Blog 58: My Dad

I haven’t said much about my dad on this blog but I wanted to make this post about him because he was a very special person in my life.  He was my dad, and I loved him very much.

I don’t remember Dad being around much when we were little.   He worked for the government and was retired from the Army.   He was gone in the evenings a lot, and when he was home, he didn’t play with us, as far as I can remember. 

One early memory I have is when I was about six years old.  I went to my friend’s house a couple of houses away to ask her if she could come out and play.  Her dad came to the door and started yelling at me for no reason at all.  I quickly turned around and started running down the sidewalk as he came chasing after me.  My dad was in our front yard and he ran to my rescue.  He got up in the guy’s face and yelled at him, and I peed my pants before I reached the safety of my mom’s arms.  She whisked me into the house and changed my clothes.  I never did learn what that was all about.  My parents didn’t know why that man did that either.

Some of the other memories I have of my dad, when he and my mom were married, are not very good.  He was often grouchy.  Dad was very strict with us girls and we were afraid of getting spanked by him.  The thing is, we were pretty well-behaved kids, we were just kids, and sometimes we would do something he didn’t like and then we’d get it.  Many times if one sister got in trouble, we all got spankings.  We’d have to line up, oldest to youngest, or the other way around, and lay over Dad’s knee for a few swats to the rear end.   I don’t know which was worse, watching all of my sisters scream and cry before me, or being the first, when his hand was the strongest.  I do remember one or two times that he would start laughing…laughing at our kicking legs, our scared faces, us holding our rear ends in preparation for or after the spanking, or laughing at the fact that he couldn’t believe he was doing that, who knows.   

We always sat at the table for meals and we had to eat everything on our plates.  If I didn’t like something, Dad would cut a hunk of fat and put it on my plate and tell me to eat that instead.  There were times I sat at the table for hours, my sisters too.  I learned a few tricks of hiding my vegetables under the chicken skin or under my plate.  If Dad was engrossed in a television program he didn’t inspect my plate and I could get away with it.   I think sometimes my mom would grab the plate and let me get up.   

Dad wasn’t one of those dads that would hold us in his lap and make us feel safe, loved and protected.  None of us would say that we were Daddy’s girl.  I do have one or two pictures of me in Dad’s lap when I was a baby but I don’t remember that.  He did look lovingly at me in those photos and that makes me feel good.  I look at my son and my son-in-law and I see how wonderful they are with their kids, so engaging and playful, and so loving and protective, and how much my grandchildren love to sit on their daddy’s laps. 

The only time I recall sitting in my dad’s lap was after he slapped me across the face and left his hand print because I didn’t know how to light the stove to heat up my sister’s bottle when mom wasn’t home.  Renee was a little baby and she was crying loudly for her bottle.  I was eight years old and didn’t know how to strike a match and start the gas on the stove to light it.   I was scared to death of it, but I tried because I was more scared of my dad.   Dad came in the house from working in the garden and yelled at me because I couldn’t get the job done and his hand came across my face like a lightening bolt.  I remember he held me in the chair after he calmed down and realized what he had done and rubbed my face and kissed my hair and said he was so sorry.  I think he cried but I can’t remember because I was in shock.  My face stung, my eyes stung from crying, and my heart hurt, badly.  It didn’t feel good to be in his lap.  I can never recall that memory without crying.  It was one of the most hurtful times of my childhood.   I wore his handprint on my cheek for the next several days.  That’s why I was afraid of my dad. 

Mom and Dad divorced when I was around eleven or twelve years old.  Mom never talked badly about him, she just said they divorced because he liked to bowl too much.   There was a woman in Dad’s life soon after and we found out years later that she was the reason for the divorce.  Even though Dad wasn’t around much and he was strict, I didn’t want him to leave.  I went through a couple of tough years and my mom even brought me in for counseling.  I used to pretend to my friends that my dad still lived with us.  I used to beg Mom to ask him to come back.  But Dad wasn’t coming back.  While he was on his third tour of duty in Vietnam, he married a Vietnamese woman.  He went on to have two more children, a girl, and finally, a boy.  They were raised differently.  He mellowed out and didn’t spank them.  In fact, he was very lenient with them.  I think he wanted to make up for the way he was with his first five daughters.  

