happy birthday, Pops

I hear you all the time, Dad. 

When I'm reversing out of a parking space, I hear "never back up more than you have to" and think of you teaching me over and over that more car accidents happen in reverse than in forward, because of lack of visibility. I hear you as someone in front of me makes a turn sooooo slowly, I hear you telling me from the passenger seat as we practiced on Memorial Drive - "accelerate through the turn. You want your speed slow enough before you begin the turn that you're actually pressing the gas through the turn and picking up speed..." 

People wonder why I'm an impatient driver. I learned from the best. 

When Drew makes a comment about getting our garage organized, or when he puts motion sensors and automatic timers on the lights on our driveway, I know you're not far away. 

Whenever I say "what do you have to lose by just asking?" I hear you clearly in my head. I remember your "can-do" attitude often. 

I had a vivid dream with you in it the other night. It doesn't happen often, so I hope I don't sound too dramatic, but I woke up with tears streaming down and rolled over to rest my head on Drew. It was early, still very dark outside, and he didn't know why I was upset. At first, I had forgotten you were gone. The dream tricked me, made me think everything was okay, that mom was okay and we were okay and that you were still close to us even though you're "gone." I took some deep breaths and realized...maybe that's why I had the dream. Because mom is okay and we're okay and in many ways you're still all around us. 

I wonder if there are many daughters out there who learned as much from their dads as I have learned from you. I often feel like the luckiest girl in the world, that you were mine. Wonder if I ever told you that...I probably just told you to trim your crazy eyebrows, that those "caterpillars" were bad for business. I was right, of course, but I could have added "you're the best." 

I have such financial and business sense from you, from you taking the time to teach us practical things (though sometimes it felt like a lecture over dreaded math homework.) You taught Gentry and I to drive stick shift, to operate boats (Gentch paid far more attention at those lessons), to adjust the "flux capacitor" - in other words, to just keep trying until you fix it. 

You told me not to worry so much about what people think, when I was mortified that you were throwing candy from your airplane to kids at Camp Longhorn and boats on Lake LBJ. You weren't going to let worrying what people thought of you stop you from doing what you found to be fun. (Granted, this was in your forties that you figured out to stop caring so much about others' perception of you.) 

You told me that I needed to flirt more, several times in my life. You told me after college that I shouldn't expect to meet someone at a bar. You said I needed to look for guys at church. It struck me as funny advice coming from someone with so many rowdy stories of their college years. You told me "listen to my gut" when making decisions about my first real job offer, something I repeat to myself often. You told me to pray. 

I still remember the day I got my "third grade bible" and you highlighted the first verse you had ever memorized - John 3:16. I remember you playing a CD of 6 "Young Life" songs on repeat in your car as Jay was sick, and then as we grieved. 

You taught me, through many discussions on bike rides and jogs, that life is not fair. I didn't want to accept that, but you kept pushing it. Then, your plane engine malfunctioned, and that was it,. Life, in a blink, ended. It seemed so unfair... 

But it's also unfair that I had such a hero for a dad and other people get absolute crap. So you were absolutely right, Pops- life is not fair. But God is just and full of mercy and for that we are all grateful.

I learned so much from you, in my 26 years of life with you. And even since you've been gone, you've still taught us things. Occasionally I think about your dad, how painful it was for you to watch him digress with dementia, how awful the process was, and how anxious you were about having Alzheimer's yourself. You would confide in mom your fears on a regular basis... "I know I have Alzheimer's, too. I will be a burden to my family, like Dad." But that is a fear no more. 

You've taught me that there are worse things than going out in a plane crash at sunset in the beautiful Texas Hill Country. You will never be old, Dad. You will never not recognize your family. You will always be that wild man diving off railroad bridges and doing triathlons in his 50s, you will always be holding moms hand on the center console as you drive down the highway for the lake, you will always be smitten with "your" Amy and talking about rum or baseball with Drew, impressed with both of them for putting up with us and proud of them for loving us so well. You will always be singing "your love is high, and your love is wide, and your love is deep, and your love is long." 

You're gone from us for now, Dad, but on your birthday this year, I am reminded, through friends' stories and pictures and laughter, through mom's memories, and Gentry's mannerisms that are so much of you... With your voice in my head, I am reminded, you will always be.

