Good Times, Great Oldies

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Safety

It's funny how the human mind works. It does a lot to maintain our life without reminder, without controlled thought on our parts. Our hearts beat perfectly, ventricles open and close without a conscious thought to tell them to. We breathe without telling our brain to open our lungs, to close them. Our major organs function seemingly all on their own. If we get into an accident or have a major injury, our minds kick in without any conscious effort on our part to protect the body from feeling the intensity of the pain or from being fully aware of how great our injuries might be.
Our minds keep us safe.
My mind has been doing that for me ever since dad died. I notice that most days when dad enters my thoughts the pain is not there. Then, there are other days when dad enters my thoughts and I feel all of the pain, sadness, anger and hurt that comes with grieving his loss. The few days after I feel that pain are when my mind kicks in to protect me. I notice on those days that even if I try to think of dad I can feel my mind immediately push the thought out. Sometimes I don't notice it, but sometimes it's so strong of a push that I can't help but notice it. Sometimes I have to try so hard to get a clear thought or memory of dad that I notice how hard my mind is fighting to keep me from being aware of my pain. It so forcefully shoves those thoughts of dad away that I have to forcefully shove back to allow them in. Perhaps it's because in the days prior to these shoving matches the pain was too great. My mind knows that the pain can be too much sometimes and all of that pain is still so fresh in my memory. After a while my mind lets go, stops shoving, stops protecting, and I am able to think of dad again; Until one of the hard days returns. Those days where even the thought of thinking about him brings me to tears. The smell of him, his shirt in my closet, seeing a truck that looks like his, so many thoughts and memories of dad that just flood in and bring me to my knees. Those days are raw, those days are painful and they are difficult to bear.
Then comes my mind to the rescue... pushing away those thoughts and feelings to keep me sane. Is it a blessing or a curse? I don't know yet. Some days it's a relief not to be burdened by the sadness. Some days I wonder, though, if it's really beneficial. I will have to go through all that pain at some point, am I just prolonging it?
I guess it doesn't matter, really, because I can't control that protective subconscious of my mind.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Christmas Without Dad

The time has come that I've been dreading. It hit me like a wall. Thanksgiving at mom's was fun and magical and full of joy. When we drove home it felt like it was instantly Christmas. Normally when we come home from mom's for Thanksgiving we unpack the suitcases and necessities from the car and then I hurry over to dad's to unload the presents in his house. He kept them hidden from the kids for me and during December I'd spend hours at his house wrapping gifts. He'd come into the room and we'd talk. I'd go upstairs and we'd watch Deal or No Deal. It wasn't really much, but it was me and Dad. He liked to see what I had gotten the kids and he'd talk about coming over Christmas morning. This year is going to be so hard. I know that each Christmas will be easier. But this one, this Christmas, marks the end of the magic that Dad brought to it. I don't know how it will be Christmas morning. I know I will want to cry. Kaylee is already so worried about me on Christmas. She keeps saying "Mom, I know you're going to be sad and you'll just be crying on Christmas. I don't want you to cry." I tell her that I will probably feel some sadness but when we need to feel sad, we should. That letting the sadness come helps it to not last so long. And, it's ok to cry. Crying can help us feel better. I also remind her that I will have so much to be happy about on Christmas morning. That I will be with my 3 favorite kids and my favorite Honey and that Grandma Teresa will still be there to enjoy it with us. I tell her that watching her and her brothers will make me so happy and that I know Papa will be there feeling happy with us, even if we can't see him. But.... I'm afraid. I'm afraid the sadness will be too great to bare. I know it's good for her to see me cry, so she doesn't grow up thinking that hiding feelings is a good way to cope. But, she's so worried. I don't want to make her sad on Christmas. I want her to enjoy it just as much as she always has. I don't know how it will be....I hope it will be ok... that I will be able to keep my spirits up. Dad was an important part of our Christmas Day. Even though he would come to our house to watch the kids open their presents, we would still go to his house later in the day and meet with all the rest of the family to open presents there. It was like we had twice the Christmas. I just loved being around dad. I was up last night thinking of him and I realized that dad was just never in a bad mood. He was always laughing, always teasing, always smiling..... and he was always there. But now he's gone. He's gone. How can he really be gone? I was always afraid of dad dying, for a lot of years it was my biggest fear. Not because I loved him more than the rest of my family, but because he traveled for work all the time. He was gone driving for hours on end and I can remember laying in bed when I was a teenager thinking "What would I do if Dad didn't make it home?" But, he'd always make it home and I felt relieved and felt like I was worrying over nothing. I was afraid of losing him then, but he quit that job. He didn't have to drive anymore. He was retired and happy. And he died when I least expected it.
I knew Christmas would be hard. I didn't expect the sadness to just hit me the instant I came home. I thought I'd be ok until Christmas day, and that it would be hard on that day. But it's hard now. It was hard yesterday and it's hard today. I miss him so so much. I wish he wasn't gone. I wish that more than anything.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Things I Remember About Dad