Dad used to pick us up and take us to church on Sundays and then bring us over to our grandmother's house.  He'd sit and watch football and have us all take turns combing his hair.  We'd sometimes play croquet in the backyard and go to Sandy's for lunch.   We didn't really enjoy being there.  His mom, our grandmother, was strict.  She was the opposite of our mom's mom (Grandma), who was very loving and kind.  Though I did love my grandmother, too.   I accepted her the way she was.  

My sister Lynda and I went to live with our dad in Germany, when we were in high school.   My mom thought it’d be a good experience for us and we were only there for a year.  It was then that he had his first daughter with his Vietnamese wife.  Dad was strict with us over there, too.  But the day we left Germany, when it was time to board our flight, Dad grabbed each of us and embraced us in a big bear hug and cried like a baby.  I didn't think he was so sad to see us go, until that happened.  I remember boarding the plane and feeling so sad for Dad.  That was the first time I saw my dad cry.  It was to be the first of many tears.  

After that, as the years went on we didn’t really spend much time together, and he seemed to change in those years.  Dad transformed into a different person, with a soft heart and a gentleness about him.  I think of that song, “The Cat’s In The Cradle,” because that’s kind of the way it was.  He wasn’t around for us when we were growing up and he had time for us now, but we were busy with our families, our kids, and had moved on in our lives without him being a big part of it.

Dad would call and we’d get together on occasion.  We would go bowling and out for pizza, or play croquet in our Grandmother’s backyard.  Sometimes we’d all get together at one of our homes.  He loved fireworks on the 4h of July and would have big cookouts at his house.  I always think of him on the 4^th of July.  My sisters and I would joke with him about how he made us eat everything, and we would all laugh about it.   We always talked about our childhood, but always in a light kind of way.  He often cried.  He regretted so much about how he was back then, and the divorce from our mom, that it got to the point where I couldn’t stand to see the pain in his face.  I told Dad that I forgave him and I reassured him that I love him so very much.  It just killed me to see him cry because I know that as bad as I felt about that slap across the face, he felt a million times worse, and I didn’t want him to live the rest of his life with that kind of suffering and regret. I’m so glad I told him I forgave him, and even though I don’t know how much better it made him feel, it really helped me to let go of a lot of the pain I had been carrying.

We had a much better relationship as I got older, and he got older.  I know there were many years of my young adult life that I felt a little jealous of my half sister and brother.  Dad was more loving to them, more involved with them, at least it seemed that way.   They got birthday and Christmas presents and we didn’t.   They weren’t afraid of him like we were.  They had the best years with him. 

Dad would call my sisters and me and want us to go to the family reunions.  He loved those reunions and he would say he wants to show off his daughters.  There were many times I didn’t go because I got busy with my kids, and life in general.  But the times I did go, I really enjoyed it.   Dad made it so obvious to us, and to our relatives, that he was proud of his daughters.  Dad was so happy at the reunions.  He was really a family oriented person, I just didn’t realize it when I was little.  I think the stresses of marrying so young, having five children in a relatively short period of time, was just something he wasn’t ready for and didn't take responsibility for.

My dad was an adventurous person.  He loved traveling and collecting things in his travels.  He read books and was knowledgeable about world affairs and subjects that interested him.  The Cubs and the Bears were his favorite teams.  Someone beating him in trivia?  Forget it.  He was a people person, and loved being with and talking to others.  He was always up for something to do, even when he became ill, he was always willing to get into the car and go somewhere.  He embraced life...he loved life!

