Darkness & Light

Rem and I set up our Dia de los Muertos altar last weekend.  Dia de los Muertos or Day of the Dead is a not an event from the culture either of us grew up in but we borrow or share it with our neighbors here in San Rafael and San Francisco.

Each year the altar is a little different. It seems like each year we have new names to add to our garland of hearts.

This year we included sweet Ruby and I found a photo of a much younger Rem and a young Ruby to display.

In addition to our altar, we attended the San Francisco celebration for the first time.  This included a Festival of the Altars in Garfield Park and a Procession with traditional Aztec dancers, artists, activists and community members.  I like the description on the Dia de los Muertos SF site about the event:

Dia de los Muertos is a traditional Meso-American holiday dedicated to the ancestors; it honors both death and the cycle of life. In Mexico, neighbors gather in local cemeteries to share food, music, and fun with their extended community, both living and departed. The celebration acknowledges that we still have a relationship with our ancestors and loved ones that have passed away.

In San Francisco, Day of the Dead has been celebrated in the Mission district since the early 70s with art, music, performances and a walking procession, which help us contemplate our existence and mortality — a moment to remember deceased friends and family, and our connections beyond our immediate concerns.

So – a holiday that remembers and honors our loved ones that have passed away, and uses both food and art in the celebration. This is Pan de Muerto, or “bread of the dead,” a sweet bread yeast bread, from our altar last year.

At Craft Gym in late October we made Papel Picado or perforated paper, used as decoration for different occasions but for Dia de los Muertos, it usually depicts humorous and whimsical skulls and skeletons.

Rem and I have some beautiful papel picado that we bought on a visit to Tijuana with much more detailed and elaborate designs.

Artisans using traditional methods use chisels to cut through about 50 sheets of tissue paper at a time but machine made versions are also available.  I cut mine with scissors and did one sheet at a time.

In our celebration of Dia de los Muertos, I notice the contrasts: skulls that are made of sugar, bright, festive colors instead of the more familiar dark ones used around death and grieving in our culture.

Candles glow on our 2013 altar.

This past weekend I paid a visit to my dad’s grave. It was late in the afternoon and from the path below his grave, I could see the piece of abalone shell set into his gravestone, catching the rays of the setting sun.

I hiked up the hillside  and cleared away stems and dried up flowers from the site, arranged some fruits and vegetables of the season, then scattered the dried flower petals around. I still feel deep sadness and miss my dad terribly, but I also honor his memory in many ways, including lighting candles on an altar for Dia de los Muertos.

After shedding a few tears, sharing some current events and singing some songs, I took a final look at his grave.  The colors of the abalone shell, glowing in the last, diffused sunlight were beautiful and reminded me that even as our days become shorter and we’re entering the darkest part of the year, there is still light and beauty to be found.

Thank you for your visit. Thank you, Rem, for sharing your photos.

 

 

 

Thinking About My Dad

Saturday, May 24 will be two years from the day my dad died.  I’ve  been thinking about him.  The other day I saw something that made me smile and I immediately thought of telling  him about it.  A vendor at the Farmer’s Market was munching contentedly; a carrot in one hand, a bottle of hot sauce in the other. I imagined telling my dad the story and knew he’d think it was funny but in less time then it takes to read this sentence, I remembered he was gone.  With an ache in my chest, I knew I couldn’t tell him about it.

I haven’t been going to his grave as often as I did the first year after he died.  It’s been a few months at least, and it’s been on my mind to get down there.

This weekend I had the opportunity.  Rem and I were house-sitting for my mom and on Sunday morning, he needed an early-morning ride to the ferry.  He was heading into San Francisco to take photos at the annual Bay to Breakers footrace.  After dropping him off at 5:40 a.m., Molly and I went down to Fernwood.

The sky was just growing light.  A thin, grey comforter of fog was draped along the upper slopes of Mt. Tam.  Molly was delighted to be out of the car and went up the path ahead of me.

The hillside is covered with rattlesnake grass, wildflowers and eucalyptus trees.  Oh, and some poison oak too.

It is only as I got closer that the stone marker was visible.

I laid some flowers and cried some tears.  I told him that Caitlin was graduating at Chico and that was where Mom was.  I talked about how sick Beau has been but that we’re so relieved he’s improving.  I sang two songs and watched some hawks circling up high above the trees.

As I walked carefully back across the hillside to the path, I searched for feathers but didn’t see any.