THINGS I LIKE TO REMEMBER WHEN I THINK ABOUT DAD

He always called me "Sheeshee"
He would always say "Someday I'll learn how to make gravy". He made the best gravy.
When he would soak in the hot tub he would keep just his eyes above the water and swim around. We always joked that he was part hippo.
When I was little I would wrap my hand tight around his index finger and try to see if I could keep him from being able to bend it. He could always bend it. I thought he was the strongest man alive.
He had an old truck that ran on propane and there was this huge propane tank in the bed of it and he'd always let us ride on top of it.
He taught us how to smoke weeds. (Not "weed", mind you. Just hollow hay that we'd pull out of the ground and light the end of).
When Jack was a toddler dad used to say that he reminded him of Alfred E. Newman (the Mad Magazine character). I, of course, disagreed.
He always put Mentholatem on his nose when he went to bed.
He made a motorboat sound with his lips whenever he was busy with a task.
He would always come over and run errands for me so I could stay in bed when I was sore.
He wore one-piece garments.
When I was about 4 I went into his room one night, I can't remember why, but he had changed into his pajamas and was already laying in bed. His pants were on the floor with his boots still inside the leg-holes. He told me that his legs came off while he was at work and that's why he was in bed. I believed him too.
As long as I can remember he drank Pepsi. In his later years he had bottles of it in the fridge. When I was a kid, he always had a "Maverik Mug" full of it.
He would stick toothpicks in the trim of his truck window so he would always have one when he needed it.
When he got bored driving he would drum beats on his dashboard.
He liked to pull apart slices of bread and pour milk over them with pepper and eat it.
He called Grandma Kuchler "Mommy".
He taught me to ride a motorcycle.
He'd tell us ghost stories when we were camping that he swore were true. Two that I remember were about a crazy lady who escaped from a mental institution and it was news that people had seen her and to look out for her because she will harm you. The other was there was a creature named "Poop-n-dicker" who lived in swift creek canyon and he would catch children and turn boys into girls and girls into boys.
He took me to swim at the old sulfur springs swimming pool.
He took us tubing the salt river when we were probably too young to do it.
He let me drive when I was 14.
He used Listerine and smelled like it a lot.
He had really rough fingers.
He was always cooking something and his house always smelled like the last meal he had prepared.
He would take my kids and Chad's kids "walkin" when they were tiny toddlers and let them touch leaves, touch water, touch the grass, pick up sticks and rocks... he was patient and sweet with all of his grandbabies.
He always cut down his own Christmas trees. One year his tree was too tall for the house and instead of cutting off the bottom to make it shorter he cut off the top. He said "Well, the reason I picked this tree was because of how full it was at the bottom, so why would I want to cut off my favorite part of the tree."
After I left for school in the morning he would go in my room and turn the heat down, then I'd come home and turn it back up.
He loved balogna sandwiches.
He would lay on the floor and call Bosco over and together they would take a nap; dad's arm around Bosco just snoozing away.
He knew everything and remembered everyone.... and who their parents, cousins, brothers, sisters, dogs, kids, aunts, uncles, grand parents, great grand parents, etc. were.
He put wood blocks on my first bike so I would be tall enough to reach the pedals.
He had his "Al-isms"... "Well, ya know what thought did...thought he farted and he pooped his pants."
He let us be independent.
He is squinting in almost every photo that ever existed of him.
He was humble.
He didn't really like TV, so if he was watching it all he cared to watch was football and game shows.
He came to all of my kids's plays, sharing days, and ceremonies at school.
When we were little kids he let us go everywhere with him. He never ever made us feel like we were in the way or a burden. He loved being around us.
He looked like a different man without his mustache.
When I was a little kid I'd watch him shovel the driveway from the window... he would be making his motorboat sound.
I remember my first motorcycle ride with him when I was little and we lived in St. George. He just took me around the block but I thought I was pretty awesome because I'd had a ride on a motorcycle.
He liked to listen to The Eagles.
He also liked Styx and Bread.
He liked to stop at lame attractions on the sides of highways, like the tree growing out of the rock that is on the way to Denver.
He did all he could to bring us together as a blended family...taking trips to Lake Powell, Camping, etc.
He thought all of our ideas were just as great as we thought they were, i.e.) the giant water slide that started at the mountain behind his house, went down the hill, down the yard and ended at the trees. Also, when Todd and Chad thought it would be fun to put skis on the bottom of an old couch to pull riders around on it on the icy roads he was right there with them, helping attach the skis and driving the truck.
He always made time for us. Always.
Dad was always Dad. He knew who he was and what he liked and that was just fine with him :).
He helped me catch my first fish when I was four.
He could keep a straight face no matter how hard you tried to make him laugh, only to smile when you stopped trying because he had won.
He still had the keychain on his keyring that said "Superdad" that we had given him in 1987.
He kept a golf ball duck figurine and a fisherman duck figurine that we had also given him when we were kids.
He didn't hold grudges.
When Grandma Gloria needed help with "man tasks" my dad would always help her even though she wasn't his mother-in-law anymore.
He would always say that he wouldn't care if his dog ran away, but we all knew he was lying. He played with his dog, rolled around on the floor with his dog, let his dog ride on his lap in the truck. He loved that dog.
He worked for Maverik for a lot of years and at one point either Todd or Chad or I realized that he looked just like the "Maverik Man" mascot. (There's not a Maverik Man mascot anymore, but dad did look like him).
Dad didn't swear. At least I don't remember him swearing. I don't even remember him getting mad enough to use fake swear words like "frickin".
Dad used to mow the lawn at 5 or 6 in the morning on Saturdays and wake everybody up.
He would always call me from his work and ask me to come down to take pictures off their camera and put them onto the computer
.
He was logical.
When I was a kid he gave me "charlie horses" and he would "milk my mouse" (which is when he'd bend my pinky into my hand and squeeze real hard til I begged for mercy).
When I was adult he would give me charlie horses and milk my mouse.
Everyone was fair-game for Al to tease. My friends, Todd's friends, Chad's friends... basically anyone who came home with any of us was gonna get teased.
He hated those little pine tree air fresheners for your car. He said, "why would I want my car to smell like cherries? It's a car not a cherry."
I don't think he's ever slept past 6:30 a.m. in his life.
Each of us 6 kids were special to him individually.
I remember when I was little, probably 5 or 6, he would always have gum during Sacrament Meeting. If I asked for a piece he'd always say he didn't have anymore and would give me the piece out of his mouth; and I didn't think that was gross at all.
He let me be myself and never tried to push or force me to be anything other than who I was.
I remember when we were living in St. George and he worked at Lyn's Supermarket. He worked in the meat department and had to unload the trucks late at night. He took me with him once and I stole a caramel out of the bulk foods bin. He just smiled a little when he noticed me trying to eat it without being obvious. "What? I don't have a caramel? What caramel? I don't even know what you're talking about??".
Not long ago Dusty and I were at a sporting goods store looking for a gift for dad and we came across a canvas, dutch oven storage and carrying bad. We decided against it though because we said to each other that he'd probably just say "What do I need a carrying bag for? The dutch oven has a handle." Later, we asked him if he would have liked one and sure enough he said "What would I need one of those for, it's got a handle already."

I could go on and on with this list, but, it's 3:44 in the morning so I'd better get back to bed.

I will just say this:

Dad was everything a father should be and more; He was my dad, the best dad there ever was.