Around 2000, we realized something was wrong with our dad.  It turns out he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s and Lewy Body Disease.  What in the world was Lewy Body, we thought, and how in the world did he get it?  Back then, even some of the health care professionals didn’t know what it was.  It was certainly something new to me.  My sister Lynda and I would go with our half sister to all of Dad’s neurological appointments.  Dad was getting worse.  It broke my heart!  Just when we were getting close and mending our past hurts, he was slipping away from us.  I spent as much time with him as I could.  Lynda did, too.  My other sisters didn’t seem to be as close to him then, but they really didn’t have many memories since Dad moved out when they were so young. 

I made sure my dad knew how much I loved him, and I forgave him.  I wanted him to forgive me too, for not being a bigger part of his life when I was a young adult.  I was hurting so bad to see him suffer.  Was this something that could have been prevented?  Why did he get this disease?  I didn’t understand.  I only saw a good man in front of me.  My dad, my wonderful, amazing, loving dad, was all I saw.  My only dad I would ever have. 

Dad went to a nursing home towards the end.  I put up a small Christmas tree for him.  He still knew me, but he became so weak with pneumonia at the very end that he just layed in his bed with a stare.  I whispered in his ear and I said, “Dad, it’s ok to go.  Don’t be scared.  Go on to Heaven, Dad.  We’ll be together again someday.”  In the middle of that night he was transported to the hospital and the next day he died.  That was December 12, 2005.  All of my dad’s kids were there except for Renee, who lived out of state, Dad’s brothers and his wife, and his ex-wife (my mom), were there when Dad took his final breath.   My brother said a prayer and a preacher came in and prayed, and the nurse administered morphine and pulled the oxygen mask.  Then he was gone. 

I sat with Dad after he passed and talked to him, but I don’t remember the words I spoke.  We would all go to the hallway and sit on the floor and then return to his room one by one to say what we wanted to say.  It was so hard to have him gone, even though his suffering was now over.  There was no more opportunity to learn more from him, to make up for lost time, to hear his voice and his laugh…and to go to family reunions with him.

I know my dad is in Heaven.  He turned his life over to Christ years before he became ill.  He was a changed man, and I’m proud to call him my dad.   I loved him with all the love a daughter can have for her dad, and I miss him so much.  

Blog 57: Memories of Nana

About seven years ago all of us girls wrote down our own special memories of our mom, and our children wrote of their wonderful memories of their nana.   We gathered these writings and put them in a book to give to Mom on her birthday.   This was years before Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.   

"When you look into your mother's eyes, you know that is the purest love you can find on this earth."  Mitch Albom 

Mom's 77th birthday is approaching at the end of this month, and I searched my file cabinet to find copies of the letters, because I remembered that time and how special it was.  The ones who could be there, gathered around and laughed and cried as we read our letters to Mom.  

The following were written by my three children... 

From Denise…

“I have many fond memories with Nana.  Some of my best memories come from the times when Nicole and I used to spend the night at her house.  Nana was always so good to us.  I can remember countless times when she’d drive us to go ice-skating or go to the movies, etc.  Oh, and I can’t leave out the yard sales!  We’d drive around for hours going to yard sales.  My items of choice were usually baby clothes that I’d use for my dolls.  And Nana’s negotiation skills were impeccable.  Seems like it didn’t matter if the item was marked $15, if Nana wanted it she’d leave having only spent a nickel.  Remarkable.  And other times we wouldn’t really do anything at all.  We’d just sit at the table and eat macaroni and cheese and talk.  I hope that Nana knows how grateful I am for all that she did for me and Nicole.  I’m sure we could be a handful at times, but we really enjoyed the time we spent not only with each other, but also with her.  Thank you, Nana.  I love you!”

