Dear Daddy

Hey dad, it's been two years and yes, missing you is not as painful as it used to be, but every so often I have a day, or a moment when I really miss you. Today was one of those days. I wouldn't let myself think about it until now, when I'm sitting in my bed getting ready to turn in for the night. I wouldn't let my thoughts wander the way I"m letting them wander now. I wouldn't let myself think about all the things I miss.

Things like being able to pick up the phone to call you just to say hi and hear you say, "Mimi!" like hearing my voice was the best thing to happen to you all day, and then at the end of the conversation to hear your "I love you" - because I didn't really realize all those years how precious it would be to me - knowing that you were one of few people who truly knew me for my best and worst and really really loved me just the way I am. I miss that a lot.

I also miss being able to think things through with your perspective, even if it was just you being silly or telling me I was too serious. I don't have a lot of people who still tell me that. I miss hearing your laugh, especially when you could barely control it (like whenever you'd watch The Three Stooges) - and I miss your lectures on the most important things in life - family, politics, food, history (Greek) and economics, especially the family lectures.

I wish you could be here to watch my boys growing up, I just know you'd love their antics. I know you'd have a special connection with Lucas - he's so bossy, and loud and funny...and tender hearted. But of course you'd love Max for his cute, sneaky, silly, joke playing ways - and he's really smart about things. They all love to figure out how things work and try to make them better...like you did. You had just met Carter and he mostly just slept, but now as he's ahoqinf his personality more every day. I just know you'd have fun with him, he loves to help and is very intelligent - he loves to copy his big brothers, and he's extremely independent, stubborn and also loud - but he's always ready with a smile and can't resist a hug or kiss either. They all love to be outside, and they love to get their hands dirty (and every other body part it seems). they love water, and Lucas and Max are playing soccer this year, and Lucas towers over the rest of his team, but at least he shares the ball now. I miss that they won't know you on this side of eternity. That like me, they'll go through most of their life without their grandpa (Papoo). The older I get the more I treasure what the older generation is meant to be to the family. You definitely would have been a blessing in countless ways.

I miss your dinners, going for walks with you, listening to music with you and especially just sitting with you. There's so much I'd pay attention to now, things I took for granted. Like how hospitable you were, family history I may never hear now, just your way with us, with mom, with people... I missed a lot of chances to spend time with you, because I always thought that we'd have more time later...but the minutes kept whizzing by, and one day they were all used up. Later was never available. It's a pretty painful lesson for me, but a life changing one. To make the most of NOW. To live life fully, to enjoy my kids, my family, my forever friends... to let go of the hurts, the frustrations, the pains - and to love.

Daddy, I've got it really good. You did such an amazing job in helping raise us girls - your biggest wish dad - that'd we'd always be friends and love each other, and not let fighting and other things get in the way - that wish came to pass. We really have a special relationship with each other, and with mom. Each of them unique, but precious. I love them with this "wow" love. That's the best I can explain it and I know it's returned. Thank you for that.

Anyways dad, I know you are up there in the Throne Room once in awhile, and that you can see us - that you are a witness in that Great Cloud. I know it because Jesus showed me once when I was worshiping, and my heart was broken just after you had passed. Anyways, that really helps me, and now I know you are getting a kick out of the escapades of my boys. I know that now your joy is full and I know that you are one with Jesus, and that we will meet again. That comforts me on days like today - days that are a mixture of sadness, regret, gratitude and grace. Anyways, say hi to so many of the saints I'd love to meet for me, and especially my yaya and papoo, and grandpa too. I miss you still,

love,

Mimi

365 days

was it really just a year ago that i was at your bedside saying goodbye?
the dull throaty feeling is gone when I think about you, but it's been replaced by a shadowy soft sadness that is always there in the background, like a whisper.

