Letter to my dad

Dearest dad,

I'm writing you this letter for Father's Day, even though you've been gone from this world since December 26, 1992.  That's 20 years ago this year, and really hard to believe.  You were only 67 years old, so today you would be 87!  You would be happy to hear that my little sister is starting to look so much like you I can hardly believe it.  Maybe it's her new glasses and that she's turning 50 today.  You've missed so much since you left.  The most important of all are the additions to our big family.  We've added new husbands and wives, but especially all sorts of new children were born.  You have eight great grandchildren who have never had the pleasure of meeting you.  They are the apple of everyone's eye.  Luckily for all of us, you passed along your secrets of how to treat and love kids, because that's something you did so well and were known for.  I had someone tell me you were an "angel of a man", and she was certainly right.

We have all missed you sorely.  We took years to get over it, but as time wore on, we've come to terms and even though we think of you often, we've had to put one foot in front of the other and slowly get on with our lives.  The day of your funeral was the coldest day on record.   The wind blew, it stormed and it approached 50 below zero.  Seemed like you didn't want to leave either. Auntie Dianne had similiar weather, so I don't think she was really ready either...  There have been other losses of family and old friends, but we are comforted to know you are all together.  The loss of your teen-aged grandson, was especially hard.  You, him, Merton, and Auntie Dianne must make quite the merry bunch to add to all the other family and friends already there.  I'm a person who saves cards from funerals, and they are really beginning to pile up!

You know what I miss the most?  Sitting on the couch in the crook of your arm.  Probably watching some TV show like Bonanza.  Me playing with the hair on your forearms.  I miss you tucking me into bed at night when I was a little girl.  Every night without fail you would come in and talk to me and kiss me good night.  We always had big hugs. Those are memories that can never be taken away.  I miss your impromptu visits after I got married and moved away.  If you were in the vicinity, you would be at my house.  Being in the funeral business in those days, sometimes you set the neighbourhood all a-twitter by showing up driving the hearse.  Well after all, you might have had to make a trip to whereever I lived all in the line of work.  No point in missing the opportunity to visit your family if the chance arose.  You had no qualms about telling me my bathroom needed cleaning either.  There again,  I wasn't afraid to hand you the toilet brush and it wasn't beneath you to use it!  You would help me with whatever I needed, if only I asked. 

My own children grew up knowing their grandparents very well.  They loved you both as much as I did and loved going to your house for a visit.  As the years went by and they got older, the visits would sometimes be for weeks on end during the summer. Somehow, having them around seemed to make you and mom younger.  Sitting on your knee or letting them lay down for a nap with you made such a mark in their lives.  They loved going to the fair, the same as we did when we were kids.  You and mom always went and made sure they had lots of rides, games and candy floss.  We all loved going out to see you at the farm.  You often had pop and chocolate bars or some other treat for us when we showed up.  You would make time and be happy as anything to see us.

We loved to go with mom to take meals to the field during harvest.  You would be driving the combine and I can see you in your coveralls, jumping down and walking toward us to this day.  Mom would make big meals of meat and potatoes and the whole crew, including us and the hired men would eat voraciously. Sitting on the tail gate of the truck or just on the ground in the stubble beside the car was absolutely the best.  I didn't know the difference, but was told you were such a great farmer.  We got to ride on the combine for a short while with you if we wanted to.  I remember coming home from school one day and finding out that you broke one of your fingers.  You'd  caught your ring on the metal stairs coming down off the combine.  I don't believe you wore rings while working much after that.  I remember you being happy about the insurance you got for the broken finger though!  I remember you telling us about the wildlife you would encounter while combining into the wee hours of the morning.  Bears, coyotes, foxes, deer, moose they were thick at Hudson Bay near the newly broken land. 

I distinctly remember having a discussion with you about money.  Of course, I was going to university and thought I knew everything.  I think we were talking about who I should be dating and it would be nice if the person had money.  A sort of a philosophical conversation.  I was quite insensed and said, "dad, money isn't everything you know!"  I mean, who on earth would stoop to marrying someone for their money?  His answer was so succinct and to the point...."no, but it sure helps."  Those kinds of things have stuck with me. 

When we visited you in the hospital, your face would light up and you would be so happy.  I wish I would have stayed longer on each and every one of my visits.  I was always having to leave and get on the road...and you were always wanting me to stay longer....I wish now that I had made those visits last much longer than I did.

You were a practical joker and one of the things I still have as a reminder is a shoe box full of safety pins.  I guess I mentioned I need some once.  You wrote "To Jean Love Dad" in black jiffy marker on the top.  I think of you every time I see that box.  I have pictures of you, but not nearly enough.  I wish I had so many more, but there again, I don't.  If anybody has any pictures of my dad, I would absolutely love to have copies.   I think that's one of the best gifts you can give somebody...photos of their loved one that you might have sitting in your closet.  They really mean the world to someone.

Dad, your shop was always as neat as a pin.  You could fix most things, and even though it might take you awhile to figure it out, you would be successful in the end.  I remember your set of funny-looking open drawers that were full of screws, nuts, bolts, nails, and you name it.  You had them all sorted out  in this really orderly fashion.  You were a big game hunter and kept us fed with moose meat most years.  We often had company staying at the farm and many of them came to Hudson Bay to hunt big game.  Your shop was the place you hung the meat.  When I think of all the buildings on that farm....all the equipment....all the land...I wonder how you had any time for yourself.  I used to wonder how come you'd go to bed right after supper in seeding and harvest and be up by 5:00 a.m.  I thought you were crazy.  I remember you asking me why I didn't go to bed earlier.  Well, I was a teenager and I thought it was cool to stay up until 11pm and then sleep in..  (Mom made sure I did my quota of housework and cooking...lucky for me or I would be useless in the house today).  Now I know why you had to do that. 

I remember you saying things to me like I might lay an egg if I kept laughing.  You teased us kids and laughed and when we got mad or pouted you'd say "bad old dad"...I remember you saying things like, "oh yeah, wear out the old stuff first".  You meant, we were asking you to do something we were perfectly capable of doing ourselves.

I still think you had some mid-Victorian values and ideas though.  You were ultra conservative about many things.  Now I understand why, but at the time when I was a teenager, I wanted to talk openly about everything including the birds and the bees.  You put mom up to that.  I guess I'm mid-Victorian too, because when she tried to have "the talk" with me, I said  she didn't have to because I already knew "everything"....even though I really knew nothing.  I think my face was flaming red for three days after.  Neither you nor I were quite ready for the sixties I guess!  You dad, had a knack for knowing what to do or say when I really needed someone.  After a tiff with my boyfriend, you came out and sat on the step with me in the dark and told me one thing.  You said, and I will never, ever forget this...  "No boy is ever going to love you the way I do."  I said, "I know dad."   It made me cry, but turns out, you were right.

Dad, I always loved listening to you sing.  You sang so much when I think of it. You'd be working away and just singing...mostly songs off the radio, I guess. You whistled too.  You were a good dancer and took us to all the community hall dances.  I just don't know what ever happened to  events that were so much fun for the whole family.  Dad, you would come in from the field and for entertainment would take the whole family for a drive around the country looking at the crops.  We loved those intimate family times.  We'd stop and get out and walk  a little ways into the field, imitating your  every move.  You brushed  your hands over the heads of the barley, waved your hands through the grain, and so did we.  You cracked the heads of the wheat open and ate the grain inside...so did we.  We'd watch the sun as it started to set.  You were one helluva driver when you were looking at the crops though...even I remember that.  Even so, you drove thousands of miles on combines, tractors and trucks and when I realized I couldn't see well at night to drive, it was you that I handed the wheel to.  It was you who let my son drive with you to the lake, when I was such a basket case around a brand new driver.  You were on morphine by this time, and I said you were so brave because you were under the influence.  You would have done it regardless, but I'm a teaser too.

Dad, you were so handsome.  Your hair was never out of place and you always liked your clothes pressed, even if they were for out working in the field and riding on the tractor.  I so wish you were still here, but I would never have wanted you to continue on with the pain and suffering you were going through.  I just always wanted to have you with me and I always will.  I carry you in my heart and soul forever.  Your are as much a part of me as I am of you.  Until we meet again, my dearest dad.

