And now comes…
…our year of “firsts.” A Special Sunday Edition of “Dad’s Journey Home.”
If you’ve been here, you’ll know EXACTLY what I’m talking about.
Turns out there are a lot of things that are “universal” (i.e. gifts from the Universe bestowed upon us all—many of which are only truly received if the recipient lives with soul). Laughter they say is universal. Love and fear, both being the two foundational human emotions of all the others, are universal too. Same with sadness. Beauty is definitely universal but it takes proper eyes to see it—even when you are in the dark (and yes, you can see beauty in the dark). Unfortunately, ugliness is universal too—and I don’t want to go there right now. So, they say, are taxes (not going there either).
Grief is universal, but healthy grief is not. And Death is the final universal that every single thing ever created, manifested, incarnated, born…will experience. Every. Single. Thing. Dies. (Even stones, and skyscrapers, and webpage blogs, and tress, and flowers, and bees, and pets, and friends, and…Dads. And Dads with Dementia.). These things, even what we call “inanimate” (ha!) objects, die because they change. The degree to which we know this, understand this, and see this in all things, is correlated to the degree to which we can see the innate soul inherent to everything. And I do, now, believe even stones have soul (so does an espresso maker, and electronic recliners, and a 2006 red Ford F150 pickup truck—whether or not it still has a rusty hitch ball. Okay, it still does!).
Death = change. That’s all. There is no such thing as true disappearance—what was, still is, just in a different form. This is an actual Law in physics—and quantum physics has proven this for everything. Every. Single. Thing. Including Dads, and Dads who’ve died.
An aside—in my own spiritual journey, “cradle Catholic” to now, having an understanding of quantum physics has allowed me to hold concurrently what I used to think were opposing beliefs: namely a belief in the existence of a Universal Source (aka soul or Tao or God) and a still strongly-held, agnostic scientific world view. Another way of saying I have found a home in the place of “non-religious but deeply spiritual.”
None of this is about religion or a belief in a God or gods. It is all about Soul. That’s a whole ‘nother Eldering all in itself. Maybe for later. I think Dad, believe it or not, intuitively lived this too.
Digression done.
But even with that comforting reassurance that nothing disappears completely, we’ll still have to proceed through our own lives, bound to time as we are, experiencing our own unique “year of firsts” without Dad—but also WITH him in different forms.
Understand? It’s important you do. It is, after all, its own Eldering:
“The Year of Firsts” is Universal too.
Firsts:
Whether or not they can articulate it, after a beloved dies, those left behind, the so called “survivors,” (geesh we really do need new language when it comes to all things death), enter into “A Year of Firsts.” And they (we) enter into it immediately. Instantaneously. Like, when the beloved takes their final breath, we take our “first” breath without them. That next breath being the first breath, the first second of “the first year without.” At breakfast, we look at the leftover vegan, whole wheat blueberry muffins and realize that is the first breakfast in which he will forever now not eat a vegan, whole wheat blueberry muffin. So we eat one in his honor, our first without him, along with an oatmilk latte, the first one without him—the same breakfast he had over 200 times with us. No more 3 a.m. wishes: “A latte would sure taste good right now.”
Clary and I talked about this “year of firsts” later in the same day of Dad’s death. It is interesting what the heart yearns to talk about in such early moments of emptiness. Random thoughts will arise along with the need to express them to someone, likely a nearby loved one, who will listen if not understand. Even things that we’ve never really thought twice about, that we thought were mundane, that we took for granted at the time, succumb to the now poignant “year of firsts.”
Take “Super Bowls” for instance.
Mom and Dad were football fans. Which as I realize, likely started when Trevor and I played as we were growing up through junior high and high school. They became Seahawks fans too. It had become Family Tradition that Clary and Gloria host the fam for that all important, fully American, early February National Holiday known as “The Super Bowl!” We believe this tradition is going on decade # 3 now!
As he and I were on the phone allowing the conversation to go as it needed, Clary said “You know, even our Super Bowls are forever changed. We’ll look over at the couch. I don’t think anyone will know to sit on the couch because that is where Dad and mom, and then Pat too, always sat to watch the game. How can anyone sit in their spots from now on?”
And that’s true, right? Certainly for “the Big Game,” but also true for every other “first” that comes our way by way of the calendar, the season, sports, or other milestones (birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, etc.). All natural parts of a family’s calendar now about to mean and feel completely different during every day of this next, first year.
Just another gift that grief provides, as our forever companion now, along this path we call “human.” These ARE gifts from grief because each of those moments are also opportunities to share memories and to keep our ancestors, mom, Dad, Toni, Terry, and all else who’ve gone before, alive and still thriving members of our loves.
