Daddy’s Girl

As we get older, so too do our parents, our friends and our loved ones, and in that, death hides. The truth is difficult to grapple with. It is also beautiful once absorbed, as it reminds us that this time here on Earth is truly precious, from the most mundane of moments to the ones that’ll be forever etched in our memories. The moments with those you love should be cherished – for no day is actually promised. If we can hold this truth close, then we have an opportunity to live more fully.

My Dad has been in the hospital three separate times in the last year – twice for a traumatic brain injury, and now again because of his heart. The two, arguably, most important organs in his body have been compromised and are in need of assistance so as to continue operating in a manner that will keep him alive. 

For someone with a history of being both active and adventurous – rock climbing across the United States and South America, working ski patrol in the Palisades Tahoe, and leading countless courses with the Outward Bound outdoor school – I know it is frustrating and disheartening not to be able to move in the same way that he once did. 

While more reserved with his emotions, he has expressed sadness and fear. Yet, what continues to amaze me is the resilience and strength he exhibits over and over again. I am in awe of this man. 

I have always been a “Daddy’s Girl” – I even had a necklace that said as much (embarrassing to admit). When my brother and I were little, there was a period of time where my Dad was home while my Mom worked. He helped with homework – I remember finding him at the dinner table long after it was time to go to bed, puzzling over my logic problems. He would take my brother and I for slurpees anytime it was above 80℉ outside. And each night, before bed, my Dad and I would sing a bedtime song that we made up together. 

I consider my Dad to be one of my greatest teachers. I aspire to be more like him. He is calm in the face of crisis, something that has made him such a great leader in the outdoor space. He is the most patient person I have ever met – I honestly don’t think he has ever raised his voice at me. He listens more than he speaks, and I mean he really listens. He will take in every word that you’re saying and then pause, turning it over in his mind before formulating a response. And when he responds, wisdom and love resound. He is the one I call when I most need to be heard. He operates with intentionality, at a slow and steady pace (something that at times can be aggravating) and when asked about this, he will say “If you don’t have time to do it right, when will you have time to do it over?” (a quote from John Wooden). My Dad can sit, simply sit, and just take in the world around him. He knows the importance of stillness and the occasional pause. When around my Dad I feel calmed – his presence comforts me in a way that I can’t put to words…it is simply felt. 

The other night I sat in bed scrolling through pictures on my phone, looking for any that had my Dad, and saving them to a new album. As I did so, the reality of death’s imminent hand washed over me and I started to cry. Instead of calling someone, or reaching out for my journal, I just let myself. 

My Dad’s defibrillator went off on Friday, May 20th at around 7am, sending two reverberating shocks through his body. Luckily he was home and able to find my Mom and get help. After a night in the hospital and careful analysis of the defibrillator’s data, it was made clear that the small device had saved my Dad’s life. Without it, he almost certainly would have died. 

He has since been put on a new medication that will hopefully keep this from happening again. He is home now and with each day I see more color returning to his cheeks, and more sparkle in his deep brown eyes.

I know life is fragile, but events like this really snap that truth back into focus. Death is something we all face. We don’t like to talk about it, or even really acknowledge its presence … It is too sombering of a thought. Still, it is there. 

When I think of the fact that someday my Dad will leave this Earth, my whole body chokes up. I can’t even begin to imagine my life without him in it. It is like my mind won’t go there because the pain is unbearable. Yet, someday, it will happen…this is the reality we all face. 

I am worried about my Dad. And worrying about my Dad finds me worrying about my Mom, my brother, Daniel, and all the family and friends whom I care so intensely about. I want to preserve them here with me, for all of my life. But I can’t. Just like they can not preserve me. What I can do is love them abundantly now – from each phone call to every trip home. 

My Dad’s recent experience is what led me to reflect upon our relationship and the significance it holds for me. I know that we all have different relationships with the fathers in our lives, if any relationship at all. I have been blessed to have a father with whom I am very close and have learned so much from. As I move through my own feelings around this, I have found journaling to be extremely enlightening. 

I encourage you to reflect upon your own relationship with a loved one and then your emotions around the possibility of one day losing them. It is a harsh truth, this inevitability of death. Consider the following questions as you reflect, “When I think about my loved one, I feel…” and “The thing that makes me the most scared is…”. Instead of ignoring the reality of life followed by death, I think it is beneficial – even healing – to acknowledge it and then consider our emotions around it. For in the acknowledgement of death, there lies a form of clarity that allows us to deepen our experience of life. I don’t mean to suggest that we dwell on this disconcerting reality, simply that we acknowledge its eventual occurrence…so that we can better appreciate the experience of each day. 

The funny thing about facing imminent death is that it really snaps everything else into perspective. – James Patterson