Did I tell you the one about....

Did I tell you the one about one time when I was working on a hospital ward as a nurse?  I wore no cap that day, but  was wearing a white uniform dress.  I was covering over the lunch hour for another nurse's patient.  He was an elderly male who was dying in a room across from the desk and had family members with him.  I knew even though my own assignment was crazy busy, that I still needed to check on him. I had been told he wouldn't be living very many more hours, since mottling of his lower extremities was present and he was having regular apneic spells.  I walked into the room, only to find the sun streaming in through the window enveloping him and the entire bed.  It was one of those times where you can see the lit-up dust particles floating in the air, if you know what I mean.  I didn't speak, just quietly tip-toed in.  He heard me I guess and turned his head toward me.  All of sudden, he smiled and cried out in wonderment, "an angel!" You may not believe this, but he died right then and there. I stood for a minute, rooted to the spot, thinking he had mistaken me for an angel because of my white uniform and blonde hair.  Then I wondered if I didn't have someone walking beside me from another world or dimension that he could see and I couldn't.  I guess I will never know.  I walked up to his bedside still in shock, took out my stethoscope and listened for a heartbeat.  There was none.  I was astounded and of course, it was something I will never forget.

Another late evening, after dark, when the hallways were vacant and the visitors had gone home, a lady patient I was caring for started telling me she had just had her deceased relatives come to visit her.  She was ecstatic and described to me in fairly vivid detail who all she talked to.  Although I held her hands and marvelled right along with her at the excitement of it all, the whole idea rattled me.  I talked it over with my nursing partner and we both had seen enough TV shows to know it could mean something ominous.   Even though everything about her had been normal for the entire day, we decided she would bear close watching.  I called her doctor as a safeguard and told him what had happened.  Sure enough, as the night progressed, her vital signs became more and more erratic to the point that I did indeed have to carry out the orders the doctor had given, should she take a turn for the worst.  I had told him of her odd circumstances and to my relief he had no misgivings or qualms that my suspicions were not correct.  He did not argue whatsoever or make me feel like I was blowing her condition out of proportion.   If he hadn't listened to me, I think she would have headed somewhere else besides earth on that night.  It was uncanny. 

Quite a long time later, I sat with my aunt as she struggled to pass away.  I had arrived at the hospital back home as her family member and not as a nurse.  Some of my family had been to see her in the afternoon and she was talking and laughing.  It was supper time when I got there and the minute I walked into the room, I recognized the signs.  She had the distinctive breathing pattern associated with dying....the death rattle.  She was no longer conscious.  I stayed with her during the night, since she and my uncle had no children of their own.  He was terribly unwell himself and the kindly hospital powers that be allowed him to be admitted into the bed next to her.  He slept off and on and worried about her all night.  She was turned and attended to by the nurses regularly during those long hours.  She was working really hard with her breathing and it was a sad thing to watch.  Come lunch time the next day, my Mom and I talked my uncle into leaving the room to go eat some lunch downstairs in the cafeteria.  When we returned, there was the tell-tale light I had seen before surrounding her and the hospital bed she lay in.  There were the shining dust particles floating through the air.  She never regained consciousness, but within minutes of our return, she gave her last breath, along with a sound that was almost like an exclamation of relief as a final noise.  My uncle was devastated and immediately showed the one and only display of anger I had ever seen on him.  He was standing up, holding onto his walker. He picked the walker up and slammed it down on the floor and asked, "why did I go down for lunch?"  Awwhh...it was such a sad day. 

I know from other experiences with those who are dying that they seem to develop a sixth sense or something.  They sometimes wait until family leaves the room, or hang on for longer than seems humanly possible while they wait for a certain loved one to arrive.  Unfinished human interaction and touch needs to be attended to before they can go it seems.  Although I have always heard, "when it's your time, it's your time"...I do wonder...are things really as random as we think?  Unexplainable happenings always give all of us pause to wonder about the very nature of life's miracles.