From John…

“Nana is the best Nana anyone could ever ask for.  So many times I sit in my California home and reminisce about all the great times I’ve had hanging out with her, all the while remembering the little things I’ve learned in life by following her lead.   Little things such as the fact that I always have a refrigerator stocked with Coke to offer guests, and the reason I don’t walk around my house eating a sandwich without a plate (we all know how she is about crumbs).  She’s also the reason I blame the squeaks in the floor when I pick up any of those hard-to-find crumbs that slip off the plate and I accidentally toot.  Maybe I should learn to follow her lead a bit more so the next time I’m over at her house I don’t hit my head on the ceiling when I walk down the stairs.  But most of all I think about how she loved to be around the grandchildren; willing to take on me, Brooke, Rose and Michael all at once.  Babysitting Denise and Nicole had to be the biggest handful but I never remember Nana complaining one bit, never yelled at me for a single thing, even if it was completely obvious I was the one who made the mess in the basement.

If you all are wondering why in the world I would leave the great state of Iowa and move to California, blame Nana.  The main reason I moved out here was to get Nana an autograph of one of those ice skaters that she loves so dearly.  Which one was it?  Anyway, I’ll find that person and my duty out here will be complete.  And I’ll be sure to tell Tom Cruise to get a life.  I miss you Nana.  I love you soooo much and my plane rides home are actually enjoyable because not only will I get to see my parents and sisters, but I also get to hang out with you and talk to you as if you’re one of my boys.  I could write so much more about what you have meant to me but Kristi Yamaguchi is paging me and wants to know who the heck Nana is?!?  Take care and I love you lots!”

From Rose...

"So here I am, at my desk, beginning to write my contribution to a book of combined memories of my Nana. 

This will be easy, I thought to myself, when I was asked to come up with one of the fondest memories I have of my grandma.  Quite the opposite of my assumption, I have come to realize how much I was mistaken.  What if I have too many good memories to choose from?  Well, my Nana has provided me with 28 years of memories.

One of my biggest memories of Nana is when I was able to sleep over night at her house.  Usually I stayed the night with Brooke since the two of us always asked to stay over night together.  Brooke and I would typically stay up late in the living room before retiring to bed upstairs for the night.  Nana would always let us stay up later than I could at home so it was quite the treat.  Poor Nana was victim to many dance routines, singing ensembles, and plays since Brooke and I took great pleasure in performing things for anyone who would watch our final routine.  So one day she decided to take us to the mall for a video recording of us singing and performing the song of our choice.  I was extremely nervous to perform in a booth in front of strangers, and on camera.  Brooke and I had to sing first then dance to our recorded voices while pretending to sing.  To make things even more nerve racking, they displayed your performance to people walking by in the mall.  Bless Nana’s heart, she convinced us to do it and told us we were excellent performers.  So we did a routine to Madonna’s song (of course) Material World.  It was so much fun and it turned out to be the perfect gift for our mom’s on Christmas.  I will never forget how much fun I had on that day.

I cannot end with just the one story so I will have to briefly mention a few more memories.  I have to smile when I think back to how important I felt playing ‘Here Comes The Bride” on my tiny little organ when Nana and Grandpa Bill got married.  I had letters taped to my keyboard to help me play the song.  I felt so grown up that day.

Nana carried on her tradition of allowing the grandkids to order two things at a fast food place, just like she did with my mom and aunts.  One time she took a few of us to McDonald’s while we were having a yard sale at my house.  I ordered French fries and a shake for my two things.  I came home and threw up whole French fries while Nana and my mom took turns rubbing my back.  Nana joked and asked if I even chewed the fries before I swallowed.

I should probably write my own book of memories with Nana since I have so many more I would like to share.  Nana has been the closest grandparent that I have had.  She has played a huge role in my life and I look forward to many memories to come."

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My mom's family was more important to her than anything else in this world.  It's clear that my mom's legacy of love will live on and on, and she will always lovingly be remembered, and never, ever forgotten.   

Blog 51: The Best Gift I Can Give My Mom

I just left California, where I had a wonderful week with my son, daughter-in-law and grandson.   We celebrated my grandson’s third birthday.  He is a very happy little boy who is so inquisitive and soaks up every new thing he learns like a sponge.  You can see him study things like shapes and objects, signs, numbers, and things we walk past and don’t even pay any attention to.  

