The hug

(My paternal grandmother, me, my uncle, and my father at Disneyland- my dad used to live right next door!)

I've been pretty exhausted lately. I don't know why but my energy seems sapped! As I nestled down into my soft pillow last night I was asleep almost before my head hit my bed.

What happened next I will never forget. I dreamed I was running with my family through an airport. (Something we have seen a lot of lately due to a mission trip we took to the islands of Trinidad and Tobago.) We were bogged down with what seemed to be hundred of suitcases- and we were about to miss our flight.

As we struggled to pull, lift, and carry all of our bags, I felt the rush of urgency that we needed to go- NOW! Right before we came to the security area, there was a door to walk through. We thought it strange, but bolted through it anyway... and then stopped dead in our tracks. I slowly looked around. We were standing in a small room painted with a light blue color. Big black overstuffed couches filled the room. It was my dad's house! We were all very confused, but decided we still had a lot to do to clean up his home and move him out so we all began going through his things.
A heavy, husky voice startled us-"What are doing with my stuff?" I turned to see my dad. I stood in shock and tears began streaming down my face as he came over and gave me a big hug. The hug I've been desiring since the minute I realized he was dead. This hug felt so real! His arms, all covered in tattoos where strong and warm. As he embraced me I asked how this could be, since he had killed himself. He said he was sorry and must have been high.
(That didn't answer my question since I wanted to know how he was alive!)
Before I knew it the loving moment was over and I had to say goodbye as we were going to miss our flight.
For me, saying that goodbye was as painful as it had been 1 year and 2 months ago. My kids and hubby also gave kisses as the urgency of missing our plane ensued.... and off we went hustling again.

In that moment I was roused from my dream, out of breath, and my face, cheeks and pillow soaked by my tears. I had not had a dream about my dad in at least 8 months, and all of them that preceded this one were more like nightmares about his death or last minutes of life.

As a Bible believing Christian I don't believe in ghosts, but I do believe God works in mysterious ways and I can't help but wonder if God allowed me this dream, last glimpse of my father as flesh and bone, in order to give me the desire of my heart. The one last hug, and glimpse of his arms that I have longed for since his death. This dream was so real it literally took my breath away!

One final note. As a Christian who puts my life solely in the Bible, I believe it from cover to cover- without error, written by the authors who were flesh and bone yet directed by the Holy Spirit. Since I believe every word in the book is true I believe that unless you are born again, you will not enter into heaven.
John 3:3 "No one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again."-Jesus Romans 10:9 If you declare with your mouth Jesus is Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.
I have struggled since my dad's death not knowing if he had claimed the saving grace of Jesus since his life showed no sign of a man free from his bondage of sin. He read his bible a lot, and loved to argue about Jesus... but had he given his life, all that he was, to Christ? I have only hoped that before he made the choice to end his own life, he made peace with his maker, since he had the luxury that many of us don't have: he knew in moments he would be standing before the throne of our Creator.

For me this dream gave me hope. Hope that my dad is perhaps enjoying eternity in the presence of God and Jesus, dancing in a new body. It gave me contentment, since I have now once again seen my father's arms and had them hold me in a big warm hug. And it gave me thankfulness, that I have a God who cares enough about me to give me the desires of my heart- even if it is just a hug in an abstract dream!

Father's Day minus you

Today is the first Father's Day without you. It's weird not having you to E-mail, to talk to, or to send a card to.

When I woke up this morning, one thing was stuck in my head: That first moment I walked into your home after your death. You had purposely left several things on your desk before you walked out onto the porch to end your life... only 3 days after Father's Day. One of the things that I found (and the police left) was our Father's Day card to you. I've agonized over your last moves for nearly a year now, and this card has remained a mystery that is seeded in the depths of my heart... I wish I knew what your purpose was for leaving it.

Your grandkids had written endearing notes and drawn amazing pictures (I'm a bit partial of course), and I had poured out my heart and my profound love for you in it. I hope that you read it and allowed it to sink into your heart. I can only wonder if you had it out there as a reminder of how much you were leaving behind?

Since it has been nearly a year since that dreadful day, I decided that I've dawdled long enough and it was time to go through your things. Your life (or what's left of it) has been encased in cardboard sitting on the shelves of my basement. I really had to push myself to pull the first box down and set it on the floor. Everything in me wanted to push pause, to rewind, to put the cardboard back on the shelf and leave it for another day. My heart wanted to put it back, but my mind knew I needed to push on.