Friends

Friends....over a lifetime we all make a multitude of friends and acquaintances.  Some come into our lives and stay, but others are like the revolving door.  Some keep resurfacing, because just when you wonder if you'll ever see them again, there they are.  Some are there when you need them, some aren't. You are there for some and for others you aren't.  Some friends you might not have talked to in years, yet when you do reconnect it's like you've never been apart.  You know each other's every nuance, every smirk, every frown.  You and your friend both know when to talk, but also when to listen.  You and your friend have  been the shoulder to cry on the and the one who has done the crying.

The important thing about being a friend is that you care for the other person and you know they care about you.  You truly care about what happens to them and their family and likewise for them about you.  You feel this deep underlying sense of respect for the person and it is returned with full force.  Often a friend, at least from my point of view, is someone that you can learn from and vice versa.  I like to look at a friend and find one or more qualities that I can aspire to.  Some are excellent cooks, others awesome housekeepers or stupendous mothers or fathers.  Some are fabulous drivers, strong of character, wise in the ways of the world, smart with their money, brilliant with numbers, and role models in all sorts of ways. Some are fabulous dressers with fancy shoes, purses, jackets and outfits to die for.  Some have their houses decorated to the nines and it takes your breath away.  Just when you can't bear the look of anything around your house or any of the clothes in your closet, you get a boost by even a short visit with a friend.  Some friends are nothing like that, because their forte is personality, and their house may be lying in rack and ruin and their wardrobe is frumpy and made up of hand-me-downs or garage sale items.  These friends really give me inspiration.   I just want to rush home and clean my house and be happy with the clothes I've got.  I see that they've found great outfits even at bargain prices and it makes me love garage sales all the more!

Sometimes the shape  of a friend's body can serve as an inspiration to me.  If I'm feeling fat (trust me, I have NEVER felt too thin), I'm motivated by an overweight friend.  I'm also influenced directly by a friend that is svelte and sleek.  Whether the friend is overweight or has the figure of a model, each makes me want to do something better to improve my look.  I get a whole new lease on life to get back to exercising, eating right and trying to look a little more stylish.  Hairdos have the same effect.  If I'm growing my hair out (I have very fine, dirty blonde hair) I will realize I look like a scrag when I see a friend who is letting her's grow out if it makes her look unkempt.  Presto, it's off to the hairdresser for me.  If I see a friend with a chic new cut, it makes me want to improve my look too.  You see, friends can hold alot of power over our self image and we can do the same for them. 

If you have achieved something in your life that others can aspire to, that quality will be shining through.  That quality is something  I would like to see you bottle, metaphorically speaking, and share with others, especially me.  I, for one,  would dearly love for you to show me how you reached that certain lofty goal...like becoming that seamstress or quilter.  How did you learn how to build that lovely house or plant that exquisite garden?  Where did you get the ideas for all your award-winning parties and your flamboyant personality that everyone is drawn to?  Teach me, because I love to be enlightened, and I'm certainly not unique in this trait.  After all, I'm all about living in the light and shedding any form of darkness (except for sleeping and enjoying the end of the day).  I think most people are like this....always striving to find the good. 

Friends who have found their way in life may be envied by others, but their real friends only look at them and feel inspired.  Seeing your friend succeed in their career or build and maintain a profound and devout sense of spirituality and/or religion gives others strength...especially  friends.  Seeing young mothers caring devotedly for their children, while juggling everything else in life motivates everyone around them, but especially their friends and support groups.

They say we make very few 'true friends' in our lifetime, yet we have hundreds of acquaintances.  I find it harder to be the friend who reaches out and makes the call.  I may be thinking of the person, but get wound up in my own life.  Contrary to my behaviour, my true friends continue to call me, to come and visit and to make me feel like a worthwhile person.  I'm sorry to say that I take friendships for granted, yet they continue on, year after year, no questions asked.  The old adage, 'we can choose our friends, but we can't choose our relatives' was said tongue in cheek, but some of our best and truest friends may indeed be our relatives!

Who gets your brand of humour?  Likely your family and friends. Laughter is the best medicine and who better to do it with than friends, true friends, acquaintances, family and long lost relatives.   Even the guy at the grocery store, the taxi driver, or the man who knocks on your door can appreciate a friend.  Cherish all friends, both old and new... Make a friend.  Have a laugh and bring some joy and light into the world.