I spent last weekend in Tampa at a Storyteller’s Workshop with other widows and adult children who have lost a hero, and one of the assignments was to think about our story and focus on the places in the story where it would catch in our throat. That was the part we were going to work on healing.
I tried and tried, but I can honestly say that there is not any specific part of our story that catches in my throat. I have spoken about our loss so many times that it doesn’t always have a negative effect on me. Sometimes, I tell it and never choke up, and other times, I break down and my voice cracks, but never because of any certain details. It’s as random as the pieces of a puzzle emptied out on a table. But there was one thing that was getting caught in my throat, and that ended up becoming the focus of my story, just another chapter for me to write…
I am a Daddy’s girl. I’ve always been a Daddy’s girl. Never was that more clear than when he needed one more student to be in a summer band class, and he put me on trumpet for that three-week class. I carried that trumpet into my fifth-grade year, and back into summer band the next year. I played around with a French horn in the summer band just for curiosity’s sake, but when my sixth-grade band director found out, he immediately switched me over to horn, which was my true calling anyway.
When I went into my sophomore year, Dad was my band director again, but this time was for more than three weeks in the summer. After auditioning for our places, I was first horn, and I am sure there were people who thought it was only because my Dad was the band director… until they heard me play. Then they knew I had the chops to back it up. That year, for our concert band season in the spring, Dad chose the “La Belle Helene Overture”, which had a glissando for the first horn player, that went straight into a short solo. Nine out of ten times in rehearsal – maybe it was more like seven or eight, but nine sounds better – I would mess it up and miss the high note. I would either be too low, or I would overshoot it. Dad never said anything about it, but as we entered March and concert festival began to loom, closer and closer, I am sure he was frustrated every time I missed the note at the top. I know I was. Finally, the day arrived, and we were at the festival. The band started with the drop of his baton, and the glissando was coming ever closer, like a freight train… and then, I nailed it! It was perfection that day! Instantly, a look passed between Dad and me; the look on his face was one of so much love and pride, and probably even some relief, that it was almost palpable. It was so strong that friends of mine have even remarked on it in recent years, about how special it was for them to witness that kind of love between a father and a daughter.
As the years went by, there were other instances where that connection between father and daughter was so evident that everyone could see them. In Connecticut one Christmas, I had a bunch of my single friends over while my parents were visiting. After stuffing ourselves with Christmas dinner, we got out the Taboo game. Dad and I were a lethal combination when we played Taboo. I got the card “Big Ben”, and the usual five words you couldn’t say. I think they were something like: England, London, Bridge, Clock, Tower… pretty much anything that would rule out most people from coming up with any real clues. I just pointed toward the east and said, “It’s over there.” Dad responded, “England.” “It’s there,” I shouted, and he replied, “London!” Even more excited, I shouted again, “It’s there!!!” Dad shouted, “Big Ben,” and we took that point. All of my friends tried to throw the Bullshit card, but they had no real standing, so the point stood, but the amount of amazement and disbelief was definitely something big.
In 2019, as Christmas was approaching, I wasn’t feeling very Christmas-y. After all, IKEA was closing the plant so I would be out of a job by April of 2020, and it was our first Christmas with Abby living with us, and I just wasn’t feeling it. I wanted to, but I didn’t. I never said a word to Dad about it, but one day, he called me, and he told me to be on the lookout for a large box that was coming to the house. He also said to go ahead and open it when I got it instead of waiting until Christmas. The box arrived and after dragging it in from the porch, I opened it to find a seven-foot tall, lighted palm tree! This was the PERFECT present for me! Somehow, without me ever saying a word about how I was feeling, Dad knew that his little girl needed a little bit more that year. Once again, the connection ran so deeply that it didn’t matter that I hadn’t said anything, or that I was 700 miles away – Dad just knew.
Of late, Dad has been having more problems from the Parkinson’s that is taking over his body, and he needs someone with him pretty much around the clock to help care for him. I have been fortunate to be able to help out whenever possible, and two weeks ago, I was able to give Mom a respite for a few days so she could go on a retreat. It has been my plan to go wherever I need to go when Abby graduates from High School in May in order to take care of my parents. Seeing the changes in him this summer has been a lot more difficult than I would have thought. The dynamic has shifted, and more often than not, I find myself needing to be there for him. He’s always been my Superman, and he always will be, but I’ve realized that my Daddy isn’t going to live forever, and that is absolutely heartbreaking to come to terms with.
I was single for a long time before I met Grubby, and I had already established my own life without a “life partner”. I’d made my own money, had my own career, and lived my own life. As awful as losing him was, I knew that eventually, Abby and I would be okay. I knew how to do life without Grubby, but I realized something else last weekend…
Dad has been there for every single event, no matter how big or how small, in my nearly 55 years of life. I have no idea how to do life without him in it, and the thought that I may have to just aches and terrifies me. I really need to find that horn part again, and play it for him one more time…
I love you Dad…
