A note from Brooke:
When my dearest friend Julia approached me with the idea of submitting a guest post for my blog, I instantly appreciated her desire to write and write with a whole heart. It is true really - I can be sick to my stomach about a tribulation in my life and then I write about it here on Jellybean and Us and instantly it seems to silence my fears. Sure, it can be intimidating to put your thoughts onto the world wide web for all to read and yet the comfort of being heard can ease the worst of pains.
Suffice to say, I'm sure that we've all experienced loss before ranging from something as minuscule as your car keys to as heart wrenching as the loss of your parent. Loss is an undeniable thing in life, we all know this and yet when it happens to you, the emotions hold on tight and don't let go. I'm a firm believer that we need to take cues from ourselves to cope with loss: go to the movies with friends, cry into our pillows and even find the strength to write about it, if that's what calls you.
So I am happy to share Julia's recent story of the loss of her father here. May the healing power of writing act as a anecdote for the pain she is feeling, may time heal the wounds and may the memories remain omnipresent for her father, Everett Murray Callaway.
I don’t know what I am going to write here, I just know that I need to write something. It’s a weird feeling. I have all of these thoughts jumbling up in my head and when I truly think about continuing one, it gets all messed up and I move on to another. That’s why I never really “write” per-say. I tried a blog once in a blue moon, but all it turned into was a daily/weekly round-up of what my husband and I had done the day/week before. Boring! So, like a lot of wanna-be bloggers out there, I stopped, and I never really missed it or anything like that…until these thoughts came…and I can’t get rid of them.
You see, tragedy struck my family…my heart. I lost my father. There, I said it. Just the writing of those four words, staring with “I” made me well up with tears and heartache.
In short, he had a heart attack and died quickly, the way he always thought he would go. The long story would be that he had juvenile diabetes since he was 20, he had two heart attacks back when I was a teenager, in his late 40s I guess, and he had suffered a minor stroke just a little over a month ago before Thanksgiving. But, yet, this was sudden…too soon…and none of us were really expecting it. Well, maybe that’s a lie. Because truth be told, I saw how weak that stroke had made him…the medication mixed with all the others he had to take. Something in my head told me I needed to spend as much time with him as I could, always tell him I love him…and so I did. But even still, it was a shock…a horrifying day and story I will not bring here. It’s really still too raw in my heart to tell it without breaking down in sobs.
I don’t really know what I wish to gain from writing this all out. Peace…closure? I feel like I already have those. We held a visitation for friends and family a week after it happened, and we held his memorial service this past Saturday. Friends and family of my father, of my mother, of my brother, of mine, came to us with love and support. We celebrated in tears, hands held, warm embraces, in familiarity of sharing a beer and a story. It was beautiful. And then there was nothing.
It’s funny in a way, even at his memorial service I would look around for him. A gray haired man would catch my peripheral view and I would turn quickly expecting to find him smiling at me…telling me it was all going to be okay. But he wasn’t there…he isn’t there…and he never will be again. How is a daughter supposed to accept that? How is anyone supposed to accept that? One minute I am eating dinner with him at a local restaurant with my mom and daughter, and the next, I.will.never.see.him.alive.again. It’s too much.
The past three weeks have been a blur for my family and I. The planner that she is, my mom started talking funeral arrangements not only 15 minutes after she learned of his death. This is to be expected from her. A sort of coping mechanism. I am still not sure if she has fully realized what has happened because she has kept herself so busy. But, alas, it has all needed to be done and she has done it with ease, at least on the outside. The arrangements for the funeral home, my father’s cremation, the ceremony for his service, matters of his estate…and along the way has also made sure to write thank-you notes to anyone who visited and/or brought or sent something to us/her. It’s amazing. I kind of just froze in my tracks, not really knowing how to move on. Sure, I ate, slept, woke up again and tried to be the best mom I could along the way whatever that may be, but I couldn’t think. It took all the strength I had just to cancel their trip they were supposed to take and get it refunded. My brother, our savior, has truly stepped up as man of the house. He is hurting all the same, but driving in forces of production rather than drawing back. Dad’s bank accounts…Jeff? Dad’s credit cards…Jeff? Dad’s EZ-pass and AAA service….what? Dad’s car and personalized, handed-down license plates…JEFF? He has handled everything and anything he can for my mom. A true devoted son. I am proud to call him my brother.
My husband, the man who loved my father all the same…whose known him as a 2nd father for over 11 years now, had to find the strength to hold me together as I crumbled on the ground of the hospital floor. We were the first to arrive at the hospital and be allowed back to find out what was going on. The man, the social worker, led us to a room. He didn’t want to say anything before my mother got there , but before I even knew what I was doing the question left my mouth…”is he alive?” He was not. We were there for what seemed like forever before Matt, my mom and brother came…and my husband did not let me go. He did not get to cry…no…he had to suffer far worse…he had to hold the love of his life as she completely broke down and lost her composure, her sanity…her childhood. As he always is my everything, he was my rock that day…and he continued to be that night and every day and night afterwards, for me and my family. My dad who once filled the kitchen with wonderful smells from his cooking every night was now replaced by Payman. I don’t know how we would have even been able to be in the kitchen, or eaten at all, if it wasn’t for him the days following. And the cooking was only one of many ways he kept us/me going. God, I love that man more than I can ever express.
My in-laws stepped in at a moment’s notice even though they were hurting too, and took a third child/grandchild into their home. Arya was theirs for days afterwards and they welcomed her, of course. I tried to become a better mother as time went on, but, yes, she was truly theirs for around two weeks. I can’t thank them enough for that.