As I peeled back the first 2 pieces of the box, I got a whiff of a familiar smell that literally knocked me to my knees and left me sobbing. The smell was you. One of a kind, and followed you everywhere. A mixture of pungent leather, sweat, tobacco and grease from your motorcycles. This box was filled with it, with you. Nearly 1/2 hr of deep weeping passed before I decided I could go on, and slowly I began lifting my memories out one by one. The old metal cigarette sign you hung in your living room and called "art". The sleeveless jean vest that you had worn since before I was born and never washed.... so fragile now. The bag of leathers from your long explorations across the country on your 2 wheeled friend, Harley.

It didn't take me long to realize once again that this stuff is all I have left of you, and I simply can't let it go yet, as I feel like to do so would be to let go of you.

One at a time the kids heard the deep breaths and "silent" sobs and came to join me by the box. I enjoyed the comforting hugs they gave and assured them I was Ok despite the running nose and tears that stained my face. The kids mentioned how it smelled just like you and we went through your things together for a while. They each picked out a few things they would like to use. Sabian grabbed out your favorite ball cap. So sweat stained and gross, yet dare we wash it?

They found a cool temporary tattoo (and we all had a good laugh as we presented our theory for why you had the need for one of these in the first place?!) One was already used from the pack, so we decided it made sense that you probably stuck it to your forehead as a joke to your friends.

At the end of the day, I piled most your things back into the box, slowly took one more deep breath as I inhaled the smells and memory of you, closed the lid and carefully placed this box back onto the shelf.

Dad, I wish that you were here today to share our lives with us. I wish I didn't have to obsess over your things, and read your letters to me looking for answers. I wish last Father's Day you had allowed our love to penetrate your heart. I wish that you hadn't pulled that trigger. But you did, so we are learning to live with joy again, to smile at our memories instead of cry, and to appreciate those who are in our lives today since we never know if there will be a tomorrow.

My day today was made fantastic through a phone call to my other dad. Never have I appreciated being able to call and talk to him more!

Let love be genuine. Abor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Romans 12:9-10

Happy Birthday dad

Today is my dad's birthday. It's the first one I've had to deal with. The anticipation of facing it has driven me crazy with raw emotion this month- robbing me of all kinds of joy and making me have conversations with him in my head.

Specialists recommend writing a letter directly to that person. I've always thought that sort of silly since I don't think my dad reads my journal, or my blog whereever he is :) But I've decided it may be healing, so here it goes....

Dear Dad,

Today is your birthday. You remember that your first grandson was actually due on this day! I prayed hard that I would have him either before or after- anything but on this day.
It's weird how this has never been my favorite day of the year. You and mom made it so hard. It was the one day a year I had to call both of you, one after the other. Two peas in a pod- too perfect for each other, stubborn as all get out. Crazy as bats. Weird ailments. You even shared your birthdays! Talking to you the last year of your life would drain me of all energy - you were so very sad. So very mad. We had to walk on eggshells.

Last year, on your birthday, we had just gotten the new job offer and were house hunting in Michigan . We sent a card but after much thought and wrestling, I decided not to make that dreaded phone call to you.
I knew I would have to explain that we were moving further away. I knew that you would be upset at not only that fact, but also the fact that I was moving somewhere further from you and with winters that were long and cold- thus dashing any hope of having you come to live close so we could help you more.

I know that not getting that birthday call probably broke your heart in two. Was it the last straw that made you start planning your own death? The police told me that they could tell you put much thought and preparation into your suicide. You had studied up on where exactly the bullet needed to go so that there was no chance you'd live. You carefully planned the spot so that the mess would be less for us to clean up. You planned it in a spot you would be found quickly. You planned and planned, and planned. I can't help but wonder all these months since your death, if my phone call would have given you a glimmer of hope. A glimmer of love. A glimmer of the life and the people that you'd be leaving. A glimmer, just a speck even, of Jesus.

Alas. We both know I talked myself out of the phone call by telling myself I really had no time. (I did, after all, only have 3 days to find my family a home to move into!)
I talked myself out of it by telling myself that you really didn't want to hear from me anyway. I know you loved hearing the stories from your grandchildren, but they were scattered around at friend's houses while we house hunted. And I talked myself out of it by telling myself that you were so mean, so angry at the world... and I just didn't have the energy to deal with it.

I've spent the last year thinking often of decision I made. You made it clear in your note that I had indeed hurt you. You made it clear that your decision to die was a decision you hoped would hurt me. Dad, my decision NOT to be self-less, but instead to be self-ish is a choice I'll regret for the rest of my life.

