Six Years Today
It’s been six years to the day since we lost my dad. My mom had to remind me this morning. I probably would have remembered at some point today, writing the date. But I hadn’t even been paying attention to the fact it was coming up, something I have noticed in past years.
I was going to post this earlier. But I was busy with work and got distracted by the premiere-squeeing when I checked at lunch.
I’m not trying to bring anybody down, and I’m really not at all sad myself, but I just want to remember him today.
Momma made the comment this morning, “Just think how much better you are this year. How much more of a whole person than you were last year.” And last year wasn’t bad. Certainly better than the year before when I was just beginning to face these things, and two years before when I was clueless to how much I was really struggling internally.
Six years. It’s amazing to me. Simultaneously, it seems far too long and far too short. How can life have gone on an entire six years without him? On the other hand, how can it ONLY have been six years that we have gone on? That is such a fraction out of the rest of my life that will be missing him.
Much of my weight issues spring from losing Daddy. I don’t know if I would have ever been officially diagnosed, but looking back now, it’s clear that I was depressed. And really, it makes sense. I was talking with someone about it earlier this spring.
In a two-year period, I:
~lost my father to a sudden, short-term illness
~started three different jobs
~was unemployed for a time
~started college
~changed two separate university campuses
~learned to drive
~bought a car
~moved
All I really needed was a marriage and/or pregnancy to cover all the bases in the main “no WONDER you feel depressed” list.
It wasn’t like I felt sad all - or even most - of the time. I just didn’t care. About anything.
I didn’t want to go places or do things. I didn’t want to even just be around people. I didn't even want to read, which is startling for me. (Actually, I still wanted to, I just couldn’t…focus, I guess.)
Food was something I could get the same amount of pleasure in as before. That's how it started.
When I “woke up” in 2002 / 2003 and realized what I had been going through, it wasn’t the weight that bothered me as much. (The weight is really a sub-issue. A side effect, if you will.) I had just been sitting on the sidelines for YEARS.
I am not that type of person.
I take after my dad. We may not ever have been the most “sensible” people. Not always punctual. But we were generally sweet-tempered, enjoyable, and we liked people. We LIKED life.
Daddy found a way to find interest and enjoyment in everything. It was not some kind of a Pollyanna deal. He really was genuinely interested - fascinated - in all aspects of life and learning.
That was one of the things I mourned the most about his dying, how unfair it was to him. Daddy loved life. Even the dreary and mundane could be of heightened interest in some aspect, to him. If there simply was no “scope for the imagination” in something, he had other ways to keep himself and others involved and stimulated.
During that summer, and afterwards, we got notes, calls, messages, over and over from people who we didn’t know - many of whom had never even physically met Daddy - sharing what an impact his personality and relationship had had on them. We still hear it from people today.
That’s what I want. The weight is a secondary thing. But I don’t want to be a soured, reclusive, or numb individual. I want to be a person who finds joy in even the most everyday. I want to share that spark with others. I don’t care how sappy that sounds.
I want to remind people of my daddy.
I was going to post this earlier. But I was busy with work and got distracted by the premiere-squeeing when I checked at lunch.
I’m not trying to bring anybody down, and I’m really not at all sad myself, but I just want to remember him today.
Momma made the comment this morning, “Just think how much better you are this year. How much more of a whole person than you were last year.” And last year wasn’t bad. Certainly better than the year before when I was just beginning to face these things, and two years before when I was clueless to how much I was really struggling internally.
Six years. It’s amazing to me. Simultaneously, it seems far too long and far too short. How can life have gone on an entire six years without him? On the other hand, how can it ONLY have been six years that we have gone on? That is such a fraction out of the rest of my life that will be missing him.
Much of my weight issues spring from losing Daddy. I don’t know if I would have ever been officially diagnosed, but looking back now, it’s clear that I was depressed. And really, it makes sense. I was talking with someone about it earlier this spring.
In a two-year period, I:
~lost my father to a sudden, short-term illness
~started three different jobs
~was unemployed for a time
~started college
~changed two separate university campuses
~learned to drive
~bought a car
~moved
All I really needed was a marriage and/or pregnancy to cover all the bases in the main “no WONDER you feel depressed” list.
It wasn’t like I felt sad all - or even most - of the time. I just didn’t care. About anything.
I didn’t want to go places or do things. I didn’t want to even just be around people. I didn't even want to read, which is startling for me. (Actually, I still wanted to, I just couldn’t…focus, I guess.)
Food was something I could get the same amount of pleasure in as before. That's how it started.
When I “woke up” in 2002 / 2003 and realized what I had been going through, it wasn’t the weight that bothered me as much. (The weight is really a sub-issue. A side effect, if you will.) I had just been sitting on the sidelines for YEARS.
I am not that type of person.
I take after my dad. We may not ever have been the most “sensible” people. Not always punctual. But we were generally sweet-tempered, enjoyable, and we liked people. We LIKED life.
Daddy found a way to find interest and enjoyment in everything. It was not some kind of a Pollyanna deal. He really was genuinely interested - fascinated - in all aspects of life and learning.
That was one of the things I mourned the most about his dying, how unfair it was to him. Daddy loved life. Even the dreary and mundane could be of heightened interest in some aspect, to him. If there simply was no “scope for the imagination” in something, he had other ways to keep himself and others involved and stimulated.
During that summer, and afterwards, we got notes, calls, messages, over and over from people who we didn’t know - many of whom had never even physically met Daddy - sharing what an impact his personality and relationship had had on them. We still hear it from people today.
That’s what I want. The weight is a secondary thing. But I don’t want to be a soured, reclusive, or numb individual. I want to be a person who finds joy in even the most everyday. I want to share that spark with others. I don’t care how sappy that sounds.
I want to remind people of my daddy.