I have been really worried about my dad lately, something in my gut keeps telling me to spend as much time with him as possible. His health is getting worse, but he is not at the end just yet. This should be the standard but let's be honest, we are all living our own lives, busy to say the least, and I know my parents are proud of me for that.
I struggle to see my dad in pain, and I often stay strong to keep his spirits up, despite how damaging it is to my heart. I hold in too much and take on too much responsibility...but I want to be here for him, in any way that I can because someday, I won't have this responsibility anymore and my heart will long for the chaos that is my dad.
The night before Father's Day, I was feeling uncontrollable fear and worry about losing my dad. All those times I held it in unleashed and took over completely. Seeing my partner and his family lose their dad reminded me that time will always be our most valuable asset, along with words and connections. I felt like there was so much I couldn't say to my dad in person because it is hard to say out loud, it would be too vulnerable, and well, he is a terrible listener and interrupts me often. So I funneled my sadness and fear into writing and wrote my dad a letter. It was hard to do! In full transparency, I cried for four and a half hours straight and my eyes were almost swollen shut the next morning. Saying goodbye and slowly watching my dad lose his ability to be the wild mountain man that he is at heart may be one of the hardest challenges I will ever face.
I wanted to share my letter here, not for sympathy or views but simply to remember it. To remind me when he is gone and I am feeling regret, that he knew how much I loved him and that I wasn't too chicken shit to tell him (although I would be lying if I said I was brave enough to say these words out loud to him). It doesn't matter if your parents are ill, old, well, or young, I hope this encourages you to write your parents a letter or have a conversation with them about the life they gave you.
Dad,
It's me. I love you so much. I am really sorry you are in so much pain. I wish there was a magic potion that would give you back your health. It breaks my heart every damn day to see you in pain... it also gives me so much joy when you are feeling good enough to do "OC Shit". You are always up to something. I love that about you and I am so glad that I got that trait from you. That part of me is why I am doing so well in my jobs and doing things that make me happy. You have always done that, chased joy. I am proud of you for that, even if it meant we had to be a part sometimes when I was younger. Your ambition to go after things is admirable and I plan to keep up the OC tradition.
I wish I could save your experiences in a computer so I could keep learning from them for the rest of my life. Thank you for writing some of them down. I will love them forever. I am writing this letter because I love you and there is so much I want to say to you but I can't bring myself to do it because it is hard. It is hard to see you sick.
I am going to write a book someday and I have already started by having you write your stories down for me. I want to write about the wonderful life you and mom gave me. There is no other life I'd rather be living. No one gets a handbook on how to be a parent, or how to face what life throws at you with a small human depending on you. I bet that was hard. I remember being with you at job sites when I was so young. I want to write about all of it someday. About the time you and mom were ice fishing and I tried to eat the trout whole, its tail sticking out from between my big baby cheeks. I still love sushi by the way! I want to write about the snowstorm that was my childbirth... that should probably come first. It is a work in progress.
I am scared to tell you that I am scared... because I don't want you to feel scared... but saying goodbye is scary! I thought I said goodbye to you the first time you had to have surgery. I thought you might not come back for every single minute you were under (it was like a 6-hour surgery). My heart broke because I couldn't remember what I said to you before you went back. If that was goodbye, it sure was a shitty one. You've been blessed with quite a few years since then and I still haven't said what I want to say. In a whole lot of words, through several memories, in so many ways I just want you to know how much I love you. You are one of a kind. You are MY dad and I am really proud of that. I love my life so much and it is the way that it is because of you (and mom of course). The world you raised me in and the experiences you gave me are well worth writing about, in my opinion.