There are more people to mention, to thank, but I can’t do it all here. Even though they all deserve it. Extended family members including my dad’s brother and sister. Matt, my father’s right hand man. Susan, his business partner who has been close to my father since before me and my brother. Thank you for everything, and I am truly sorry for your loss.
Christmas was my daddy’s favorite time of year. Spending time with family and making wonderful new memories to cherish. I guess you could say his favorite time of year started at Thanksgiving. The true holiday season. This is my favorite time of year as well. I am so grateful that we got to spend one more Thanksgiving together. I know my dad had a great day. We all did. Even in his weak state, that day was a good day for him, and you could tell. He passed on December 14th. Just before Christmas. We had our first Christmas Eve, Christmas morning…the breakfast, the presents, the stockings…without him physically there. It was gut-wrenching. Don’t get me wrong, Christmas was wonderful. We have our beautiful, spirited daughter/granddaughter/niece to thank for that. But he wasn’t there. For some reason I never felt angry about it. I don’t know if I ever felt the “anger” in the grieving process…or maybe it’s still to come, who knows. I felt an empty hole in my heart. A hole I had no idea how to fill…that couldn’t be filled. I would think to myself, “how the fuck can I get rid of this feeling!?! It’s agonizing!!” But it was still there, still is. Sometimes it’s more noticeable than others, like Christmas morning. The gut-wrenching feeling would come and I had to do all I could to keep it together for my family, for my daughter. Oh how she loved Christmas this year. I remember discussing with my dad a little while ago if she would, if she would understand what was going on. Well, she did, and with each present that she slowly opened piece by piece so she could savor it all, that hole in my heart got a little bit bigger. Oh God how I missed him that day.
My husband, Arya, my brother and I stayed with my mom for two weeks after it happened. The Sunday before the New Year we decided it was best for at least my little family, to move back home. As I pulled away from my childhood home with our car packed, I lost it. For two weeks after my dad passed I was at least surrounded by his spirit, our home together and all of our memories. At that moment I was leaving that behind and it was painful. My daughter watched me from the back seat as I cried and had it not been for her presence it probably would have gotten as bad as it was in the hospital. But, home we went, and life, it continued to go on around us.
The New Year has come. I know that there are far worse things going on in the world. I am not ignorant to the fact that mere hours before my father’s passing, horror struck our nation. In fact, I believe it was this horror that spared me the sensation of my father’s passing that afternoon. Let me try to explain…it was the 12 o’clock hour that afternoon that day when I heard the news of the tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut come from the radio I was listening to. I stopped mid-laundry-fold as I felt the pain and sadness of those children and the families afflicted. Such horror. Two hours later, I got the call about my dad and made my way to the hospital. That night I sobbed to one of my best friends who rushed to my side, “how can I just be going about my day and my dad was dying in a parking lot and I not feel that?!” Well, days later I think I figured it out, the timeline fits…I was feeling the horror for Newtown as I heard the news…that is why I didn’t feel my father. God spared me that sensation and replaced it with the horror of a mad man, with the sorrow of innocent lives lost in tragedy. At least, that’s what I think. Indeed, worse years have been had for many around the globe, and that is just one example.
But for me, 2012 was the absolute worst. I felt loss and endured more than one should have to in a year. In one way or another, I lost people in my life who I thought would be there forever, or at least a heck of a lot longer than they were. Friends I once called my best which I thought was agonizing enough as it was…but, then…my father…
In preparation for his homily for the service celebrating my father’s life, my Uncle Rick asked for stories about my father that I would like to share. This is what I wrote to him,
“Hi Uncle Rick,
There are truly too many wonderful memories that I share with my father to be accurately summed up in a story or two. I guess the true story between my father and I is that we shared an unconditional love for each other. I knew every day that he loved me and that no matter what, he was proud of me and the life I had made for myself. In return, I loved (love) him more than any daughter could ever love her father, and I have a never ending pride in him and in the fact that I got to call him mine. He was the kind of man people should look up to. I remember always looking to him to see what he would do and say first before I did or said anything, because I knew it was right. He was the first man I ever loved, the protector of everything good in my life…my hero. He also knew how to have a good time, and we had many of those good times together. The best lessons he ever gave to me were to be good, to be honest, to work hard, and when you can, play hard as well. I will never be able to express to my daddy just how much I love him and thank him for everything he has done for me, I just pray every little mushy card I gave to him on a Holiday gave him a glimpse of it.
I know this isn’t a story, but I hope you can fit this in somehow. The mushy card reference would be a little inside thing between my father and I.
Thank you
Love,
Julia”
I don’t know if I will ever find more to the grieving process that I have not gone through yet. I mean, it really hasn’t even been a month yet even though it feels like an eternity. But I know that with the memorial and celebration of his life, I think I have found closure. I know my dad is truly at peace, therefore, I am at peace. There will never be a day, nor most likely an hour or minute, that I do not think of him, remember him…miss him. I will love him from now until eternity, and he will live on in the hearts, thoughts and spirits of those who had the privilege of knowing him. Especially in the ones of his brother and sister, his wife, his son, his daughter, his son-in-law, and his granddaughter. I love you, daddy…forever and always.
photo taken 11.22.12 by Jan C. Callaway
This “rambling” of sorts has helped me take some of the thoughts running through my head out by putting them on paper. At one point I thought maybe I could do something in the memory of my father…even had thoughts of a book. But, I feel my thoughts are too jumbled. I don’t think I could. I hope this suffices…at least for now….for me.
