A year

It has been a year. Around this time last year, I received a phone call that my dad was in the hospital and his physician would be calling me to discuss "options." I think  of the following analogy:
Options is to hospital as "we need to talk" is to relationships.

You just know that conversation is not going to end well. Normal people would cancel her afternoon and go home. But I am not normal people. I felt bad about cancelling at the last minute and saw my next patient. Then I did something I never do. My phone vibrated and I excused myself to answer it. I spoke to my father's doctor about our options, but they all led to the same depressing conclusion. There were no options to make things better. I hung up the phone and did one of the stupidest things I have ever done in my life. I returned to session, apologized, and continued. I'm not sure how this patient perceived me, but I think I did an okay job holding it together. I did cancel the rest of my afternoon after that and the next day. Then I did another one of the stupidest things I have ever done in my life. Two days after my father dies, I went to my second office to meet with Vietnam veterans who now have PTSD and other mental health problems. It didn't take me long to realize that I was an idiot who thought she was being courageous and strong, when I was really an idiot. At the end of the day, I approached the office manager and explained what had happened two days ago. I then said, "I don't know why I'm here, but I can't do this now." She cancelled my Friday.

In a previous post, I processed what its like to be without living parents. In another post, I discussed how I was coping with grief. The past year has been the most difficult of my life, but I feel that I am coming out of it. I am starting to feel normal. The psychiatrist even moved my appointments to every two months (don't gasp. I said we need to be open about this). But right now, I don't have the emotional energy to write a post about what has happened in the past year and all the ups and downs. However, I feel that the one year mark needs to be documented. So, I am going to plagiarize myself and I have decided to post the eulogy I delivered sobbingly read at my father's service. (and yes, receiving that folded flag is as difficult as you can imagine). I think it sums up my thoughts and feelings much better than anything I could write now (and it allows you to become acquainted with my father, as many of you never met him):

I agonized over writing a eulogy. Not just because of the emotion it invoked, but because of how difficult it is to summarize someone's entire life in mere minutes. My father's quiet, unassuming nature complicated this task further. He seemed to prefer to linger in the background, never wanting to enter the spotlight or draw attention to himself. He rarely spoke of his emotions and infrequently spoke of his past. He never sought credit or praise. He never wanted to cause a fuss. I think my dad would be quietly pleased with this service, knowing that so many wanted to remember him. However, I think he would also object to the attention. After all, for most of my life, he said that he wanted to be cremated and placed in a mayonnaise jar in the garage. 

Because of his quiet and reserved nature, I can't speak of any one event that defined his life or any grand gestures that changed the world. What I can talk about are the tiny ripples he caused in our lives and how they ultimately changed us. My brother, Bart inherited my father's selfless caring and because of this, I consider him one of the best listeners in the world. I see a lot of my father's parenting in my brother, Scott and my nephew, Ryne has become such a smart young man. Because of him, I became a diligent and stubborn individual. Without that tenacity, we never would have adopted our daughter, Sera after so many setbacks and struggles. And without my father's help, Sera would have never been part of our lives. Sera only spent a week with my father and she charmed him immediately with her bright eyes and smile. By the end of the visit, she had melted some of that hard exterior and my father was the one responsible for teaching her how to hug. 

I don't know if my father ever thought of his legacy. He rarely spoke of his accomplishments and he minimized or ignored his successes. It wasn't until after his death that we discovered how much he helped others during his military service. He never considered himself a hero. He never saw himself as valiant or brave. I think that was why he wanted to spend eternity in a mayonnaise jar, rather than here in Arlington. However, he will spend an eternity among heroes and Presidents, joining my mother, a strong and brave woman in equal company. Because true heroes act without need for credit and recognition. True heroes  do not seek parades or fanfare. The truest heroes are the ones who quietly sacrifice to help others or to change lives. These acts are without vanity and selfishness. Rather, these acts are a reflection of caring and protectiveness. So my father's unassuming, quiet nature is what made him a hero and ultimately became his legacy. It has the potential to immortalize him, but also makes us wonder what else could have happened if we had more time with him. He has been and will be sorely missed, but the ripples of his influence will continue through generations.