On Saturday, I was cleaning the small part of our garage. We have a 3-car garage (Hanson, anyone?) and one side of it, the third wheel, has all this storage space and drawers and so on. A lot of my Apartment Stuff has been in there. I have my comfy green couch in there, and quite a few drawers--a dresser, nightstand, file cabinets, etc. and also my cute little desk. I decided with all my crafting and such lately that it would be a good place to keep supplies organized and to just have as a work/hang space. So, I righted the couch, replaced the drawers in their bodies, and went through and condensed boxes.
One particularly messy box had a bunch of my Dad's old stuff. This was really touching to go through. For one thing, my Dad saved a lot of little stuff: ticket stubs, notes, receipts. And it's cute because it is something that he passed on to me and at least one other sibling. I often save ticket stubs and other little mementos, for which my mom teases me. What will that stuff ever be good for? A fire hazard? But this time it was good because I saw my Dad's saved tickets from our trip to Disney World the summer before his accident. It was a big deal for us to go, and seeing his 'clippings' of that time was like seeing our shared memories through his eyes. He has lots of fire, paramedic, swat, navy, marines, and cheesy Christian stuff. If he were here now, I would probably tease him about being a dork about things, even though he's my hero for it.
Another reason going through these things is moving is because our life with Dad seems a world away. Childhood, already foreign enough to a 20something, is a place where Dad dwelt. That chapter of my life was bliss. Our family was whole, grown-ups were omniscient, and the things you could imagine could realize. All of us have to grow up, but not all of us have to leave quite so much behind.
We have grown up and moved on. We moved houses, cities, states. This world of California, college, jobs, adulthood, even our pets--none of them are really connected to Dad, except through the grape-vine. Not to say that this is a "Wonderful Life" world where he never existed. Of course not. It's not that he is a stranger to me, some invisible figure. I knew my Dad as an 11 year-old knows her father. Probably better than a lot of 11 yr-olds these days. I only wish I had the chance to know him now, as his 23 yr-old daughter. To be honest, though, he feels distant. And that makes me really sad.
So then going through boxes of his personal things hit me with a wave of closeness that I haven't felt in quite a while. Sure, I can't ask him about who 'this lady' was, but I can know from her note, that says she's moving with her new address, that my dad was his wonderful self towards everyone, even people I've never heard of before. He touched a lot of peoples lives, no doubt about it. Looking back at him then with what I know now, I feel I can know him just ever-so-slightly better.
I went through his pins, jogging tapes (Marines chants!) Icons, and family pictures from his desk or locker. The thing that I came across really moved me was his planner which, of course, he had saved several years later. There were dates marked like "Dave's game" and, on my mom's birthday, "Kimmy's Birthday." All of a sudden I realized what he was to our family, and what we were to him. My Mom's husband. She is his 'Kimmy,' and that just struck me. I really lost it, though, when reading his notes in the back. I don't know if he was listening to a speaker, or just gleaning tips from several sources, but he had full pages on notes about parenting. "Make clear rules," and "don't let them learn about sex somewhere else!"
The one that hit me: "You're not preparing your children for adulthood, but for ETERNITY."
From what I do know, this is what my dad is to me as a parent. To see it in his own writing, and be reminded of what his life meant to him, and others, was beautiful.
As I said before, the world I live in is distant from the world Dad existed in. That's life, and it's OK. It's such a part of my life that I don't think twice about it. Sometimes, however, something comes along and reminds me of what I'm really missing. Encountering Dad like this, suddenly you see what you're missing all around. Dad's putting their arms around their little girls just pierces me at times. Saturday night I went to Vespers and was fighting tears all night. There's no safe place in church when you're emotional. The words of the prayers are too beautiful and heartfelt. My Godfather praying over there with his family. The icon of the Resurrection, to my right. The deacon in his vestments, leading our prayers, only reminds me of what it was like to sit on my dad's lap when he wore his. The hope, the love, the mercy and absolute grace of it all is just overwhelming.
Every once in a great while, it is necessary to mourn. Let me say, though, that my tears are not coming from hopelessness, despair, or depression. It's a recognition of the beauty of a life lived for God, the hope of the Resurrection, and God's amazing grace.
I am so, so, so thankful for my Dad, his life, and his part in my life. God has given me so much grace in my life that, really, I can't complain, nor do I feel compelled to. In a way, mourning is just a way of celebrating what a good thing you had. And, boy, I really had the best.