"You Aint Never Had a Friend Like Me"

I haven't seen the movie Aladdin in at least a decade. It was one of my dads favorites-  he was a big Robin Williams fan, and when the movie came out, he quoted it regularly and sang the songs for years after. 

 

I've been waking up missing my dad these last few days, more than usual. Call it hormones, or timing, or just random, I'm not sure why. But it makes sense that this morning around 6 am, without having heard the song or thought of the movie in forever, I woke up singing the Genie's song "you ain't never had a friend like me." I honestly thought it was from the jungle book at first, and googled to find more of the words than that one line so I could maybe get it out of my head.

When Aladdin turned up in my search request, I instantly thought, OH! Of course! 

Maybe I was dreaming of my dad singing it, or saying some of the famous lines "you wake me up, you rub my lamp, you're getting your three wishes, so SIT DOWN." 

 

For whatever reason, that song was in my head. And at least the chorus is quite fitting for my brother and me. It's interesting that the words are not "I ain't never had a friend like YOU" but instead, the words are tooting the singer's own horn- you ain't never had a friend like ME ... and the Genie sings about all the wonderful things he can do for his friends.  

 

That's me and Gentry though, playfully cocky and self-assured. Gentry tells people a lot he's the better looking between the two of us; I am quick to point out I'm much older, wiser, and smarter of the two. 

 

As I prepare to become a parent myself here pretty quick, I've realized what a gift my parents gave Gentry and me by encouraging us to play together as toddlers - and from then on. Gentry is truly one of my very best friends. The fact that our offices are right next door to each other has been so fun in the past two years - only one major sibling argument and that was about turning the lights on or off in the kitchen when no one is in the office kitchen. I'm pro saving electricity, but Gentry is  anti-light switch. It's just too much for him to turn on a light more than once a day, but I digress...

 

G is hilarious and smart and very driven, he reminds me just by his actions that I should work out more, get outside more, and make time for being healthy. He reminds me with his sometimes crazy thoughts, about chambray shirts and elk hunting and sugar-free red bull and such, that people with different opinions and interests can actually be quite close. He remembers movie lines and imitates accents like a professional actor - he's very fun to be around! (98% of the time.) His voice is identical to our dads, which is so comforting. And he also reminds me of many of the good qualities of our grandfather, Aubrey, who at times were overshadowed by the grumpy, difficult man I saw a lot. Gentry brings out the best in memories of B. (Mostly. Ain't nobody perfect except Jesus, amiright?)

 
 

 

There are many, many people without whom I would be LOST in this often overwhelming grief thing, after losing my Dad- so many people who push me forward to keep living even though I miss him so much. We all miss the larger-than-life, amazingly fun man that I was privileged to call mine. So many people who point to faith, or offer wise counsel, or relive memories with us. My dads oldest friend, who reminds us to celebrate his birthday, not the anniversary of the plane crash. Most of all, I have sweet Drew to thank for getting me through missing dad, for always understanding, for laughing or crying, for listening, and for somehow, in just one quick year, really grasping what my dad was all about. 

And then there's Gentry, who gets me through the grief without even knowing it probably. For having dad's mannerisms, for making people feel valued the way dad did, for dancing at weddings, for teasing his wife in the same way with the same "I love you like crazy" twinkle in his eye that we saw growing up, for getting feisty over silly things and big things, for having similar hands - Sometimes Gentry is telling a story, and he wears Dad's wedding band and watch, both which mom gave him, and it's like Dad is still here, with his hands waving in the air as he gets to a punch line. 

I like to think I help Gentry too, by reminding him how much he's like dad, for one. G doesn't see it as much as we all do, I'm sure. And just as G is hilarious, I sometimes have jokes. It's true, I sometimes make him laugh! And I give him great advice sometimes, and I'm getting really good at mediating between him and mom. (Grief counseling has benefits that last for years, people. Everyone should do it.) And I am EXCELLENT at reminding Gentry that he married waaaaay out of his league. I leave post its around his office occasionally while he's at meetings, and most of them follow the theme "what's it like to know your wife is hotter than you, AND nicer than you?" 

 

I'm so thankful to have Gentry to go through these awful and happy past two, coming up on three years, since Dad died. And he should be thankful for me.... Basically, we could both wake up singing the chorus to "you ain't never had a friend like me..." And I think Dad would smile about that.

 

here's a link to the full song from Aladdin - and as always, thank you for reading.