I'm so very sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I never made that call. I'm sorry I didn't humble myself but instead became more stubborn. From the perspective that I have now, my choice to not call is like a knife slicing through my heart. I'm sorry I didn't offer you a light- a hope when you needed it the most. I didn't mean to make you feel unwanted or unloved. You, even in your hard hearted ways... were dearly loved. Terribly wanted.

We loved your smile dad. I miss seeing your tattoos. We hated when you popped in for overnight visits unannouced, but we loved your company and your attempts to (sometimes) clean up your dirty lanuage in front of your sweet grandchildren. They miss hearing you fart at the dinner table, and I miss you being so thankful for all of my cooking. We miss your conversations of "bait" to try to get into an argument about the Bible. We miss you. The good parts, the annoying parts, the silly parts, and the weird parts.


Happy Birthday dad. We love you.

All my love,
Your daughter

Working to NOT regret, and holding onto this word from God: "The Lord says forget about what happened before. Do not think about the past. Instead look at the new thing I am going to do. Isaiah 43:18-19

Nearly 9 months

I'm not going to lie. The last 9 months have been some of the hardest I've ever had to face. (And if you know my life, that's saying a lot!)
First off, my dad is sitting in my closet. Seriously. I just don't know what to do with his remains, and I can't quite let go of him. The closet has always been the place I go in troubled times, to seek peace, tranquility, and catch my thoughts when they are zooming past faster than on a Nascar track. Now my dad sits there. In a black square case. I go in often, crying, yelling, hoping he can hear me, perhaps see my broken heart?
I used to think it was my precious time with God. Now it's my time with God..... and my dad. which is weird. Can he see me? Does he know or even care about the pain he has caused?

The last 9 months have been, of course, littered with thoughts of my dad. I wish I could talk to him about such and such. Why did he have to be so mean about that? How proud he would be about his grandchildren just now.

The regrets threaten to swallow the peace I have. The ashes threaten to ruin my alone time with God. I can only hope that one day soon, I'll feel like I can indeed let my dad go. Until then I hold on to the ashes that are so very dear. He never chose to say goodbye.........

7 months have passed

Today marks 7 months since my dad decided to leave this life. My posts have become more infrequent, and there are several reasons for that.

First an update on how I've been feeling: These past few months have had some really great patches along with some rough spots.

I'll be walking along, thinking that things are getting better, that I'm fine, and wham! Out of the blue this deep, deep sadness and mourning hits me. The tears come and they don't stop. The worst part of this is that my mind starts racing at the same time. All the "what if's" and "why didn't I.." come back to haunt me. Then I get blind-sided by the "why weren't we good enough", and "why didn't he see that he would be missing all of this?"

The last 2 months many of our birthday's have passed. Their is a void there left by my dad that just won't be filled by anyone but God himself.The kids have felt a bit of sadness not getting the phone call, the card from their grandpa Dale. I mourn for them and their loss. I mourn for my dad who didn't see them as important enough to live. I mourn for the lies he believed from the evil one that he wasn't needed. I mourn for all that he is missing seeing them grow up. I mourn for all the opportunities missed. As kids, they don't even really know how to articulate their grief, their feelings, they can only sense the hole that has been left behind.

I can say that the days between breakdowns are getting farther apart and my cry sessions themselves are getting shorter. I can feel God slowly stitching up my heart. Poking the needle under my skin hurts! But then the Great Physician pulls the thread through and before long I can see a neat row of threads weaved over and under... pulling my brokenness together again. Making me new, renewed!

I'm ever thankful for my Abba Father. The richness of relying on Him in all new ways, pouring out my sorrowful heart to him when I am weak, and the joy of being filled right in the midst of my distress is something I cannot describe with words.

I cannot tell you how many times I have thanked God for Himself, and for giving me a hope and a future, and I can honestly say that having to walk through this unplanned circumstance has been made good only in God. Only in His goodness.

God is all mercy and grace- not quick to anger, is rich in love.

God is good to one and all. Everything he does is suffused with grace.

Creation and creatures applaud you God, your holy people bless you.

They talk about the glories of your rule, they exclaim over your splendor,

letting your world know of your power for good, the lavish splendor of your kingdom.

Your kingdom is a kingdom eternal, you never get voted out of office.

God always does what he says, and is gracious in everything he does.

God gives a hand to those down on their luck, gives a fresh start to those ready to quit.

Psalm 145:8-14 The Message