A Storm of Memories

I've learned through this process that there are "grief ambushes" that can come out of nowhere. I've also learned that there are "memory ambushes" as well. Hurricane Irene potentially hitting the East Coast is bringing up some memories. These memories are from when I was very young, so the details might not be accurate, but here's what I remember.
I remember Dad sending us to a friend's house inland in front of an approaching hurricane while he stayed home to protect the house (what he'd do I'm not sure, but I bet he thought he could stop a hurricane).
During another storm, I remember him ruining or nearly ruining a car after he was able to convince the National Guard (or whoever was patrolling the area) to let him drive through a flood so that he could get home to us.
And the one that I remember most fondly occurred during a random thunderstorm.  I remember it as a really bad storm and that Joe and I were home with Mom and we were scared.  Dad raced home, saw that we were scared and piled us into the car. He told us that during a thunderstorm, a car was the safest place to be. Whether this was true or not, it didn't matter. I just know that I felt safe as we drove down near the beach and watched the waves from the car.
I feel like I've inherited his protective nature and I hope that when I start a family that I can make them feel as safe because when I was growing up, it just seemed like nothing bad could happen when Dad was around.

The New Normal

I've been waiting for things in my life to get back to normal.  I'm constantly telling myself things like "I'll get this done when my life calms down and normalcy sets in." Recently I've started to realize though, that my life is back to normal. It's just now a different, new normal.  I realized a lot of new normals this weekend.  A new normal where I have to find new golfing buddies.  A new normal where Dad won't be there to talk about a gutsy Rondo playoff performance. This just adds to the other new normals I've experienced lately.  The new normal where I have to look up questions about my car, instead of asking Dad.  The new normal where no one is there to drive us around town in the Jeep when I'm in Hull on a nice day.  And most apparent, the new normal where a void hangs over every joyous occasion that I can't tell him about.  It's not time to move on, but as hard as it might be, I know that I have to start accepting the new normal.

Golfing at Dusk

Last Sunday was one of those beautiful DC early spring days. All day my main goal was to go to the driving range. I wanted to go early in the afternoon when the temperature was in the mid-60s. But after helping a friend move then doing some much needed errands it was already 5:00. The weather was cooling and the sun began setting, but I was determined to go to the driving range. And I was thankful that I went when I did.
Almost everything reminds me of Dad. A lot of these things make me sad. Make me miss him. But occasionally I do something that gives me joy in my remembrance.  Maybe it was just that I was in a good mood all day, but my trip to the driving range on Sunday had more of a positive impact than I could imagine.
I got to the driving range at about 5:30 and bought a bucket of balls and a Budweiser. I started swinging and, as I do every time I pick up a golf club or a Budweiser, I started thinking about dad. Once I finished I went back to my car and that was where the memories really hit hard. It wasn't the golfing that brought most of them back, it was sitting on the back of my car, changing from golf shoes back to sneakers with the breeze rolling in and the sun setting behind me. Suddenly I felt like I was back at Ponkapog on a Friday night, changing shoes on the back of Dad's jeep, shooting the shit after another week of his league.  For some reason, this time, I didn't feel sad or miss him. I felt thankful that I got to experience so many summer nights with him. It was the whole experience with that league that I loved. Playing until they kicked us off the course, hanging out for a few drinks after that, and the drive home with just the two of us.
So many times I feel the negative effects of grief. This was one of the times that I felt the positives of life. I wish that I could experience more summer nights golfing with Dad, but I know that at the same time I need to take comfort in the joy we had and the bonds we shared.