“The Year of Firsts” are hard. Of all the years that follow a death, it’s the first year, for most anyway, that is the toughest. I say “for most” because this is how grief is designed for us; this is how “it” is supposed to work in our soul. This is how it is supposed to be, and remain, a healthy grief if we are to fully live into a healthy relationship with grief for the long term of “forevermore.”
The second year, well, “hey, I’ve been there already. And I made it through—maybe with some scratches and wounds not yet healed, and memories that I will never forget (and maybe a few already forgotten) —but this second year, things aren’t as hard anymore. Hard still, yes. But not as.”
Sigh.
We’re not there yet. We still have a full year ahead of us.
But, we’ll get there. We are loving on each other and we are doing “it” right. We are doing grief, from what I can tell at least, well. Which is to say we are cultivating grief, and metabolizing it, not ignoring it, in a very healthy way.
Okay, ‘nuff.
I think you get it. I don’t have to bore you with any more details or examples—especially if you’ve been here. And most of you, I think, have been here, at the thresholds of your own “first years.” You have your own poignant memories of them—all of your own “moments of firsts.” And if you haven’t been here, you will. Soon enough, you will.
This Eldering is your wake up call to be ready.
“But seriously, how ya doing?”
I know others are wondering how Dad’s close family are doing since his Death this past Wednesday. Especially the entire staff here a Club Med Lenseigne—Lake Stevens Campus. Here, I can only really speak to this personally as everyone experiences their own unique flavors and textures of grief. I can say that if we mindfully and appropriately prepared ourselves intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually (which was the main intention of this entire blog!), then we should be able to say, with honesty:
“We are sad, we at the beginning of a new form of grieving for Dad’s death, we are at the beginning of understanding what this new relationship with him will be about, we feel empty at times, the house feels empty at times, and there is relief. And we have true joy in our hearts as well for fulfilling all of our promises to bring to fruition all of Dad’s wishes for his dying and death. We have no regrets and no guilt—at all. None. We did good by Dad, and that brings joy to our hearts even amidst the sorrow.
All to say: I have faith we are starting our grief in a very healthy way. We remain together and closer in our love for each other and for Dad, and as our minds have switched now to all the planning necessary in putting together a full-on Memorial Mass of Christian Burial (the full Catholic party! Just like Dad wanted!), we remain, still, focused on some things that haven’t yet allowed us to be in complete silence and stillness, with no expectations for ourselves other than ‘to start, now, living fully on this earth with Dad only in our hearts, and no where else. That time is coming soon. And we will welcome that too.”
What about the ice cream Kert?
Stay patient, if you are going to play along that is. Another of the things we’ve forgotten in our Western culture is the importance of ritual. Since we, here, in this blog have been a part of Dad’s community, I thought it a nice way to bring a sense of closure for all of us if we engaged in a shared experience, a ritual, that allows us time and space to allow Dad’s death to be fully absorbed, metabolized, and then given the right compartment in our hearts so that we can, healthily, take what he meant to us, how he changed us, and what we learned from him into our futures to begin our own process of Eldering the ones we love.
So, soon, perhaps right around the time of Dad’s funeral, we will engage together in a ritual of remembrance and celebration—but only if you want to play along. If you don’t want to play along, well, I’m gonna be honest with you (ie Elder you a little); I would ask you “why not?” Rituals are important—opting out really does mean you are opting out on an important component of human relationship and connection. I hope you do play along.
You will need, at the time of the ritual, and I promise to provide direction with enough time to gather all necessary things (at least as far as you want to mirror what we here will be doing), which includes things like: the strawberry ice cream (duh!), a candle, a flower or flowers, some soil, some seeds (stay tuned for my seed suggestion!), and some classic country music (especially one song in particular—do you remember what that song is???).
T = Week 1 in our Year of Firsts.
Here is a link to the Yakima Herald’s online obituary honoring our Dad. Please do visit and sign the online memorial book. We’ll be reading every single entry—with grateful hearts: Dad’s obituary
And if you hit the “Follow” button found there on Dad’s memorial page, you’ll receive updates via email to the page and of upcoming dates. A Sacred Moment Funeral Home is managing things here for us in Lake Stevens. Soon, there will be a virtual remembrance page on their website too.
For those of you who live in Yakima, Dad’s obituary is going to be in the Yakima Herald’s print edition of their Sunday, March 19th newspaper.
Love, always Love.
Your Dad’s obituary is very moving. It definitely touched me. Your love (and respect) for your Dad is so very evident. I will honor him (and your family!) by extending more kindness to others. What a different world it would be if we all would do that!
Hi Kert and family.
I spent the morning reading. Wow! So, much of what was written, we, my husband and I have experienced with his mom. She now rests in peace with God. Your dad meant a lot to me as I grew up as he was one of my Godparents. I will pray for him and your whole family as you navigate this new journey in life. God bless you all and may your dad rest in peace. Love you, Dora