Dad

 

I have sat down thousands of times over the last year to write this. Each time, though, my heart, soul and mind weren’t able. Moments over the last few days of your life will forever be emblazoned on my memory. Moments I can’t unsee, pain I can’t let go of. Life, after you left, threw curveballs. My heart was broken, and my soul was wrecked. I existed and tried to do the best I could. Today, though, as tears well up, one year after I lost you, I can write.

You were an amazing teacher and coach. It was evident in how former students and athletes spoke about you. You were a gifted teacher, able to help anyone understand even the most complex math functions. As an administrator you had a way of making even the most lost kids feel seen and valued. I heard hundreds of stories from former students who were headed down the wrong path, pushing every button who ended up in your office. You were able to challenge them, hear them and give them value. As a coach, you were able to breathe belief into athletes that didn’t believe in themselves. They could lean on you, and they knew you had their back. Your impact in education continues to ripple far and wide. That was the public Dad. I was so proud of you. 

As your daughter I experienced the public side and saw a different side. Now, I am able to think of the many unique things that were us, so many little things I miss. I had your darker skin, your dark eyes, and your dark hair. As I have grown older, I have added a similar “highlight” streak in front of my hair.

Your sweet tooth was another thing I inherited. In a family of salt lovers, you and I craved our sweets. I remember, as a little girl, trips to the grocery store with Mom. The first time I caught you slipping a candy bar into the basket, I capitalized and snuck one in also. I wouldn’t tell if you wouldn’t tell. We giggled and always acted surprised when we got home, and Mom found them. After a while she refused to let us go along because we were “in cahoots with each other.”

I fed your sweet tooth whenever I could; at Halloween filling up a McDonalds Boo Bucket with treats, especially Reeses Peanut Butter cups. I would bake cookies and drop them by school or even send treats with balloons to the classroom. The last treats I brought were Sugar Mouse cupcakes on your birthday.

Sunday morning conversations drove Mom crazy. You would give me the side eye and then say, “Women don’t deserve the same pay because their income is secondary.” You never really believed that, but it started so good arguments. It taught me to have a strong basis for my beliefs and to be able to back them up with knowledge and facts. 

Christmas was an easy holiday for you because you had me 😊 You did shop for mom, but there were many Christmases that you sent me out with an idea and cash. For years I was sweet and shopped, showing you what I got for you and then wrapped it beautifully. As I got older, I developed a little sass and shopped and wrapped without telling you what I bought for her from you. You were as surprised as Mom on Christmas morning. We laughed and after a few years you decided to do more of your own shopping.

I was the daughter that pushed the envelope. I remember we got into pranking each other by scaring each other and cold water. I would wake up earlier than you and hide down at the bottom of the stairs, knowing you would come down to make coffee. There were countless times I growled or snorted in the dark that scared the crud out of you. We were able to laugh about it, especially when you would do the same to me. I’m not even sure how the cold-water prank started, but all I remember is for months we had to be on guard during showers or a pan of cold water would make its way over the shower curtain. You had a great, dry sense of humor.

As I grew there were different moments we shared. You taught me how to change the brakes and change the oil on my Mazda GLC. I loved the times of just you and I in the garage getting greasy and laughing. 

We were a pair at the high school. A policy was implemented that teachers couldn’t write their own kids passes for being late.  I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have had anything to do with that. Gina and I could never make it back in time after lunch to Spanish and we would miraculously have passes from Mr. Schreckengost excusing our tardiness. I loved being your TA, leaving to fill the truck up with gas and get us snacks. Helping decorate your room with new posters each year. When I graduated and was in college I would still stop in and just sit with you before and after school to talk.

I was always your bookworm, studious, nose in a book, reading almost before I could walk. When I started junior high school sports, you were so surprised. I found my niche in running. The junior high coaches would tell you how fast I and you would just smile, because I was a bookworm, not an athlete. I remember vividly my first high school track practice with you as my coach. We started sprints and you couldn’t believe it. You looked at me and said, “You’re fast.” I laughed and said “Well, I’ve been trying to tell you for years.” That started our journey as coach and an athlete. You pushed me hard, but I pushed myself harder. I loved those moments of having you there and showing you I could run. I will never forget my sophomore year at state and “initiation” I think the entire hotel heard your frustration! Nonetheless I came and placed in finals. My senior year my body was tired. I had been running 100, 200, 400, 4x100, 4x400 and doing long and triple for a few years. I had been racing hard and was running every event I could. The speed was there, but I wasn’t strong enough to do them all at the top. Just before state, you pulled me aside and told me you knew I could be a state champion in the 100 if I pulled out of the relays and other events. You gave me time to think it over, leaving the decision completely up to me. I remember telling you I couldn’t pull out of the other events. Laramie only had 7 girls at state including me. I felt I would let them down if I pulled out of the other events. I could rack up more points by placing in multiple events rather than winning one event. We ended up third in team points only seven girls, Katrina, Trishell, Kim, Stephanie, Tammy, Emily and me.

After college I loved our email strings. I would be at work early, just as you were and we would email silly sayings, jokes, good mornings. I loved that connection that was uniquely ours. As time passed and siblings moved away our connection grew.

It didn’t matter if you and mom were mad at me, you knew you could call, and I would drop everything to help out. You would call me and knew I would take care of calling everyone else and letting them know what was going on. It was one less thing for you to worry about.

We spent thousands of hours together, walking the halls of hospitals, eating hospital food with Mom’s appointments, procedures, and surgeries. It eased both of our worry to lean on each other, poke each other while we sat and waited and look for ways to make each other laugh. We put on so many miles racing back and forth to Colorado, each in our own vehicle. We spent time in the ER at IMH, sitting in waiting rooms and finding ways to smile.  You knew you could always call. The moments you confided, the fear, the worry. You knew I would be there to help, no matter what.

Taking you to appointments was a different story. We would chat and laugh as I drove you and Mom down. On the way back you would crack me up, usually under the effects of anesthesia. Everything became, “Groovy.” After one procedure in Colorado, we stopped at Little America for a break. After Mom and I directed you to the bathroom, we waited. We were a little concerned because you were still loopy, but you said you were good. After a little while you came out happy as a lark. “How you feeling, Dad?” Response was, “Groovy.”

I remember your call right after the accident in October, just before you passed. You were panicked. You hit a deer and the airbags deployed. When you stopped Shaggy took off. Mom was taken to the ER and you were torn. You called and I immediately dropped everything and headed to the hospital. I told you I would take care of Mom until you found Shaggy. We called and texted until everything was hammered out and Mom was release. We took care of the groceries you were worried about and made sure you had supper that night.   

Our last picture together, was when I drove you to Denver to get your new truck. You were so excited you found what you wanted. We chatted and laughed most of the way down. When we got there, you insisted on introducing me to everyone who came by. “This is my daughter she drove us down.” When we were getting ready to leave Stephanie wanted to take the picture and I stepped back, but you insisted she take another one with me in it. I am so glad you insisted. My last picture with you Dad.

The last time I saw you, I knew you were going to leave us that night. I didn’t want Mom there when it happened, and I don’t think you did either. I spent a few extra minutes with you after everyone else left the room. I leaned down and whispered to you exactly what you whispered to me when you gave me away at my wedding. You grabbed my hand and held so tight. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

There were thousands of little moments we shared as I grew up. Things that were just you and me. I pushed you and you pushed me. I frustrated you and Mom often, but I could always make you smile. The last year was a challenge and I hope you know how I tried. I miss you every single day. May your heart be healed, and may you be able to lift your face to the sun and experience a fullness in heaven you didn’t have here. I love you, Dad! Pooh