This is My House, This is My Home

Yesterday I got back from a trip home. Although I love going home and always have a great time, there is a feeling of bittersweetness when I do now. Even last weekend I expected Shemp to run up to meet me at the door and for Dad to be sitting in his recliner. It's hard when I settle in and realize how quiet the house is now. It just feels different. The first few times I went home since Dad died I didn't notice it as dramatically. Maybe my head wasn't in the right place, or maybe it just seemed like one of the times I went home and he was in the hospital. This time, however, was noticeable for some reason.
At the same time I still feel his presence. The house is still comforting and filled with more love than any house I've ever stepped foot in. It still has that same calming effect it always had, the one that made Allison come for a week in the summer and then decide to stay until the fall.
When mom went to bed and Joe wasn't home from work yet, it seemed like there were two different forces present. It was quiet, but not lonely. Even if I couldn't ignore the fact that Dad and Shemp were not there, I could still feel the comforting love that always occupied that house.
Like most things in my life now, it left me with conflicting feelings of joy and sadness. Now, if I could just focus more on the joy we'd be in good shape.

Reassurance

It's been awhile since I've blogged. I think that's because I've been confused and trying to avoid my feelings, which I know can't be done. The last few months have been one milestone after the other. The first Christmas, the first NFL playoffs, the first competitive basketball games. And it's not going to get easier when the weather gets nicer either. The first NBA playoffs, the first round of golf, the first Easter, and my first steps towards grad school. All are moments that I shared with him constantly, and have to do without him this year.
Although I have been feeling better at times today. Last night I met with a really nice woman named Maude, who is part of the Bereavement Group at Montgomery County Hospice. We talked about dad for a little bit. It felt really good to describe him to someone who never met him. It was more than relief to talk about him, I actually felt pride. It was like I was showing off what a great man he was. Just talking (almost bragging) about him put a smile on my face (although with tears in my eyes) and made me focus on the great relationship we had.  Then she started talking about grief and gave me some literature describing it. I knew what I was feeling wasn't entirely strange, but it was good to hear that a lot of my emotions were completely normal for my situation. I shouldn't be worried about my lack of focus at work, my random mood swings, or my loss of interest in certain things. It's reassuring to know that these emotions are normal and will pass, although I'm not sure when. Right now, I just have to continue the process and attack the firsts one at a time.

Dreams

I dream about my dad a lot. Sometimes I feel like there is a deep meaning to them (I'll explain specific dreams in later posts) and sometimes they just seem like any other dream, except he's there. In the last few dreams he's been sick but getting better. Able to move around without issue and talk about whatever. Everytime this happens there's a brief moment when I wake up that I feel like he's still alive, then reality sets in once again. I feel real sad after this happens, another reminder of what I had that is now lost. At first I wished that I didn't have these dreams, since waking up sad is not ideal. However, the more I thought about it, the more I enjoy these dreams. We get to spend time together, even if it's not really happening. And even if it only happens for a second, when I wake up I'm reminded what it's like to have him in my life. Although I miss him every single day, it's good to know that he lives on in memories and dreams. Going forward I will cherish these dreams and the memories they provoke.

Does a commercial for a crappy beer make me miss Dad the most?

Although I didn't know how I would deal with it, I knew from the beginning that there would be certain things that would make me miss Dad after he was gone. Things that we shared, or at least called each other about, whether it was sports, music, or whatever was on the History Channel. What I did not realize was the affect that small seemingly trivial things would have on me. Best example, a Heineken Light commercial.
In the commercial there are these younger guys, about my age, talking about how they are relearning to play golf from retired men and to slow things down. One of the younger guys then tees off and the old man reads the distance of his drive as around 150 yards, to which the younger guy just smiles and nods at the camera and says "oh yeah."
We used to joke about that when we played together. Dad's friend Buster would never hit it far but would always hit it right down the middle. It was old man golf and it worked. Of course neither of us used this method.
The first time I saw the commercial was after dad died so I'm sure he never saw it. The first time I saw it I wanted to call him and tell him about it. I still have the same feeling every time it comes on. And these are the things that get me. When I sit down to watch a Pats game or am on my way to a concert, I anticipate wanting to call him, and I can adjust. It's the random beer commercial that we would both love that catches me off guard. I guess there is no way to prepare for what will make me miss him.