Molly was full of energy and I had plenty of time to wander around the cemetery, something I kept thinking about doing and never taking the time in my many visits down there.  Molly romped ahead, sniffing around and happy as could be.  I was thinking about my dad and how much I miss him.  I thought about how many lives were represented by the stones around me.

One message caught my eye and made me smile.

It all comes out in the wash and a little chocolate never hurts

I think I would have liked this woman!

The positive attitude that came up with those words lifted my spirits and made me try to re-frame my sadness. I focused on all the wonderful years I lived with my dad in my life instead of the last three; the year of struggling with cancer and the two years since he died.

It made me think that although these gravestones represented loss and grief they also represented peoples lives.  Many stones have a name and two dates and little else, yet whole lives are lived in the space between those two dates.

As I followed a trail, I found a section of older graves and stones that were cracked and broken.  Some gravestones only show one date or a very short span of days.  Others list the age of the deceased and many lived short lives.  The oldest year I noted was 1907.

On their website, Fernwood states the cemetery has existed since the late 1800’s.  Again, instead of thinking of all of those people dying, I walked around and thought of all those people living.

I saw this fragment of stone that just showed a single date.  I don’t know if Valentine’s Day was remembered as the birthday of a loved one, or the date someone lost a loved one.

Walking around, exploring the cemetery, was very peaceful.  I looked through the trees at the view of Richardson Bay.

Looking down the hill I see the pyramid skylight on the Fernwood Funeral Home, reminding me of the Louvre Museum in Paris.

Some things I had glimpsed while driving past and now I had I time for a closer look.

Like the Buddha statue in a tree.

A rustic gate open to a path curving around the hillside.

A beautifully carved wooden Buddha sits atop a rough base created from a tree stump. In spite of missing a finger, he was very serene.

Little talismans have been left in his hands: a bit of shell, a rhinestone rabbit  with a wreath of rhinestone flowers, and a sweet little green clay cat. with a pink neck scarf.

Dia de los Muertos figures dangle on a cord around his neck, holding a dried orchid in place.

Molly and I have had a nice hike and I was in much better emotional shape than when we’d arrived.

Time has softened the blow of losing my dad.  The grief and sadness aren’t gone but they aren’t here all the time either.

Our family will be gathering to celebrate my brother Beau’s birthday on Sunday.  I imagine there will be lots of good food and laughter. We’ll probably share stories about Papa, and catch up with each others lives.  If we think of something that he would have found funny, I believe it will honor his memory if we share it and enjoy a good laugh.

Here is a link to the post I wrote last year at this time.  That post includes links to other posts written about my dad.

Thank you for your visit.

 

 

 

 

 

ConGRADulations!

A big congratulations to my sister, Kathleen, on her graduation on Saturday, from Dominican University of California.  She has earned a BA from their School of Business and Leadership and graduated with honors, earning both Cum Laude status and a Departmental honor.  I’m so proud of her accomplishment!

I made a card a card for Kathleen using an Itty Bitty Banner (like these) and a drawing of a graduation cap, tossed in the air.  I used to have a rubber stamp with a similar design but  I couldn’t find it (I probably gave it away when I did my Big Craft Clean Up).

I should have started the Itty Bitty Banner earlier because I used Diamond Glaze dimensional adhesive to give it a  hard, glossy coating.  It doesn’t show in the photo, but it has a thick, shiny finish.  I tried to hurry it along with a heat tool but that made it start to bubble up.  Oops.  I finally put it in the freezer when it was almost set but still a little tacky and that did the trick.

The graduation was held in a huge tent at Forest Meadows Field.  Ariel,  Kathleen’s little sister (Kathleen has been an active Big Sister volunteer for many years), came early to save seats. My mom, sister Sarah, and I got there almost an hour before the ceremony started.

This is Ariel with my sister and mom reading their commencement programs.

It was a little chilly in the tent but I’m really glad we didn’t have to sit out in the sun for three and a half hours!

Here is the tent with Mt. Tam in the background.

Since we had plenty of time, I took a walk around.

This is the Class of 2013 Shield: Wisdom in Community.

Lots of diplomas for the 500 or so graduates.

Empty chairs ready for the graduating students.

They would be processing from across the campus, led by a bagpiper and entering the tent down this aisle lined with banners.

People were saving seats for friends and relatives.

Many had made signs or brought balloons or flowers for their graduate.

At last we heard the bagpipe.  We couldn’t see much but excitement was mounting!

We could see the flag and see a few caps through the crowd.

After the bagpiper entered  and completed his piece, we finally heard the familiar notes of Sir Edward Elgar’s “Pomp and Circumstance”… and I lost it. I looked over and saw my mom had lost it too.  We were thinking about my dad and wishing he were there with us.

