Wish You Were Here — Memories of My Dad
Today, I’m taking a little break from the regular strictly travel blogging to write an ode to my late father. It is interwoven into the travel story, and I’ll share how later. But, the real reason I’m writing and sharing this is because the only people who are truly dead are those we’ve forgotten about and I have not stopped thinking of him on my journey, especially lately. He is alive and thriving in my thoughts and I’d like you all to know about a little bit about him through my lived experience.
Two years ago today, my heart shattered into a zillion pieces. It was the day that hope died and it all started before dawn. That day proceeded two previous years of brutal treatments and an entire lung removal, one of the most painful surgeries on the books. It was after two years of constantly praying for better test results, and living within someone else’s pain that I couldn’t take away. It was two years of learning a new definition of love, one that includes care and forgiveness as its tenants and sees mistakes as part of the imperfectly perfect human form. It included happy moments that I tried desperately to hold onto and nights of endless crying jags where Jason had to comfort me for hours.
Time heals the immediacy of the shock and pain you feel after a death, but it doesn’t change what happened. What time does change, in fact, is you.
I don’t have any grandparents left and I haven’t since I was 25, so death was no stranger to me. But, losing my dad was wholly different. He was too young to go and had too much left to accomplish in this world. He was a big teddy bear of kindness and an encyclopedia of the world’s knowledge. He could do anything, from building a house from the ground up, to constructing a custom car, to creating a thriving garden. He would say to me growing up again and again, “You know I won’t be around forever, Jen, so you have to learn this now.” I would harshly respond, “I know, I know. Stop saying that!”. Those words just felt so morbid and I didn’t want to face it. In my heart of hearts I knew this is what would become of his fate. His words only sealed it for me and made me worry about his impending illness and passing well before he was ever diagnosed. His constant coughing, even after he quit smoking, made my stomach turn. It never became normal; it always hurt my heart and made me wretch with anxiety. I know my brother and his sister have said the same, so we all shared in that aching worry over beloved friend.
I wish I could say I was worried over nothing, but I wasn’t. I worried until it happened. I didn’t cause the lung cancer by predicting it, I just made my worries a reality. I’ll never forget the poor way I reacted to the news. When my dad told me he had cancer I said, “I knew it! I knew this was going to happen.” and… I didn’t hug him. There’s plenty to be ashamed about in this world and this is at the top of my list of shameful acts. I should have exercised compassion and said, “I’m so sorry. This is terrible news. I love you very much and I’m here for you no matter what.” But, I said, I told you so. What a dick.
Throughout the next two years I did become more compassionate, more loving, and more hugging of my dad. My dad was never much of a hugger, but I know he always wanted hugs and just didn’t know how to give them. I decided that, as an adult, I would take the initiative and hug him no matter what. I’m so glad that I did, because by dropping my ego I was able to be more kind and affectionate to him when he needed it most. You can change a relationship for the better with one decision. I’m living proof.
Throughout this journey I’ve thought of the kinds of questions my dad would be asking me and what he’d be telling me if we were able to have phone calls or write letters/emails. What connected him and I most strongly was our endless love of learning. He taught me how to do research for the sake of wanting to know more about the world and how it works. Growing up at dinner time, my parents and I would have a dictionary on the table, looking up words and talking about their meaning. Talk about pre-smartphone days!
I think my dad would be insanely worried about where I’m at, but also proud of me for being so bold as to leave the comforts of home and venture. He always said to me, “Be careful!” and meant it. He worried like I worry. My mom, on the other hand, is the sane one that accepts how life works and doesn’t get caught up in the worries like we do. Still, through his worries, my dad would have wanted to know how I was witnessing the world and what life is like on the other side. He’d ask about how people live in Taiwan, or how beach wildlife is doing in Thailand, or how people even move around in crowded India. He’d love the food we’re eating in Poland and Austria (and will have in Germany), but otherwise he’d take a pass on the rest of it.
My mom told me the further you get from his death the easier it will be to remember the good parts of his life, and she’s right. When he first passed it was so hard to stop thinking about all the painful years he had and how brutal the ending was. Now, I look at the world and think, “Oh, my dad would have loved to see this little beer stein (even though he didn’t drink he collected them). I wish I could get him a souvenir.” or “Geez, what would my dad think of this craziness! He’d be so worried about me!” The dreams of him suffering have slowed too, where he was on the brink of death. The only solace I had in those dreams was he was moving, living, in my mind, and I could talk to him again. But, he was in pain, and for what it’s worth even in my mind I’d prefer him to be at peace than in pain. This song always reminds me of him, he loved James Taylor, and I’ll always love this song.
My mom and I will meet again in less than one month in Ireland! It’s a dream of hers to go and visit the place where her ancestors came from. She’s wanted to see Ireland for probably her entire life. I’m so moved that we get to take this journey together, along with my Aunt Monica and Jason. It’s going to be the trip of a lifetime. Having my mom around, even though I’m far from her, helps. I try not to worry about her as much as I did with my dad, she’s healthier and happier than he ever was and she wants to stay that way. I do still worry, and she knows it, but I’m worried far less for her now than I was before. If something terrible happens then it happens and we’ll deal with it. For now, “It’s all good.” as she says.
I’ve had my belief in the importance of family strengthened throughout my journey. I’m working on doing nothing more to compromise those valuable relationships, only to strengthen them. I’ve not always been a great family member to all of my loved ones, but they are my loved ones and I want to make sure I do my best to be there for them and love them. I will continue to fail and I apologize to all that I’ve hurt whom I love. Please accept this human’s humble heart and know she doesn’t want to do you any harm, even if she has before. She’s learned so much and only wants to love you and know you. She needs her family more than you know.
The journey continues. We have less a little more than two months before we return. It’ll be a great time and we’re very grateful for the opportunity. I’ll finish up that Europe Part II blog soon (it’s almost done, promise!) but I couldn’t let this day pass without sharing these thoughts with you. Sending you my love and tenderness.
It’s easy to worry when you don’t know what you’re up against. But, “worry is the interest paid in advance on a debt you may never owe.” It’s stress for stresses sake. This is not to say I was completely wrong in my worries, but that my worries were in part easily managed in the face of living through them and often totally overblown or entirely misplaced.
A few of the lessons that Asia has taught me is:
