 

Nope. So now I wonder if Dad is hanging out with the family? I don’t think about this further and go back to work. From time to time I recall the sensation of tears splashing into the pools of liquid in my ears. In the back of my mind, I am trying to figure out why the emotion hit so very hard after a long day and night at work.

 

I’ve been very fortunate to participate in a business leadership program that emphasizes long term personal development, accountability, and understanding what your higher purpose is. Through the course, we spent many hours learning about the way people speak and how you think you are communicating clearly but the message is not heard. Language, how you phrase things, tone of voice, intention, it all matters in communication.

 

Because of this gift of learning, I continued to ponder on the question that came to mind when I awoke that night. Dad hanging out for a few weeks made me think that I needed to figure out what all this meant.

 

It’s funny. In high school, I thought I’d go to college and get a language degree and then work as a translator. Spanish was the language I took and I thought I could really do something with that. Didn’t work out. But what I do realize is that I am a translator. I just translate English to English. Being blessed to have identified my higher purpose and be able to embrace it and live it, I see the correlation with translating again.  I help others discover their voices and develop the courage to open their hearts. I help people connect their feelings, verbalize their feelings so that they can understand how to better advocate for themselves. Or simply give themselves grace during our incredibly difficult year that 2020 has shaped up to be.

 

Wording, phrasing, language, it all matters. I finally figured out why the emotion hit so very hard. Dad didn’t want me to question anymore. The flood of emotion hit because he was telling me he is proud of me. Of who I have become. Of how I continue learning just like he did.

 

Wendy, don’t question, “would I be proud of you?” Reframe that into a statement, “Wendy I am proud of you.” I have to admit that when I figured this out when I told myself the statement, instead of the question, I know that’s why he stuck around.

 

Thanks, Dad. I surely needed your message.

Family Noises

Grief hits me in the oddest ways. Our schedule has settled down a bit; my work travel is done for the calendar year and Saturday soccer games find us staying around home.

Being home each weekend, I find myself feeling like something is missing. That life is not complete and I should be doing something else.

Last year this time, we were still in our “honeymoon” phase. Still getting used to a routine, what he liked, how he wanted his coffee made, what time he liked to get up. Sounds like a new marriage right? But no, I was learning how to be his roommate.

And then his health worsened. And we had hospital visits and nursing homes stays. The second to last time Uncle Bob resided at Stafford Healthcare, I visited every couple days. He was on a rigid physical therapy and dialysis schedule that left him pretty darned tired and not inhis room at night.

I stopped in one evening as his departure neared just to visit, coordinate times, and check in on him. As I was getting ready to head home, he said with so much earnest and gratitude in his voice, “Wendy thanks for coming by and visiting.”

“Well you’re welcome Uncle Bob. I’m just stressing out over your homecoming in a wheelchair, getting a little amped up by it all and didn’t want you to feel bad. I just want to make sure we can take care of you. “

“It will all work out, don’t worry.”

“Hmmm.”

“You know, I really appreciate you coming by. They leave me to be pretty much, and once dinner is done and medicine, it’s pretty quiet.”

“Yeah, I bet it is.” We watched TV for awhile; I played on my smart phone. He didn’t need conversation, just being together was good. Looking at the time, I said “I should probably get going; got to get Reyde into bed.”

Not skipping a beat, he kept on his train of thought. “I kinda miss my family noises.”

“Your family noises?”

“Yeah. I know I’ve been spending a lot of time in my room, and not eating dinner with you, James and Reyde. But I know you are out there. I hear you talking, Nitro barking, Reyde playing. And one by one, all of you eventually check in on me through the evening.”

I laughed, because yes, we all did in our own way. Nitro checked his garbage basket multiple times to see if there was a snack to be had. Reyde would show him a Lego creation, and brush his teeth watching TV with Uncle Bob. James checked in every afternoon when he came home from work, and would say good night as he headed to bed. The first thing I did after work was visit with him, then get dinner going, and bring him his meal. After dinner we’d chat a few minutes about medical stuff that had happened that day or what was planned for the next day. Every Thursday was “pills and bills” day, writing checks and dispensing pills for the next week. His air was definitely interrupted from 4pm until 10pm nightly.

And so as the winter approaches and we come and go, I realize that I am dearly missing my Uncle being home, the house being warm and lights on. I miss the rigid schedule of pills and meals that kept us tied to the house. I miss the closeness of having Uncle Bob with us and adding more family to our family.

I miss the steady rumble of the oxygen concentrator, the country music playing every morning as I got ready for work, the NCIS dialogue drifting down the hallway in the evenings, his cowboy ringtone as his cell phone rang, the way he’d say, “Well Hello.” And each morning as I’d bring him his coffee, he’d say with gusto, “Coffee!”

Uncle Bob, I miss your family noises.

"Din Din"

It's not like he was a bad father. But there was a disconnect that Amy and I could never mend. Had little to do with us, and more to do with his parents.

But we could always count on a meal bridging the gap. Dad loved to eat. Food delivered pure enjoyment to his being. Mealtimes brought us together, and sharing a favorite food connected us to him.

At the height of my troubled teenage years, when Amy was out every weekend with friends, or her boyfriend, or both, Dad knew I was upset and sad wondering why I didn't have friends and a boyfriend like her. I look back now and realize that he couldn't talk about my feelings or help me with feelings because of his upbringing. But what he could try to do was bring happiness to me by saying, "Let's go get some din din."

Because food brought joy to him, and therefore, food could make his youngest happy. It would fill the pit left by teenage self doubt.

Funny how grief hits. Been almost three years since Dad passed. For the last few months, as we sit down to eat, I hear my Dad say, "It's din din time." Or when we go out for dinner, I recall how he'd walk through the kitchen door, calling up to Amy and I, "Let's go get some din din!"

All his gruffness, and grumpiness, and lecturing, and hard to talk to on the phone, and crankiness are memories pushed back as I remember the things that brought Dad happiness. A respite for a brief moment, but peace nonetheless.

Dad, I've been missing you a lot lately. I know you're having some din din. Have some for me too.