Sarah and Ariel had gone out to watch the graduates process in and Sarah came back teary-eyed.  There is something about music that just goes right to your core.

After the typical speeches, awards and long list of names as each student received her diploma, the ceremony finally came to an end and we were able to congratulate the new graduate

Kathleen was wearing a beautiful silver and turquoise bracelet borrowed from my mom as a way to honor my dad.  My parents grew up in New Mexico and Papa almost always wore a piece of turquoise jewelry.

All of my siblings and I, without any planning or discussion, wore silver and turquoise jewelry to my dad’s memorial service.  I was pleased that Kathleen thought of this way to have Papa at her ceremony.

We enjoyed the reception with cold lemonade, brownies, strawberries and other treats.

Congrats to everyone who is graduating and to their families and friends who offered support and encouragement while they worked towards this goal.

Coming soon: The GRADUATION PARTY!

Thanks for stopping by.

Big Craft Clean-Up Revisited or Old Habits Die Hard

Crafting is a stress-reducer for me and something I really love and look forward to.  My time for crafting is limited but I try and do it as often as possible. Lately I haven’t been crafting as much as I’d like and it’s my own fault.

The reason? I’ve been falling into old habits and not keeping my craft space organized.  I have to admit it: I let my beautiful craft desk get buried in stuff.  I worked hard to carve out this space for myself last year when I took on and completed my Big Craft Clean-Up.

This is what my desk looked like the other evening.

I want to make the most of every minute of craft time and don’t want to use those precious minutes for putting stuff away.  It doesn’t take long for things to pile up.

That polka dot book is my address book and it has a very nice home in the bedroom.  The heat gun lives in a drawer and I don’t even have to stand up to put it away.

Paintbrushes and pens all have their place.  A receipt I don’t need?  The wastebasket is within convenient reach.  Glue and Fluid Matte Medium (used in my Art Journal and on some Easter Eggs) also have homes.

An egg carton?!  OK, it was right after Easter and I’ve been blowing eggs to decorate, but this particular carton was empty.

When I started putting away this pile of supplies, I found paper from cards I’d made for Easter, St. Patrick’s Day and yes, Valentine’s Day.

More receipts! A calculator, which has a place in the green bin right next to the address book, and a pile of mail. I’m shaking my head at my own disrespectful treatment of my craft space.

Not surprisingly, the mess had crept over to my craft dresser..  More egg cartons, at least there were some eggs in evidence, and stamping supplies.

And overflow onto the floor next to the dresser. My bag of needle felting supplies has a less visible place behind the couch. But it had been sitting in this corner since February, when I felted hearts onto the sleeves of  sweaters.   A bin of 12×12 paper was open and the paper inside was sagging in the gap..

I realized, as Easter approached, I was feeling the sadness of another big family gathering and holiday without my dad.  It sometimes feels like all I can manage is to get to work and home again and I have no energy for anything but lying on the couch with a magazine after dinner or looking at Facebook.

However, I also knew that looking at the mess on my desk was only adding to my depression and keeping me away from the crafting that I love.  Piles of supplies had shrunk the available space until once again I was crafting on the dining table.

With cards I wanted to create in mind, it was time to clean up my act and occupy my desk. I was keeping myself from the joy of crafting and the very real benefit of stress relief I find in sitting with my art supplies and making something.

That’s much better!

I updated my cork board with some new, favorite cards.

I put things back where they belong and gave this new tin I picked up recently in Chinatown a spot in the corner.

Inside the tin are some stickers, jewels, washi tape and other embellishments that I love to use in cards and my art journal.  Having them in one container makes it easy to bring them along when I go crafting with a friend or up to Sea Ranch.

The pens and brushes I use most frequently are in mugs – others have been put away.

Without all the supplies and stuff covering it,the desk is inviting and spacious.  There is room to notice the small things like this little feather I picked up on my walk yesterday.

I seemed to find a lot of them in the weeks and months after my dad died and that was comforting to me.  I hadn’t found one for a long time but yesterday, this small bit of grey plumage caught my eye.  It was on the trail and it made me smile.

It would be great to say I will always keep my desk nice and neat but I know myself.  For now, it is clutter-free and it has been restored as a place where I want to sit and spend time. I even sat down this morning and did my taxes!

Happy Happy Joy.

Thanks for coming by.

Missing Santa

It’s Christmas Eve and also my dad’s birthday.  This is our first Christmas without him.