While on a hike, my little grandson fell down a couple of times and it made him cry, but he got back up and continued on.  He could have stayed safe in his jogging stroller but he wanted to walk, even though we told him he might fall down again.  Just like life, you take a risk...and sometimes you fall, but you get back up and keep on going.  

It’s amazing how youngsters learn so quickly, and even with how much they learn everyday, they are able to retain that knowledge and still have room for much more.   Their brains are growing so fast, along with their bodies, and there’s so much more to learn and to look forward to in their futures.   Even though they are dependent upon adults to care for them, in a relatively short period of time they will soon be on their own.

Then there’s my mom, and other people who have Alzheimer’s/Dementia, where all the knowledge they once had stored in their brains is being destroyed by a disease.  They are no longer able to do the things they learned how to do so well.  All of the memories, the things they once knew, language skills, concentration, the ability to comprehend, and even show love, are all gone.   It’s almost like being a child again (yet it's different from that), only now there’s nothing to look forward to except a dismal future.

After leaving California, I flew to Chicago and am staying at my daughter’s apartment.  We will be going to see my mom at the nursing home tomorrow.   She was just moved to a new facility a little over a week ago and I haven’t spoken to her since that one time I was allowed to when she was in the hospital.  That was two weeks ago.   I really miss her, but I was told we needed to give her time to adjust.  

I called Kathy the other day to see if she had spoken to Mom and she said no.  She told me we can’t call her like we used to be able to because the nursing home won’t take calls for Mom like the assisted living center did.  I don’t know if that is true, but I will find out.  If it is, that means I need to come up with a plan, because I can’t go for months without talking to my mom.   Being 1,800 miles away means I need to be able to talk to her and hear her voice on the phone between visits.  I need her still!

Every time I come home I get anxious before I see my mom.  I wonder how much worse she’s gotten, and I wonder if she will remember my name.   Now I have new concerns…what is this nursing home going to be like?  Is it going to be a nice place, with caring and compassionate people who are caring for her?  Old concerns...will I see Renee while I am in town?  Will we be able to get along?

There’s no doubt I have been feeling very alone in my thoughts about my Mom.  Kathy and I talk on the phone every once in awhile and I told her how much I appreciate that we can talk to each other like sisters should.  Our conversations are usually pretty brief, but at least we are there for each other.  Annie and I don’t speak often but when we do we can be on the phone for hours.  I’m glad that I have them to talk to.  I told my daughter to call my sister Renee and apologize for what she said to her after I cried over that last email I received from her.  She did, and I am happy that she is there to support me, just as my other two children are.  

I know that we all go through challenges in life, and many times we are faced with things that almost seem unbearable.  Sometimes everything gets piled up at once and it can bring us down so low that it can destroy our quality of life, and it will, if you let it.  There’s a quote that goes like this…”Sometimes being pushed to the wall gives you the momentum necessary to get over it.”  

I have come to terms with a few things…I cannot change the course of my mom’s disease, she is not going to get better, I can’t save her, and I don’t want anymore drama with my sisters.  I have a life to live, and it is my choice whether it’s going to be a life of bitterness and sadness, or forgiveness and happiness.  I choose the latter.  Am I blissfully happy at this point, right now?  No.  But I am content and hopeful.  I have many blessings in my life and things to look forward to.  Even with this dismal part of my life with my mom’s disease, it is only a part of my life.  I keep reminding myself that the best gift I could give my mom is to live a life of happiness and a life worth remembering.   That’s what she always wanted for her daughters.   Even though it’s been a struggle sometimes, that’s what I’m doing for her, for me, for my kids, and for my grandchildren.  They deserve the best of me.   I deserve the best of me.  Mom deserves the best from her family.  Mom's legacy will live on. 

There's a place at Cornerstone in Sonoma where you can write a wish on a strand of ribbon and hang it from a chain.  All of these ribbons represent someone's wish, one of them is mine.  I have hope that my wish will come true.  

