dad

To you, Dadio

~ Jenna ~ 2 Comments

Where are you?

When I’m angry at you for leaving. When a shit-storm is passing through our family and the world. When the comfort of home is far out of reach. When I look through hundreds of recent photos and you’re not in one. When nothing makes sense, nothing goes right and grief rages on. When a beautiful baby boy is born.

Where are you?

The answer to my vocal doubt has never not been – I’m right here. I’m wherever you are. 

I rubbed my cracked heels together the other night, the same way you used to while sitting on your big brown chair in the family room, talking about sports or politics or something. When Maisley yelled, “I’m hungry!”, I pulled an old trick from your playbook and replied with, “Hi Hungry, I’m Jenna”. 

I see you in me. 

I see you in Nicole the way she stands up for what she believes in and how she says it with conviction. I see you in Linny in her carefree moments, the way she tells a sly joke and laughs with every tooth God gave her.  I see you in Meesh, the way she says yes to spontaneous happenings while navigating her days by always doing the next right thing. I see you in mom with her overly generous heart and the way she walks us out to our cars, offering to help us carry our bags. 

I see you in Brandon’s calm, intentional demeanor and in James’ inventive projects. And of course, I see you in Ryan, the way he has grown into his sarcasm game towards mom, the joy he gets from sweeping the side yard, and the way he never tires of working to create the best life for his family.

You’ve missed so much according to my human mind, a lifetime in two years. 

I desperately want to tell you about our air conditioning leak and the ins and outs of our escrow deal. The tone of Coura’s voice as she sings, Take Me Out To The Ball Game. The way Maisley pauses every time she hears a cricket and says, “Hi Poppi!”

But whenever I have that recurring dream about you coming back home after living in San Francisco or somewhere else far away, the only thing I end up saying profusely is, “I love you, I’m so thankful for you, I miss you.”

I hope you never wonder. I hope you can see the corners of my healing heart and know that they are yours.

I love you, I’m so thankful for you, I miss you.

What If It’s Great?

~ Jenna ~ 2 Comments

I couldn’t walk after my dad died. My anxiety was crippling. I thought I was also going to die. The grief had manifested so physically that I could barely get up. Every type of food made me nauseous like I was back in my first trimester of pregnancy. I had to stop breastfeeding my 4-month-old daughter because I had nothing left to give.

It was the lowest point of my entire life, but I’m here. I’m moving. Most days forward, some days back. The path I’m on feels unfamiliar, so in a way it doesn’t feel like mine, even though I know it is.

Today I walked for 45 minutes. I made everyone breakfast. I drove Maisley to preschool. I don’t have to Uber to therapy anymore. I’ve never been more grateful to be accomplishing ordinary daily tasks.

There’s been a shift in my grief after over the last couple of weeks. Discomfort is pervasive, but it doesn’t quite feel like I’m on the Hunger Games anymore; on edge every second of the day wondering when and how grief will strike – a hail storm of anger? A tidal wave of sadness?

Still, everything is upside down.  Red is blue and blue is green. 

My grief has more questions than it does answers. It doesn’t understand, trapped in the limited capacity of my human mind. Why him? Where is he right now? 

Every day of this coming year feels like unchartered territory; random ones like May 15th and special ones like December 25th. What will every day be like without Dad? What will it feel like in the spring and summer?

In therapy today I talked about how I’m a little apprehensive every time my mom calls. What if the tone in her voice makes my heart sink to my knees? 

My world changed on a hopeful, bright blue, Saturday morning. Sorrow fell out of the sky and hit me like an anvil on an old Bugs Bunny cartoon. A part of me had been waiting my whole charmed life for that phone call.

Would it have helped if I had been worried and fearful all morning?

Not one bit.

Whether I expect bad things or good things, things will just happen. Life will continue to happen.  I can feel myself inching toward a shift, because, what if it’s great? What if I expect good things? 

Feeling that positivity and hope start to permeate my perspective feels more genuine than living in the twilight of foreboding joy. 