In the picture above, my dad is on the right and my brother is on the left.  Being Santa is kind of a family thing.  I love Christmas and have lots of wonderful memories and traditions that I enjoy.  But I miss my dad and find the sadness catches me by surprise sometimes.

Of course Santa is everywhere this time of year and most of the time I’m ok, but sometimes I lose it. I don’t feel bad about crying either.  I’ve found that the sadness passes too, often as quickly as it comes.

My dad didn’t play Santa that often but he had the beard, the twinkle in his eye and the love year ’round.  He really loved playing Santa and had a whole character down.  He wasn’t a bored mall-Santa with an acrylic beard and vinyl boot toppers putting in his shift.  He interacted with the kids, listening to them and asking them questions.  He used to talk about “Randolph” the reindeer.  Kids would try and correct him but he would insist that his reindeer’s name was Randolph.

Sometimes, he would pretend to fall asleep, snoring dramatically, because he was so exhausted from working in his toyshop.  Some kids, usually girls, wanted to let Santa sleep, shushing others with a cautious “Shhh, Santa’s sleeping.” But others, often little boys, would tug his sleeve and shout at him “SANTA!  Wake UP, Santa!”

So – I’m thinking about my dad and missing him.  But I look around and see the familiar red hat with furry white trim.  I’ve decided that Santa is a good way to remember him.

I made a pot of minestrone the other day using his recipe.  Cooking is another good way to remember my dad.  Making and eating the soup thick with vegetables, elbow macaroni and beans, topped with grated Parmesan cheese was like a little tribute to him.  He enjoyed cooking and loved feeding others.

Our family will be gathering today and tomorrow and there is an empty place and a sadness with him gone.   But his memory lives on in countless ways.

David Faw

December 24, 1934 ~ May 24, 2012

Day 17: Chocolate Bowl – Fail!

The theme for today’s 30 Days of Creativity project was “Pop”.  I’d originally planned to make Chocolate Peanut Butter Cake Pops over two days but the weather was too hot for baking a cake, the first step.  I looked at my list of possible creations and saw the chocolate bowls made from dipping small balloons into melted chocolate.  That sounded good and would fit the theme well enough since you use balloons and pop them after making the bowls.

After my Magic Shell Chocolate Sauce wasn’t so magical, I don’t know why I still wanted some kind of chocolate shell, but this looked pretty straightforward…and I do love chocolate.  Which is how I ended up with chocolate in my hair.

The idea is to blow up small, round balloons, spray them with non-stick spray, dip them in melted candy melts and let the chocolate set.  Pop the balloon and gently peel it away from the resulting chocolate bowl.  I saw it on Can’t Stop Making Things and marked it for a future attempt.  Attempt Failed!

Maybe my balloons were of poor quality.  I coated them with nonstick spray after blowing up.  Mine were more pear shaped but I was only going to dip the bottom.  The chocolate candy melts were melted and I’d cooled them off before dipping.  I dipped and pop!

It looked slightly gruesome.  Chocolate splattered across the kitchen, up on the walls, down on the floor.  It was a mess.

Rem and I agreed I was done with my creation for the day.  I had failed at my chocolate bowl making attempt but succeeded at defining the word pop!

He helped me scrape and wipe and sponge chocolate off of the stove, the sink, the floor, the walls, the cupboard doors and off of me.  I changed clothes.  And ate a bowl of mint chip ice cream.  I drizzled some of the remaining melted chocolate over it.

Last year on Day 17 I did a photo montage in San Francisco’s North Beach.

Another definition for the word pop is dad or father.  Today was my first Father’s Day without my dad.  A friend suggested doing something he enjoyed.  I went to Rodeo Beach with Molly.

Now I have to scrub the chocolate off of my clothes and take a shower.

Thank you for your visit.

Just Less Orderly

This sweet note, written on lined notebook paper, was left in the garden of my parents house by a little girl in their neighborhood, along with a white rose:

Dear Grandpa fa

I hope life is good up in Heven and I know you went to Heven because you were and still are a great person.  I hope you get this note because right now I am crying.

Love from many years.

All the cards and emails we’ve received are full of warm, heartfelt messages of love and support.  An email from a friend across the country included this wonderful quote from NPR commentator Aaron Freeman:

You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.

And at one point you’d hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell her that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.

And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.

You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they’ll be comforted to know your energy’s still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you’re just less orderly.

I am comforted to know my dad’s energy is still around.

Here is a link to my father’s obituary.

These are previous posts I’ve written about my dad’s cancer.

