Memories: Dealing with Death

I have the itch to write, but have no inspiration other than the two kiddos I spend my days with. I love them dearly, but I want to still be me and not just mom. I searched around for writing ideas so that I could find something that I was interested in writing about, and came across a list of questions. 

I love hearing about lives from past generations. I love hearing the little details that most people roll their eyes at. My absolute favorite is getting an older gentleman or lady (those terms just fit so much better for that generation, don't they?) going on a topic and just letting them say whatever comes to mind. I have wonderful memories of my grandpa and me sitting in my grandma's hospital room, waiting for her to come back from therapy or for her to wake up from a nap. He told me story after story of his life when he was my age and when they were just starting out as newlyweds. I couldn't get enough. He loved it too, because really, who doesn't love to talk about themselves and the good old days? It is a win-win.

I assume that my kids and grand kids (and great grand kids if I am lucky) will want to know what in the world I did when I was young. Life now will seem so foreign then. I will have so many things to share. Why not try to remember and record some of it now? So today, the question is:

Who is someone you've lost? What are some of your memories about that person?


The first person that pops into my mind is my biological father. A lot about him is a story for another day, but his death is what I want to write about now. I didn't know him hardly at all. He came and went in my life based around his own schedule, and I was mostly fine with that because I had a father figure. My step dad is who I refer to as "dad" and I never felt like I was missing anything. We'd been in contact here and there while I grew up, mostly by email or snail mail. I even had his phone number saved in my phone even though I'd never called him or received a call from him in my life. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

The summer in between colleges, before going to the university but after graduating from the tech school, I worked three jobs and lived in "the big city" (it's ND, no city is big). After putting in a full day's shift at one of my jobs, I checked my phone and saw that I had over 10 missed calls from him. That was odd since as previously mentioned, I never had spoken to him on the phone. Eventually the phone rang again, and I answered it, nervous to hear what in the world was going on. Imagine my surprise when I woman with a huge southern drawl started talking! 

My father jumped careers a lot. He never knew exactly what he wanted, so he tried numerous things. I believe he worked at a printing shop for a while. He was musical and was involved in theater here and there, but never as a career. He trained dogs, which is what I believe became his passion. He did this up here, in the frozen tundra, for the most part, but when I was in high school, he ended up living in Georgia. He worked for a family that had a "fun farm" with hunting dogs and a huge hunting lodge that needed maintaining when they weren't there. His job was paradise to him - he got to live on a small house on that property and enjoy the great outdoors while training dogs and while having plenty of alone time, something else he enjoyed. The family that owned this farm had a wonderful relationship with him and I admit that I have been jealous of this from time to time. He would cook for them (a hobby he picked up while living there), help them with whatever they needed while they were there, and generally spent time with them like he was part of the family. They seemed to enjoy him just as much.

When Andrea (the wife in this family) told me that my daddy had died (strange to hear him called that since I had never thought of him as daddy), I had conflicting emotions like never before. She expected me to cry, and I did, immediately. I couldn't even comprehend what she was saying and yet I had to. As his only daughter (heir), I was the executor of his estate. I had to deal with it, way down in Georgia, even though I felt like I should be the last person to do it. 

Nobody knew what I was feeling. I didn't know what I was feeling. I talked to my mom about it, and she did her best considering the circumstances (she had her own battle - grieving the death of her ex husband while happily married)  My sister had no clue what to say as she was just a young high school student. My boyfriend? He and I had been dating for one month. That boyfriend? He's my hubby now. Stuff like this makes or breaks a relationship and that summer was definitely defining for us.

To be continued...


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