Three hundred thirty four days since my dad's accident. Three hundred thirty three mornings, waking up without him. Three hundred thirty three nights, his side of the bed empty, his wife-our mom-without him.
Three hundred thirty four days to press on, move forward, relish memories, delight in the promises of God, offer gratitude for the time we did have together.
My dad and I talked often. A minimum, once a week. It was probably ten days at the most, in my whole lifetime, that we did not communicate - even if he was on travel or if I was on a trip, we emailed. What a lucky daughter I am, to have a dad so hands on and fun, that he felt just as much a friend as a dad.
My dad and my mom were close. They clicked. They were fiesty, and they knew how to argue, but more than that, they knew how to love, how to laugh. Notes by the dozen arrived in the mail after my dad's accident, people from all walks of life talking about how my parents marriage impacted them. I cannot begin to put myself in my mom's shoes, after 30 years of marriage, to have your husband gone in a split second. It's nauseating.
Lately I've been a bit more angry than in the past. I'm still mad/confused/sad that our friend Jay Chen is not on the planet, that's he off in Heaven and we're left here to deal with life without him. And now, Dad's gone too. I thought to myself, "You know, we weren't even over Jay's death yet- my dad and his friends still missed their friend... my friends still miss their dad on a daily basis, and now - we have to deal with this? It's too soon." But then I realized - we're never going to be "over" Jay's untimely death. And we're never ygoing to be "over" Dads. We just... we take a deep breath, we grip the hand of someone nearby, maybe til our knuckles turn white, and we keep walking forward.
Together - that's how we move forward. Something that has gotten me through these past three hundred thirty four days without my dad is the camaraderie that comes with grief. When one of Dad's oldest and dearest friends, Jim, seems sad, or tells a story from their middle school cafeteria, I feel better. When his friend Bobby texts me from the Marble Falls triathlon, and refers to himself as Team BobbyTommy, I feel so much better. Dad meant something to a lot of people. And Dad left people behind who will take care of us. We're not alone in this. God has provided comfort and peace through so many, many avenues.
I went to my first Astros game since Dad died this week. I've been to at least 50 astros games in the past 15 years, and only two were without Dad: one with college roomie Amy, and one with a future husband. This time, Drew was there, too, and because he was the reason I was going, it was bearable. Life goes on, and I see so very much of Dad in Drew, and he is always wonderfully supportive, if I'm sad, happy, whatever, he rides along with my emotional rollercoaster. But it was still...weird. Couldn't text him the score. Couldn't ask him where the name for the Crawford boxes came from. Couldn't tell him we found free street parking (I know he was still proud from Heaven.) Baseball is something Dad loved and shared with me - and I am so thankful for all the people that loved Dad and continue to share with us.
When I was in a teary mood after the Astros game, I went to my dad's facebook page, which he created while he was a YoungLife leader so he could "facebook" with his high school kids. A girl from the grade level he led had written on his wall right after his death, and for some reason, it made me smile and sob at the same time. Some girl, in high school, met a 49/50 year old dude that meant something to her, and she was sad he died. It has been so tremendously comforting to know I'm not crazy to be so sad. If she can be sad and mourn a young life leader's death, I can certainly be sad and mourn his death since he was my dad.
Luke and Sarah Allen have been one of MANY to take such good care of the five of us since Dad died. Sarah wrote a blog I hadn't read since December. She posted it in September and I read it numerous times in the fall. But it was good for me to read again, recently. Good to know that Dad is not forgotten. Good to know Dad is a man worth imitating. Good to know Dad is one of many, many people who leave us "early"- who leaves a deep, aching feeling in our gut when we have to say goodbye.
Three hundred thirty four days. Every single day, we've missed you Dad. And every single day, God has loved us.
“Living a life fully engaged and full of whimsy and the kind of things that love does is something most people plan to do, but along the way they just kind of forget. Their dreams become one of those "we'll go there next time" deferrals. The sad thing is, for many there is no "next time" because passing on the chance to cross over is an overall attitude toward life rather than a single decision.” -Bob Goff, Love Does
Sarah Allen's blog post about TR: http://icouldneverblog.wordpress.com/2012/09/10/i-need-to-write-this-down/