Sometimes Life Just Piles Up

On Caring

Keeping Busy

Goodbye, Papa

Thank you for your visit.

Goodbye, Papa

Paul David Faw

Born December 24, 1934

Died May 24, 2012

Rest in Peace

My dad was a real character.  In everyday conversation he might use a funny accent, a sound effect, or a silly face.  In fact, he would probably do all three in quick succession, which made him a great story teller.  Reading stories to us when we were little, he would do all the different voices.  He had a repertoire of children’s songs and stories performed with imagination and gusto: There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly is a classic and so is The Three Billy Goats’ Gruff.  And who could forget Little Rabbit Frou Frou?

My sister reminded me of his “not quite straight up variations on nursery school songs”.  Two that come to mind are Put Your Finger Up Your Nose and My Bonnie Has Tuberculosis.

He felt called to the ministry as a young man but ended up deciding it wasn’t the right path for him.  Later when he got into community theater we said that his urge to be a pastor had really just been an opportunity that gave him an audience every Sunday.

He had such a wonderful experience doing Fiddler on the Roof, the first show he was in, playing, what else, one of the papas, that he was hooked.  He had a beard and my brother encouraged him to audition,  saying he would be  perfect for the part. He kept it ever since, except for the times when a part in a show called for the character to be clean-shaven.  When he played Santa later he didn’t need a fake beard.  He lost some of his hair and beard during chemo but it was growing back in.

Lines from dialogue, show tunes and jokes have woven their way into our family language.  He was happy to introduce his kids or grandkids with a line from Fiddler saying “This is mine.  And this is mine.  And this is mine.  And …this is not mine”.  If anyone makes a negative comment about someone’s cooking, the response is likely to be “But good!”  I think all my siblings could probably quote at least the opening line of his big monologue from Inherit the Wind: “I come to you on the wings of the Word!”

In addition to his acting he had other gifts.  He was very creative; from the little snippets of country songs he crafted, to his distinctive handwriting.  He wrote such funny notes when one of us was late to school or had a doctor’s appointment that the school secretary looked forward to them.  He was an artist and enjoyed sculpting wood and rock – pieces that are a pleasure to touch.   He sang in many different choirs throughout his life.  I remember hearing how he would carefully arrange his dress pants between the mattress and box springs of beds every night to press out any wrinkles while on a choir tour as a teenager.

Papa was a great cook who loved feeding crowds and with a big family he had that opportunity often.  From preparing hot breakfasts that we would find in the oven or on the stove before school to packing dinners into foil pie pans to drop off for a family member at rehearsal, my parents gave us the message that home-cooked meals were important.  He made breakfast things like waffles or pancakes for Sunday suppers when we were kids and he enjoyed making different ethnic dishes from won ton and stir-fried rice to tacos and posole for special family dinners.  Gradually he took over all the everyday cooking which continued until his treatment started.

Dad loved people.  He was an extrovert who was energized by his interactions with those around him.  He would start a conversation with anyone especially pretty women and even while he was battling cancer he would flirt and joke with nurses and technicians.  He had a great sense of humor and loved telling and hearing jokes.  Though I sing with the Threshold Choir he made it clear that he didn’t really care to have me sing for him.  He did ask for it a few times, but what he really wanted was for me to make him laugh.  I visited often and it was my goal to get a laugh out of him.  I’m happy to say that I managed to most of the time.  I think every laugh that is generated today is a tribute to him.

All of this is not to say he was always easy to get along with.  He could be pretty sarcastic at times, his feelings were sometimes easily hurt and he could pout for days.  He was extremely stubborn in some situations and I butted heads with him fairly often when I was younger, standing up for siblings that didn’t always appreciate it.  I’m sure the fact that I’m so much like him played a part in this. In his last 24 hours he kept insisting he had to get up to use the bathroom but he wasn’t strong enough to do that.  I had the feeling that he would rather die than pee in a diaper, and in the end that is exactly what he did.

Most importantly, Dad loved all of us, his family.  As if six kids weren’t enough, we started naming some friends “Temporary Honorary Faws”.  He was proud of his kids and grandkids and our accomplishments. We grew up knowing that family was all-important and we had parents who modeled a beautiful, loving relationship with each other for 57 years.  He adored my mom and said so loudly and often.  He would ask us “do you know I love this woman very much?”  There was no question about this on any of our parts.  It is heartbreaking to see a relationship like that be disrupted by death but I have no doubt that the love has not ended.  I know Papa lives on in all our hearts.