I think it's what's left of the imprint you've left on my heart and when I think about you, it's like a scar, the pain is gone, but I still feel it and the memory is sweetly sad.

there have been so many countless moments when I've wanted to talk to you,
When I wanted you to just hold my hand again and mimi...oh daddy i miss you so

With you lie all the memories of my girlhood.

my memory is filled with visions of running through the dewy grass of your fresh cut lawn, dappled sunshine under your grapevines, watching you eat a tomato like an apple, bbq dinners on the red and white patio, walking at twilight,
bike rides and soft icecream cones,

the grassy beaches of Lake Erie when we were camping
sitting around the fire
I miss your story telling, and how we'd always miss the punch lines because you'd already be laughing so hard that we didn't understand you...
I miss the days of you me, Jenny and the "dinggy" at Rondeau
Hearing the explosion of your Ford each morning when you started it and knowing it scared all the neighbour kids
I miss your silly songs and even your lectures about Greece

I know that you'd just love getting to know Lucas, Max and Carter more each day,
especially since I see so many glimpses of you in them

I wish that I could still thank you again and again,
for giving me such a rich childhood and for raising me right
for driving home the values of respect, to love mom and my family, hard work, integrity, loyalty, forgiveness, laughter, faithfulness... and grace
and if I could go back and do anything over...

I would make sure that you were as much a part of my early adulthood as you were my early years

I'd live more like I hope I am now,
with a painful awareness that each and every day is a gift, and that I should make the most of each moment and love the people in my life because here i am, and it's already been 365 days, and it feels like I just said goodbye yesterday...

I'll never stop loving you, and I'll never forget you,

I will see you again, and until then, I know that as you see me from that "great cloud of witnesses" you are full of the Glory of the One who will help me run this race with endurance.

love, mimi

The 6th and 7th Senses

I was reading last night and came across something quite interesting. The author - Sarah Ban Breathnach was talking about how women have 2 extra senses on top of sight, smell, touch, taste and hearing - women can cultivate their sense of knowing and their sense of wonder. It was just something that struck me, in fully living the life that we've been given, when we use these additional senses - we truly do live more abundantly because we are more fully appreciating the sacred elements of our day. I used to always question what my intuition was, that special "knowing" that my mom used to say we would have when it came to falling in love, or understanding the pain of loss. She used to say "one day you'll just KNOW". In further reflection, I know that my dad had these extra senses too.

Not a day has gone by since May 16th, that I haven't thought about my dad. Little things trigger it all the time. Yesterday when watering and weeding the gardens in my backyard I thought about him. He was an avid gardener and was always in the backyard - picking up leaves from the grass, pruning the grapevines and tending his flower and vegetable gardens. Every year since we've been married, Chris and I have grown to love working in our gardens more. Especially when he started working for a wholesale nursery. Whenever we'd plant something new, I'd think of dad and wonder what he'd think of this or that, and often I would call him for tips on tending our beds. When he came to visit, even when he was sick, he would go out to our backyard and comment on our plans or efforts in the back. So last night, in the twilight when I was out back, I walked around the side yards and noticed that the raspberries were ripe on the vine, and that the quince and plum trees were starting to ripen - and I grabbed a basket to pick some fruit to make a yummy treat for my boys, imagining their delighted squeals when I took it inside. Instantly I was transported back to a golden summer with dad.

When I was sixteen and Jen was 13, dad took us to Greece for almost a month in the summer. It was magical, literally a golden summer that for me, for many reasons hailed the beginning of my passage from childhood to womanhood. I was taken to one of the many moments of pure bliss from that summer. Jen and I were sitting lazily in a hammock that he stringed up for us, the sunlight dancing through the leaves of the fig trees. The air smelled like a sweet mixture of the fruit from the orchards, the flowering oleanders and the salty sea air. I could hear my cousins laughing and see my papoo and yaya sitting in the shade of the porch. My aunt was cooking something delicious in the kitchen and my dad was walking around the fruit trees, picking juicy yellow plums. He eagerly brought some over for us to eat, and I remember the light in his eyes at being able to bring us a treat. He never lost that look, right up until the end...

I have a picture of him on the bookshelf in my living room. He is sitting on the beach with his knees up, just looking over the water. There is a distant look in his eyes, like he's thinking about something else. My dad didn't say much that other people would classify as "deep". But he really was. He knew the pain of leaving his homeland, of losing both parents, of not being able to share his day to day life (which really is your life) with them. More than that though, he lived with a sense of wonder over the small things. The seasons, nature, smiles, hugs and kisses, memories, family, the joy of making people laugh, of giving without expecting anything in return... I now know, I never had a problem understanding or recieving the love of God, because I knew the love of my natural father.