Anne Lamott said it best: “To have been born is a miracle. What are the odds?”

The Summer of Life and Death

~ Jenna ~ 1 Comment

I’ve lived 31 years without knowing what grief is. I know about death. People die all the time. Just not people who are ingrained in my DNA, my every memory, my childhood, and my entire existence up to one moment.

From one moment to the next, my life became unrecognizable.  I’ve been propelled into an alternate universe where I feel every emotion, often at once. Everything and everyone around me feels like glass, like the rest of my life could shatter at any moment. Homesick, as the priest said.

Who will I be on the other side of this loss? What does life look like without my Dad?

My daughter was born on June 1st. My dad died on September 29th. It’s a strange thing having life and death in the same season.  As I stood there in a vulnerable postpartum state, my heart wide open, physically exhausted and run down, I lost one of the single greatest influences of my life: my dad.

I can’t help but recall the process of birth as I am learning to survive death.

As goes birth, so does death; breath by breath. If you fight against the surges, they will sweep you away, becoming even more painful and intense. The only way I am learning to survive is to sway with the intense surges of grief, surrendering to this powerful force and allowing it to move through me. Once it is has passed, I desperately search for the peace and joy in the moments in between, trying not to dwell on the intensity of what I just felt or on what’s coming next.

I’m not sure exactly what happened in between her birth and his death. It all feels blurry right now. I think there was sand and sunshine, a little doom and June gloom. Birthday celebrations, trips and other ordinary memories that are now anything but that. 

The only thing I am sure of is right now. I am alive. Living this season, this moment, in gratitude, prayer, anger, sadness and hope.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Dad Showed Up

~ Jenna ~ 2 Comments

My dad showed up. 

He showed up every day to work as a compassionate and intelligent boss, a quietly confident role model, never once taking a sick day.

He showed up every day as a dad, in steadfast love, support, advice and compassion.

He showed up to every soccer game and track meet with a smile, like he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. He once surprised me and flew from Las Vegas to San Diego for a quick 4-hour trip just to watch me run the 800. I will never forget the feeling of seeing my dad there to cheer me around the track.

He showed up every day as a husband, kissing my mom first thing when he came home from work, being the best teammate and partner for endless parties and bbqs, building a successful life together from humble coupon-cutting beginnings.

He showed up as a handyman, a Jeff of all trades, to help me fix things around our house as a first-time home buyer. Who else but my dad to would be crawling through the attic, cutting a whole in our loft to install air conditioning. Or showing up with the exact tools to perfectly patch a whole in our wall. Don’t know how to fix the toilet handle? I’ve got a dad for that.

He showed up across the world when I needed him most. I called him crying while studying abroad saying that it was hard to be away from home. He called me back saying he’d love to come visit. We traveled around Italy together and then again years later around Australia and New Zealand, never getting sick of each other, sharing beers, hikes, laughs and unforgettable adventures.

He showed up in humility for everyone in the community in big and small ways with his golden heart. Helping a neighbor grab her bible that she dropped in a storm drain, fixing leaks, financially supporting make-a-wish style trips for people in need, and always doing the right thing.

And more than anything, what I will miss most, is that he showed up as himself every day; down to earth, a humble essence, with a keen perspective on what was important in life.  My dad treated everyone he met with respect. He lived out what it means to work hard and did it with the greatest witty sense of humor.

Today, we show up in his honor. We show up as reflections of him, and the kindness he showed us, We show up as the best versions of ourselves. We show up in deep gratitude and with enormous pride for what he gave us.

Dadio: we will always be your biggest fans, your number one babes. Thank you for our memorable conversations spent at 35,000 feet, thank you for grinding up mustard hill by my side, thank you for Sunday morning brekkies, for endless early morning ski runs at Bass Lake and for 31 years of countless more memories.

We are who we are because of you and mom. We will live out the rest of our lives with you in our hearts, forever entwined in our choices, our actions and our character. I love you Dadio.

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