As I’ve mentioned, 30 days of Creativity starts on June 1.  The idea is to create something every day for 30 days.  I am planning on participating because it is good therapy for me and I think it is a better way to honor my father than it would be if I canceled my plans.  I am dedicating my efforts to my dad, David, a huge, creative influence on my life.

Thank you for your visit.

Keeping Busy

Spring, in my part of the world, is a time of warming weather and rapid plant growth.  Bees buzz around beautiful, blooming flowers collecting nectar, and birds sing in the trees.

Plants send out tender green shoots and tiny leaves unfurl and seem to grow larger in hours instead of days.

In the face of all this vitality and life it is especially hard to see my dad decline.  He was diagnosed late in May of 2011. So last spring, before we had any idea what was going on, the cancer in him was growing. You can read more about it here. He has now been through a series of grueling treatments.  He was on a feeding tube that has been removed and he’s eating again.  But the illness, chemo and radiation have all taken their toll.

This life limiting illness has been terrible and it is rough watching my dad suffer. My mom has been right there with him, his partner and caregiver through every minute.  Even the five days when he had C. diff. and was in the hospital she was by his side for part of every day.  That was not a respite because he was so sick and we were so worried – anxiety is not a restful state.   It is hard seeing her suffer too.

Now he and my mom have decided to stop the treatment and he is at home under hospice care.  A scan in November showed that the cancer that started in his esophagus had spread to his lungs.  He isn’t eating very much and his strength and stamina have diminished.  He sleeps a lot. Cancer and the treatment he received have aged him.  Chemo has taken most of his hair, beard and mustache.  He has lost weight and he doesn’t look quite like himself.

Yet I’ve found that I get used to each change.  I see the wispy hair and hear the raspy voice but in spite of that I see my dad.  He is funny and ornery.  He is social and loves having his family and especially his wife close by.  We sit by his recliner in turn and visit with him and hold his hand.  We bring meals and recently most of the family gathered for a potluck Easter brunch.  Those who couldn’t make it for brunch visited within the week.

Though I’m in a choir  that sings for those on the thresholds of life, he doesn’t want me to sing for him; he wants me to make him laugh.  I save up funny stories and recount them with animated expressions and silly voices.  He likes to tease and he calls me a smart mouth but I believe he likes that I’ve learned it from him. He loves their dog, Molly, and enjoys watching her antics.

I heard someone use the term “pre-grieving” or anticipatory grief. We feel sad about what has already been lost and as we anticipate the further loss. I have two thoughts about anticipatory grief.   First, I DO feel sorrow, especially when my caring boyfriend or a friend offers a concerned ear. But most of the time I need to make some space for myself away from the sadness. I don’t mean in a stuffing-down-my-feelings way but in a putting-them-to-the side-so-I-can-function at work way.

Most importantly: my dad is still here.  I don’t want to put a lot of focus on grieving.  I want to make the most of every visit to be with my parents without adding to their anxiety or worries.

This is where the keeping busy comes in.  I do my best to maintain a regular physical exercise routine. In a good week I workout at the gym three mornings before work, attend a Jazzercise class one evening with one sister (though she goes more often) and walk every Saturday with my other sister.

Another stress-management tool is my crafting and blogging.  Sitting at my wonderful new desk and spending time creating something is a great distraction that takes my time and energy and results in something that gives me pleasure.  Making something with my hands is usually very calming and brain relaxing.  I sit focused on a project and everything else fades away…at least for an hour or two.

Even though having a loved one fighting cancer has become a lens through which I see things, I know that there is still much to celebrate.  I know my dad wants us to be happy.

Having this blog has been an outlet for me to express and share creative ideas and also to connect with friends and other creative people online.  Being able to communicate the experience of my dad’s illness here with you means I’m able to ease the burden of sadness because I’m not carrying it alone.  The love and support I receive in return is a blessing.

I saw this quote on Pinterest recently and printed a copy for my parents which is now on their fridge.  I need to print it out for myself:

Peace.  It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work.  It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart. ~ Unknown

Thank you for stopping by.  Thank you for your support.

Santa Daddy

Here’s my brother and my dad in a picture taken a few years ago.  The best Santas ever!  Real beards, twinkling eyes – the whole bit.

One time my dad was doing the Santa gig at a party for the preschool where my niece was a student.  Her younger brother was also a guest at the party.  We felt sure neither of them would recognize their Grandpa, but she figured it out.  What was sweet was how she cautioned my mom not to tell her brother.

Hope you have a jolly day, thanks for stopping by.