Dad was often "off" somewhere - sitting in his garden, when we were walking the walking path around the creek, at the kitchen table drinking one of his many coffees - and when you'd ask him what he was thinking about, he'd just heave a big sigh and say nothing... I'm in wonder now, of how much I'm becoming like him. The wonder that accomanies understanding a bit of the depth of losing a parent - the constant memories, the unexpressable sadness - as I just get very quiet and can't really talk about it. Releasing the regrets and holding onto the remembrances when they come, I find myself doing the same thing dad did - I go to a place in my heart and mind and then I come back and just heave a big sigh. It's part of the "wonder" of it all. Of life - of knowingthe beautiful, of knowing grace, goodness, love. Of knowing yourself, your creator and other. Of realizing that the abundant life increases when we've lived through loss and abide in the secret place in Christ, who has gone ahead of us and shows us the way.

Of Miracles and Mysteries

May 2007 to May 2008 was quite the year for us. We witnessed so many things that bring together the sum total of life – all at the same time and in the wake of it, my soul is weary, but my spirit is at rest. The unique thing is that each miracle was accompanied by a mystery within the same week.

Last spring, we witnessed with joy, the miracle of 2 becoming 1 flesh as my sister Andrea was married to Eric, but it was marred by the mystery of the unexpected passing of Chris’ dad – so many memories and so many questions. Without having much time to consider it, we were given the news that Andrea and her new husband were expecting, within days we got the news that my dad had cancer… Last fall, we welcomed the miracle of our third son, Carter – and everyday is another miracle as we watch him and his brothers grow before our eyes.

This spring, we sadly watched dad grow weaker and though we believed for a miracle, for him to recover – the mystery of death became the miracle that put an end to his suffering. A week later, Andrea’s & Eric’s son – my beautiful new nephew, Anthony, was born.

I felt my grief in losing a dear father-in-law everyday this year, for he kept me company everyday, and took such pleasure in our boys – that always wins over a mother’s heart, and he was so careful to keep the family in touch with each other, and mostly because it effected Chris so deeply. We found and will continue to find solace in the fact that our grief is always punctuated by life, by the very things that fill us with joy and hope. A life of good friends, good news, births, firsts, new experiences, gifts given and received, laughter and tears – coffee time, girls nights, birthdays, quiet nights alone at home, much prayer, many tears and quiet hugs.

I’m not sure how long I will feel the grief over losing my dad, maybe for the rest of my life, and that’s ok, it hasn’t overwhelmed or consumed me, but loss is loss – and this is one that can’t be replaced. I don’t know if this is true for all women, but for me – I distinctly feel like when daddy died, I wasn’t a little girl anymore. We are always our mother’s daughter’s, but we are daddy’s little girls. Even though I’m grown with children of my own – there have been so many moments over the years that I felt very small in the universe – small and vulnerable, but as long as my daddy was around, I was safe. Now I still feel small and vulnerable, but he’s gone, and I don’t feel that same safety. My husband yes, protects me, but he has only known the woman I am, my daddy held me the day I was born, and that little girl that was still there just a few weeks ago, I don’t know where she’s gone, but it’s like, she left, when daddy died. This is something in my soul that I can’t explain. There’s something unique about a father and his daughter, and once it’s gone, it’s gone – you can only hold onto the beauty of the memory, and hopefully, it is a beautiful one. Sadly for some, it’s not. For me, there are many, but some of the most precious were the quiet afternoons when I came home from school and we hung out in the back yard, either on the hammock, in the pool or just sitting around the patio before he went to work. I also loved the Tuesday nights when I’d bake all night and he’d come home from work to taste and critique my work. These were alone moments – which were important to me in having to share him with a big family, I remember him holding my hand when we left Greece and we said goodbye to my Yaya, knowing it would be the last time we saw her alive…and I treasure the memory of dancing with him at my wedding, when he just sighed over and over in my ear, and I knew in my heart he was wondering where the time had gone. I had the honour of putting his first grandson in his arms. Through all these memories, I was still his little girl, and during one of the alone moments I had with him in his final days, he woke from his sleep, grabbed my hand and whispered – “Mimi (his pet name for me), my baby girl”...

And so, the grieving continues, and it is still punctuated by life. When people ask me how I’m doing, I really don’t know. Mostly I’m ok. I’m still at rest in Jesus, I’m still at peace, I know that He Is. But I’m grieving, and there’s no rhyme or reason to it, it just is. There is a hurt that is healing, more everyday, and I know this. The love of God, the company of family and friends and the peace of salvation – His grace truly is sufficient.