Week 21 - About My Dad

I've been trying to figure out how to write this all week. There's somthing I've wanted to talk about that I haven't touched on much, but now seems like the right time. Go ahead and grab a box of tissues now.

Today would have been my dad's 50th birthday. He had a heart attack at 44, partially because of genetics, partially because of an enlarged heart that was weakened by working so hard, and partially because of a strong fondness for ice cream and other goodies. I struggled a lot after he died, having left some things unsaid. I wish I had just taken the 20 minutes and gone to see him and tell him I loved him the day before. My father-in-law was one of the last people to talk to him, and had told him that I had been in town the night before but decided to wait until Saturday to come by. It killed me that he died knowing I had decided he could wait.

Eventually I moved past my guilt and anger (he had done some pretty crappy stuff that we found out about afterwards, but I won't get into that here) and have been through some of life's biggest moments without him. Graduation didn't hurt too much, since I walked before actually finishing, having needed another semester after taking incompletes for some courses (one asshat professor felt that 3 weeks was plenty of time to grieve and catch up on missed material before taking the final - I seriously wanted to punch him). My wedding was joyous but still hard at times. Somehow I knew he wouldn't be there, I just had always thought it was because we would end up estranged. But being a parent? I never thought he wouldn't be there when I had my first child.

My dad was the moody-yet-funny one in the family. When he wasn't being grouchy (or downright mean), he was joking and good with all the kids. I had always imagined what a wonderful grandpa he would be, pulling the same jokes and stunts that my cousins and I had seen a thousand times, making our favorite foods when we came by for a visit. I know exactly how he would respond if we could tell him in person that he would be a grandpa: wrap me in the perfect hug and then proclaim "Outstanding!". I don't know why, but that ended up being my dad's phrase of choice for anything that deserved commendation or praise. Any time I hear it, I think of him.

So now I'm grieving again, though not as hard as the first time. And through it all, I'm wondering if I'm ready for all this. Can I handle the stresses of daily life and keeping a career moving and supporting my kids? Will I end up a hard-ass like he could be sometimes, or go too far in the other direction, being too lax because I don't want my kids to ever be afraid of me? I try to keep tabs on my health so I catch any heart disease early, but I think of how much exercise he got in PT with the Guard (he served full time at our local National Guard Armory) and worry that I won't be around long enough for my own daughter. He was so young, and I could just as easily be at risk. And while I may be lucky enough to have not have inherited his dad's genes for major heart disease, that doesn't mean my size isn't an issue. You would think it would just be a bigger motivator to get healthy, but sadly my perfectionist tendencies leave me reluctant to start something that will be too hard for my body (like the prenatal yoga disaster) or that I don't like enough to keep up with. Which would have him lecturing me about being disciplined, blah, blah, blah. Dad's lectures were not one of his most endearing qualities.

But I do know there are a couple things I learned from my dad about what kind of parent I want to be. So many of my fond memories are just simple routines that we had. Mugs of chamomile tea with honey before a long drive early in the morning. Walking the dogs every evening and talking about our days. Learning to make different Hungarian foods that he had growing up. He was someone I could talk to when I was a moody teenager, and I really want that with my kids. To give them a place that they feel listened to and validated. Of course, Murphy's Law says I'll have teenagers who want me to leave them alone because I'm smothering them. Go figure. But I think most people just end up trying to give their kids the things they couldn't have, and it's hard for kids to understand where their parents are coming from because we strive to give them something else. Hence a lot of the tension in adolescent years.

So, onto happier things. Little One is about the size of a large banana. I would make an "are you just happy to see me?" joke, but I'm sort of fresh out of funny right now. She's learning to swallow amniotic fluid right now, and her taste buds have developed enough that she can taste the foods I'm eating. I'm sure she's sick of Thanksgiving leftovers and bananas by now, since that's what we had a lot of this week. Soon, she'll be getting a whole lot of eggnog as we set up our Christmas tree. Yum!