Blog 46: Sharing an Important Message

This is a story written by a Facebook friend, JoAnne Chitwood.  It is not written by me, but it seemed like it was written for me.  I felt compelled to share it on my Facebook page and my blog, and to share it with my sisters.   My sisters and I have drifted apart, and, even though we are all suffering because of it, we can't seem to come to terms with how to fix the problems, because of our own hurt feelings.  I'm hoping that we can once again hear this message that we are smart enough to know, but need to be reminded of again, and put some true effort into making peace and being a real family again.  It's like I said before, though, people have to be willing to make changes and to want this.  I'm willing, I want it.  I hope they are, too.  I asked her permission to post it on my blog.  Here it is...

"I had a dream last night that felt as real as if I were wide awake. I was cross-country skiing in the mountains with my family. My brother was there, just ahead of me on the trail. Suddenly the snow around us turned to slush and a roaring flash flood began tearing away chunks of the mountain beneath our feet. We fought to keep our footing and scrambled for higher ground. I had gone back to get something I left in the trail, so was the last one in the line. My brother waited for me, risking his own life, and pulled me to a place of safety.

I woke up thankful that it was just a dream, but began thinking about family. My son, James, is studying criminal justice and is looking at trends in society and how those stem from how our families function. I believe it, too, from many years of dealing with family systems- my own and those of many other hurting people. I do believe that as goes the family, so goes society.

I’m not talking about specific configuration of family. I don’t care whom the family is made up of, we affect each other deeply. We may have a trigger event happen with a family member that pushes deep buttons for us and feel that it’s better that we cut off a relationship with that person. Granted, that may sometimes be the wisest choice we can make at the time, if that person is unsafe and won’t look at the issues. But it’s like amputation, we only do it if there is no other option.

God knows we all have our issues and what triggers us in the other person’s attitudes and actions is actually most often a mirror of our own unresolved “stuff.” This is a priceless gift. In healthy, open family systems, these “triggers” are addressed in an atmosphere of deep caring for each other, tolerance, empathy, and a willingness to be uncomfortable for awhile until you hear the other person’s honest viewpoint and understand where they are coming from.

Many studies have been done that demonstrate the very personal rewards for those with the courage to heal wounds instead of destroying the fabric of the family by closing off from each other. Those who choose healing in relationships have significantly less physical illness. Cancer thrives on bitterness and isolation (since those increase acidity in the body.) Migraines, anxiety, lowered resistance to colds and flu, heart disease, muscle aches, etc. can all be traced to unresolved issues of the heart.

Another great gift we give ourselves when we choose to be part of a healing, open family system is that of personal momentum. Resistance is a force of nature. The tendency to homeostasis is like the law of gravity. Any time we are moving in a direction of growth and creativity and following our dreams, resistance will come against us to hold us in homeostasis. All artists know this. We have to push against the resistance to create something new and wonderful, even when that new and wonderful thing is our own growth and development.

One of the most effective ways that resistance keeps us from realizing our dreams is within the family, in relationships. The most effective resistance comes from avoidance of relational issues. It may seem that we are taking the path of least resistance when we avoid dealing with issues, but it is a choice that actually increases resistance to personal growth and healing and self-actualization in ourselves.

In other words, we all get there together, or we each suffer. Anyone who has ever experienced a rift in their family system knows what I’m talking about. We can choose to do the work individually, even if others in the family won’t, but we will never experience what we could have if we had all pulled together.

It’s true in the family system and it’s true in the larger family system that is our country and our world. Do you want to see growth and health in our country? Go make peace with your sister. It starts with each of us.

I am proud of the decisions I have seen my family members make, over and over, even when it is super difficult, for healing of wounds and moving closer together rather than making the choice of fear and distance and isolation. I will continue to fight for that, to pray for that, and to choose it for myself."

By JoAnne Chitwood