Do you remember our pike fishing experiences? Something about those memories (or perhaps it is just one memory) stand out to me, especially when I sing the "slimy pike and lily pad" song to myself. I see us both sitting in a boat floating in a marshy pond. It is a little foggy but the morning sunshine is already warm on our skin. I curiously scan the area for critters, excited to see even just a tree squirrel across the pond. You are getting my fishing pole ready. Your hands are dirty and worn. I remember thinking they looked like tired hands. You give me the pole with a rubber mouse on the end of it. The end of yours a frog. You teach me how to bounce the bait across the surface of the water. Pike are predators, they like to hunt animals in distress. I cast again, knowing my mission now. I remember seeing the shadow of the gator-faced eel coming out from beneath the marshes edge. I don't remember what I said to you but I do remember turning towards you in excitement. Eager to catch the first fish. Watching it slowly swim below my mouse was scary. I thought he looked dark and like a villain. The Sword in the Stone had a scary pike in it so I was likely picturing that in my vivid imagination.
Just like in the old cartoon, the pike lunged out of the water, swallowing my little mouse whole. The fight was on! You got excited and started hollering directions at me, none of which I remember. The water splashed and sparkled in the early sun. The once-still silence was broken by your joy and my excited shrills. Soon the pike was beside the boat, tangled in your net. He no longer seemed as scary. He was a fish that my dad taught me how to catch, that is all. I remember feeling proud that I made you happy. Thank you for taking me with you on your adventures.
I know it scares you when I go off and explore like you but you must believe I get that from you. I hope it makes you proud; to know that I learned how to live for happiness like you. You also can agree that I am much safer on my adventures now that I don’t drink. I am glad you don’t drink much anymore. There is so much beyond that and I am happy I got to know this version of you. Even though you drank a bit earlier on, those aren’t the details that stick with me.
The times that do stick are when we made mouse traps with plumbing, a CD, yarn, a nail, and some cheese, of course. I remember hearing the rattle in the plumbing once at Larson Creek when you were building for Archer. It was a hot summer day where the air is almost thick and you couldn't find a chill in any shade. Thankfully a small breeze tussled the ferns and kept the bugs at bay. I ran to get you from your work and you stopped everything to come help me check the trap. I don't think a lot of dads would do that. I am sure they'd say "in a minute" or "not right now" but you didn't. You made our story the priority. Thank you. Thank you for making me feel loved.
You instructed me to grab an empty coffee can with a lid and I hustled into the cabin. When I came back out you were kneeling down with the trap in your hands, ready to share this experience with your wild haired rugrat. Your same dirty and tired hands swiftly lifted the CD, simultaneously dumping the plump brown mouse into the bottom of the can. I'd like to say the can made a deep 'ding' noise due to the size of this mouse but I am fairly certain you even gave me time to make a bed of grass and moss to soften his thud.
The mouse, Brownie as we named him, looked shocked but not afraid. He sniffed around the can, exploring his new situation. We got some cheese and other snacks from inside and back to work you went. I was so happy just to sit and watch my new brown mouse for hours. I imagined that the mouse actually liked being there with me. Now that I am older, feeding swans, hanging out with porcupines and nutria, talking to moose, having coffee with cranes, and sitting in the afternoon sun with little brown mice, I believe that to be even more true.
Growing up in nature made me a little snow white. Thank you for teaching me how to understand nature and how to co-exist with the animals. I used to think that feeling, that connection to nature, was just something passed down to me from Gramma Linnie but the more I reflect, the more I see a lot of that is from you.
I remember you coming to head start to have lunch with me. That made me feel SO special and I remember the other kids asking why you always came and wishing their parents would do that. You sometimes still had your tool belt on but you were there. Thank you for wanting to spend time with me. If you were just there for Vickie's yummy cooking and free lunch don't tell me. I like this memory just the way it is. I have a lot of moments to remember. To write down so I can remember them when I too am old and slowing down. If I didn't have them, I wouldn't be who I am and I feel pretty lucky to be living this life.
If aliens take you sooner than we expect, I hope you go knowing just how important your life is. I hope you know that you've made an impact. Not just in my life but in many of those whose paths you crossed. I love you dad and despite you being sick, I've loved getting close with you as an adult. I feel lucky that we have the goofy relationship that we do. Thanks for calling me all of the time. Thanks for writing me letters when I was little. Thanks for loving me.
I love you.
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