10 years since losing Dad today - an eclipse seems appropriate

Woke the whole family up for a sunrise over the Smoky Mountains. To quote my 11 year old “that was worth it”.

It’s been ten years without Dad today.

I think the word “orphan” is meant to refer only to children that have lost both of their parents, not adults. If you make it to your 40s and your second parent dies, you probably don’t “get” to use the word “orphan”. It sounds even better in Spanish - “huerfano”. Don’t pronounce the “H” and really get the feel of the vowels and you will see why I like it. It hurts more. Even if I’m a little old to be an “orphan”, there are changes when you have no parents in the world with you. You are more of an island, without the backing/love of those that raised you. The people who threw you birthday parties and cared about your SAT scores and helped you buy a tall bathing suit are gone.

Ten years on, my grief is different. Over the years, I’ve pleaded for Dad to come visit me in dreams- hoping that I would get some guidance at times when I really needed it. Asking for help with the kids. I begged out loud for him to come and get Mom when she was so sick. For years, I’ve looked for signs that he was with me, or somehow seeing me.

Mario: “Look like you are thinking deep thoughts. It can be for your blog.” Me- “Ok!”

Two nights ago, I dreamt of Dad. For the first time in years. Except it wasn’t really Dad’s face. And he was dying over and over. And the flashes of his last hours of life played out in the dream, the real things that happened. There are things that I feel like after ten years should fade away but haven’t. End of life things. (For those of you that haven’t walked someone on this path, this might not make sense to you. For those of you that have, you know.) Not really the comforting dream I was seeking.

So today is an eclipse. There have been signs everywhere. April 8th! Get ready! Prepare yourself! But I’m never really prepared for this date. The first and second-year’s April 8ths were full of crying, some friends and family remembering and chocolate cake. I wrote about it- here. I used to want to pull others in- to have cake with them, to toast to Dad. But this year feels surprisingly quiet. It’s just for my brother, my sister and me. The orphans. No one where I live now knew my Dad. They didn’t know his jokes, or his love or consistency. They didn’t know his white New Balance sneakers. So many people didn’t get to know the absolute love of talking to Dad and feeling like whatever you were into, he was into. And if he didn’t know about it, he for sure was going to find a newspaper article on it soon, cut the article out and mail it to you. My kids didn’t know him. He is a story to them. The way my grandparents are a story to me.

Wegman’s apparently thinks we are all spending our weekends planning solar eclipse parties. Which I hated the idea of and then felt sad I wasn’t having a party. I’m complicated like that.

I wish I had videos of Dad. I wish I had him facing the camera, telling me what to do. I wish that he would have written me some final letter, providing a testament or words that I could hold onto in times of crisis. He didn’t do that. Ten years in, I’ve stopped searching for his voice and trying to channel what he would tell me to do. Part of this is incredibly sad. He used to be my first call. I haven’t been able to make that call to a parent in a long time. After a while, the practical reality of losing both parents erases the instinct to call for Mom or Dad. This is the orphan part. You stop thinking, “Who can I call that can help me with this?” or “I have to call them and tell them about this”. Part of it is less incredibly sad, as I’ve become more confident in my choices and what I’m capable of.

You want to know the terrible part of being a parent without parents? That I know, in the depths of my soul, how much they would have given to be here with me. Because they loved me like I love my two little ones asleep upstairs. I marvel at them, surprised and impressed with what they can do. And I remember a parent looking at me that way - surprised and impressed at what I could do. And even though Dad is being super stubborn and not appearing in my dreams with a damn HAPPY FACE, I know he would totally marvel at the people in this house. That he would look at the last ten years of care-taking for Mom, of raising children and choosing happiness in marriage and he would give us a classic Dad “Wow!”, which is pretty much the highest praise from Dennis Barry. Miss you Pops.

Dad would absolutely love this. Me, cooking lunch for the family over a butane stove in front of the Visitor’s Center that had a ton of souvenirs and no food. Yes, the spatula is in the grass and yes, we are eating out of cups. We were also on day 4 of camping with no showers.