The following work was a piece I wrote for Writers Week IX at Hazelwood West in March of 2017.
I know
many of the stories you will hear this week are ones about the loss of a loved
one. Many of you have had to endure the
death of someone close to you. Writing
an appreciation piece dedicated to a lost loved one is certainly a way to
express those feelings. This piece that I will read today has been a work in
progress for the past 6 years. I add
things to it here and there—it will probably never be finished but it is a
labor of love. Like many of you, I also lost someone very
important to me. It will be 9 years ago
next week that my father passed away. I will
tell you that the feelings of loss don’t change as you grow into adulthood. We
know death is inevitable, but when it happens in our own family, our innocence
is shattered and our understanding is reduced to that of a child’s---no matter
what our age. I will be 50 years old
this year and every day I still really miss my Dad.
The Man With Many Hats
The first hat he wore was a
proud father, holding me, his firstborn-- his daughter--in his arms for the
very first time. So hopeful--so
optimistic, and absolutely petrified to be responsible for this new
life. But he was determined to reinforce
security with words of protection and comfort. My Dad was my own personal superman.
He
loved to wear his baseball cap; he could act like a child with me. Enjoying all
of the firsts that a child experiences, first smile--first word--first tooth--first
steps. He took such pleasure sharing
in each and every moment…. Sleigh rides, constant hours spent pushing me on the
swing-set, and wagon rides on the back of the riding lawnmower.
He was
a teacher, showing me how to ride a bike, being that strong but gentle hand to
keep me upright. He was ever-present but
he knew when to let me go and allow me to ride alone. He never left me and was always running
beside me----just in case, cheering on my success. He taught me to drive, first in empty parking
lots, then taking me out on the highways at the age of fourteen, letting me
go---trusting that I could do it without killing anyone, guiding and encouraging
me. This was a secret that we shared,
withheld from everyone including my Mother (and the Highway Patrol) for many
years. I shared this with no one until
the day we were planning his funeral. My brother and sisters and I were sharing
memories of him and I confessed to my juvenile delinquent past, everyone
started to laugh and they too admitted that Dad had taken them out to drive at
an early age. The only one that didn’t
know that Dad had taken all of us out and let us loose on the mean streets of
Bridgeton was my Mom. She would have
totally freaked out about it. We all
shared that same secret with my Dad and never broke that promise we made to him.
He was
a coach, demanding and always challenging, but fair, and full of pride with my
accomplishments. Accepting of my
shortcomings, always kind with his words.
Providing
for his family was a hat he wore well. A
giver by nature, he took that role very seriously--and made sure that
his wife and children were taken care of.
He was not afraid of hard work and spent countless hours away from the
family he loved so that they could live comfortably. He hated that he missed a lot of our childhood
while working nights and weekends. But he
labored and persisted without complaint, making up for those lost moments
whenever possible.
He was
uncomfortable wearing the hat of the disciplinarian, that was the unpleasant
duty that he was occasionally forced to perform. He was calm and mild-mannered even with his
intimidating 6 foot 6 stature. The man
was a gentle giant.
The
court jester’s hat was one of my favorites.
He loved to joke and his humor could lighten even the darkest of moods. He could find enjoyment and amusement in the
smallest things, a grocery list that took hours to decipher because of his
“special way of spelling.” He would
laugh so hard when I finally got home, so proud of himself that he pulled one
over on me. Sarcasm and humor were strengths
of his and a gift he passed down to his children.
He
wore the hat of a handyman, a Mr-Fix-it.
No task was ever too challenging.
He prided himself on being “the idea man.” Quality was a priority. A
carpenter by trade, he stood out and expected excellence in his work. He could outrival and outshine
anyone--with a simple piece of wood---creating masterpieces that would awe and inspire. He was an
artist---a craftsman---he could produce something as simple as a picture frame,
a wooden truck or as intricate as the house we grew up in, and it was always
superior in quality.
Once a
year, he wore the hat of a tour guide, taking us to the most wonderful
destinations. He would research, plan
and map out every detail of our vacations.
They may not have gone exactly as expected all the time---there were the
occasional surprises---and sometimes we hit a snag in his design---like driving
200 miles then realizing they left my sisters favorite blanket at the previous
hotel and having to turn around to go get it because she would not stop
screaming—or him ending up in jail in Little Rock Arkansas because the license
plate tags on the rental car he had gotten such a good deal on were overdue. We
definitely had exciting adventures and it is one of my most treasured memories
growing up.
Wearing
the hat of the financial advisor, banker and financier was an ideal role for
him. He doled out advice, dispensing his
wisdom and expertise. He always had an opinion---------as I look back now I can
honestly say that he was seldom wrong.
We would tease him that he should videotape his lectures and then he
could play them to us whenever we needed them. ----God……How I long to hear
“Tape 38” again!
He was
a loving and devoted husband, always supportive and caring--- even through
disagreements, yet careful not to let his children know there had ever
been a quarrel. Never forgetting a Valentine's Day for his wife,
even after 45 years of marriage, --- imagine that--every year, for 45
years! He showed his children how
adults can and should act towards each other in a marriage.
