My worlds are kinda colliding at the moment.
A few days ago I wrote the sort of post in my Debbish blog which might usually be found here. It’s about ‘broken windows’ and the theory that offenders start with small stuff (graffiti and breaking windows) before moving onto more deadly crimes. Gretchen Rubin stretched the analogy into everyday life, where small things / signs around the house or workplace, might indicate that something bigger was (in fact) afoot.
And today I’m writing in this, my diet blog, about my dad: his life and his passing, which is something usually found in Debbish.
It is my father’s birthday today. He would have been 74 years of age.
Of course, he passed away almost exactly 18 mths ago, so there will be no parties. No celebrations.
My mother and I discussed what we might do; whether we could go for lunch or dinner in his honour. But… we’ve decided to celebrate his life in our own way.
She will go to the cemetery where (most of!) his ashes remain. She’s still living in the house they shared for almost 48 years, so she really needs no reminder of him and their time together.
I wrote some time ago, that I don’t really think of him being ‘at’ the cemetery. To me, he’s everywhere. Always.
Instead I decided to ponder on what he might be thinking if he’s looking down on me today.
He would have been worried about the decision I made to take the redundancy from work, and not look for another job straight away. He would have, however, loved my decision to move closer to (my original – and his) hometown, downsize and be debt-free.
He would be encouraging re my writing and blogging, though perhaps offer a harsh reality check from time to time, to ensure my expectations remain realistic.
He would be disappointed that I’ve all-but cut back on gym-related exercise; but he would be happy I go on leisurely walks and soak up the atmosphere of this place he also loved.
He would be sad I hadn’t found someone to love or to love me, but he would have continued to love me unconditionally. No matter what. (Something I was less sure of when I was younger.)
He’d probably be sad I’d gained weight and remained overweight for many many years, but as he also lived through the anorexia, he’d understand the struggle. He’d be disappointed, but FOR me, not IN me.
Risk averse, overly concerned about others’ feelings and judgement, I think he’d be okay with where I am at this point in time.
It’s strange, but even now that I’m in my 40s I hate the idea of disappointing my parents. I know though, he’d want me to be happy and to pursue a life that makes me happy. So it’s a useful reminder, to think that someone we know and love AND who knows and loves us, may be watching over us.
Have you lost someone special? Do you wonder what they might make of the decisions you make and the life you live?
April 4, 2013
Nice post Deb. It’s so true though- I think we spend more time worrying about whether we’ve disappointed our parents when at the end of the day all they want for us (I think & hope) is our happiness- even though sometimes they mightn’t agree with how we get there…
April 4, 2013
Very true Jo!
April 4, 2013
I doubt you could ever be a disappointment to your parents.
Reflecting on my own experiences, I think if a parent does display disappointment, it’s a transference of dissatisfaction with their own life.
Big hugs.
April 4, 2013
I can certainly see where my dad’s disappointment (at his own life) was reflected on my brother and I. Fortunately it also meant that he wanted better for both of us (and was willing to make sure we had the opportunities we wanted).
April 4, 2013
Around my neck I wear a locket that I bought after my grandmother died. She was an incredibly special person to me and loved me unconditionally. She always told me I was beautiful, had lovely skin and was a great mother and they’re all things I needed to hear at times. So wearing the locket is my way of remembering her. I’ve also been given her engagement ring and I always wear that to family events – like weddings and birthdays and graduations – so Grandma is a part of it too.
April 4, 2013
How lovely. My father’s mother (Nanna) died before I was born and my other one lived a LONG way away. When I was old enough to find out where Nanna’s grave was though I used to ride my bike out there and sit and chat to her… I was always sad that she wasn’t around. I think we would have been close.
April 4, 2013
Lovely post Deb. I’m sure you are spot on with what your dad would be thinking of you right now. I know that I could pretty accurately guess what my parents are thinking of me and my situation right now. I’m 48 and I’m still always very conscious of not disappointing my parents. I think I will always be this way. As my parents age, I’m increasingly making sure that I am properly present in every moment I spend with them. I drink everything and every detail up…knowing that one day they will no longer be here. It’s scary…but there is no avoiding that fact that that day comes eventually for all of us.
April 8, 2013
Very true Min and it’s great that you appreciate the time you have with them. I was reading some old posts recently and got to the days when my father went into hospital. Little did I know he’d never get out and pass away 6 weeks later.
April 4, 2013
Nice reflections. My dad died suddenly 2 years ago. Mostly from time to time I wish I could share things with him, and he could share in my pride and joy over my kids.
April 8, 2013
Hi Coco… not sure what I believe in (in terms of gods/ life after death etc) but like to think that my dad’s still watching… so perhaps yours is as well.
April 4, 2013
I really enjoyed this post Deb. Don’t have anything to add. You did it beautifully!
April 8, 2013
Thanks Liz.
April 4, 2013
Lovely post! I kinda think he would be all around you always too. I think he woukd be very proud and loving where youre living. My Grandma died three and a half years ago, although it doesn’t seem that long. And she loved this particular flower that I now notice everywhere (can’t think of the name). It always makes me feel like she is there.
I still seek my parents approval. Particularly from my Mum. I always assume I’ll get to this grown up point where I’ve got it and I’ll never need it again. Made me realize that point is probably not a reality.
April 8, 2013
I suspect we’re still trying to please our parents our entire lives – not sure that’s necessarily a bad thing, unless it completely hinders our natural instincts.
April 5, 2013
What a beautiful post Deb. I often wonder the very same things…what is my Dad thinking about? I, too, don’t think of my Dad as being (mostly) at Arlington…he’s all around. More and more I think that the only person who needs to be proud of me is me…my Dad as always very good at telling me he was behind me and proud of me and I know he loved me unconditionally…it’s ME who sometimes struggles with loving me unconditionally. And I just realized that our Dads were born close together…my Dad would have been 78 on 3/31. Your Dad shares a birthday with my grandson 🙂
April 8, 2013
One of the things I struggle with when it comes to my dad is how I remember him. The ‘dad’ of the last 7-10 years (with his dementia and post transplant) was a very different man to the one I spent my first 35 years with!
April 5, 2013
So true that your dad is all around you and not just underground. I think it’s really great that you took the time to reflect on what he would have felt about things, although I am sure he loved you through and through.
April 8, 2013
I like to think so Lou Lou… especially the person he was at the end – so grateful and loving.
April 27, 2013
My dad died 13 years ago. I’m 23 now and and it took me a while to stop grieving and move on. I don’t think there’s an expiration date for grief. Everyone has their way of dealing with death. The key to moving on is to cherish the good memories you had with your dad and use them to bring closure and enlightenment into your life. Also to accept that dying is a part of life, and no matter what, it’s going to happen one day. You just have learn to accept it as a part of life.
April 27, 2013
Hi Josie and thanks for your comment. I realise you are right about cherishing the memories. In many ways it’s like he isn’t even gone.
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