A
loyal and caring brother was another one of the various hats he sported. Never saying no to those he loved.
Being there when help was needed ----through house additions---heartbreaking
divorce---Alzheimer's----illnesses and eventually the loss of his own parents.
Even when he was physically restricted, he always took the time and made the
effort to be a source of strength for others. This taught
his children the importance of family.
He was
a proud father, thrilled when his four children all graduated from
college. Something that he never had the
opportunity to do. It was a dream accomplished because of his unwavering
support---sacrifice---perseverance and his determination--that his children
would achieve and flourish as adults. He
took the responsibility of teaching his children morals and values very
seriously. All four of his kids ended up
with careers as teachers, using what he and my mother taught them to prepare
their students to face the challenges of life.
The
hat that was most comfortable and most precious to him was that of
grandfather. He cherished his grandbabies;
all 10 of them, he loved them with every fiber of his being. He treasured each moment they were with him. He
couldn’t wait to give his grandkids their first tractor rides, before they
could even walk.
He spent the quality time with them that he
was unable to spend with his own children because he was working. His grandchildren adored him as well; it was a mutual love-fest. He
loved teaching them, showing them off, listening to them; challenging them and
making them all feel special in their own ways.
I
remember him coming over to my house after I had my daughter, she was his first
grandchild----he would pull in the driveway---honk the horn and say “bring me
the kid, I’m taking her with me.” I
never knew when he was coming over and I never knew when they would be back,
but I could always count on him being there every couple of days to get his
Kristen-fix! He loved spending time with
my son as well. The two of them had such a special bond. They truly were soul-mates. Billy and my Dad would build things and fix
things, and just hang out all the time. When he was around 5 years old, my Dad
would take him out to McDonalds and go to construction sites to watch the heavy
equipment while they ate. I never knew
at the time where they went and they would come home and tell me that he and
Grandpa were “trolling for chicks.” Billy will tell you, even now at 18 years
old---that his Grandpa was and will always be--his best friend. I know for a fact that my kids will always cherish
and remember the special times they spent with him and I am so thankful that
they were able to spend so much time with him, learn from him and appreciate how
lucky they were to have him as their Grandpa.
He
never met a stranger, from the checker at Shop n’ Save to everyone who worked
at Branecky Hardware—they all knew my Dad.
He had the numbers of people who could fix anything from cars to
appliances, air conditioners to gutters, he knew someone that could handle any
situation that came up. When you told
them that you were Stan’s daughter, they would immediately help you out and you
would usually get a pretty sweet deal. There
were so many people respected and admired my Dad, this was evident by the
number of people in attendance at his funeral.
His dentist even closed his office so that his entire staff could attend
the services.
The
night my Dad died was the first time that I ever saw my husband cry. Many of you know my husband-he worked here up
until about a year ago. Big guy, long
ponytail, fabulous bass player, good at math, a computer genius and the most
chill guy on the planet. I love Donnie
to death but let’s just say, he is not a real touchy-feely, emotional guy. My Dad was more of a father to him than his
own Dad ever was. In the 5 years that
Donnie knew him, he always felt accepted and it was easy for him to talk to my
Dad, and he learned so many things from him that his father never taught or
showed him. My Dad was interested in
what Donnie was doing, his work, his music and my Dad had an incredible amount
of respect for the man that Donnie was because he saw how Donnie much Donnie
loved and supported me but more importantly he saw how he embraced my kids and
treated them like his very own. My Dad
was extremely protective of us after my divorce and no man was ever good
enough—until Donnie, and my Dad made sure to show Donnie that he was a valuable
member of our family. When we lost Dad,
Donnie was inconsolable. It was
heartbreaking and a little jarring to see my husband, my rock, my main source
of comfort crumble in front of my eyes.
This
man with many hats was the first true love of my life.----The day he
died was most certainly the worst day of my life. I lost so much that day. I miss how safe I
felt when he was here; he made me feel that any problem could be solved. There is a hole in my heart that will never
be mended, a piece of me that is forever lost.
Remembering
still brings pain and heartbreak. But,
remembering my Dad also brings the realization of how lucky I have been to have
such an incredible man in my life for 41 years.
I miss
those hats, I miss that man. I miss my Dad……
But………I can think about all these
memories of my Dad now and smile instead of cry (sometimes). While I miss him every day and I still won’t
take his number out of my phone, the pain is still there but it’s different,
it’s bearable now. I have been able to
recapture my sense of equilibrium that I had lost in the beginning. As I continue to flow through the stages of
grief, there are days that I cannot imagine that---- one moment he was here,
and then the next he was gone. Like the wind blew this way and took him with it
and it just left us here alone. I try to use the loss of my Dad as a tool
for strength when I am feeling the weakest. It's almost like having a guardian angel. I know he's there looking out for me, and I
am constantly looking for some signs of him trying to communicate with me in my
life. I am finding that the loss of
my Dad has grown with my soul, and is now a part of who I have become. Who he raised me to be.
