Here's what I've learned about grief so far: it's weird and completely arbitrary and makes no discernible sense when emotional reactions overtake me. Although to be completely honest, I have, for the most part, just shut them down when they happen because they are in response to such WEIRD things. I realize that's probably not healthy and not even necessarily what I want to do, but once it starts I think, "Really T? You're going to cry about Dad because you saw a bottle of salt that reminded you of him? You need to get a hold of yourself!"
Here are a few things that have brought me to tears in the past three weeks since Dad died:
Seeing Auburn, Indiana on the radar: Two years ago I took Richard to the Duesenberg Museum in Auburn. When we got home we told Dad all about it and showed him the pictures Richard took. It was a really fascinating museum if you like expensive, old cars, an art deco building to house them in and related historical facts regarding the political and social climate of the country, as well as an overview of the Duesenberg/Packard/Indiana auto history. Some of that stuff was right up Dad's alley and he said, "I always wanted to go there but I haven't made it yet. We should go some time." I suggested we try to go that summer and he said he would like that. Unfortunately, we did other stuff instead and never got around to it. The opportunity is lost now, and that's why seeing Auburn listed on the map made me cry.
Reese's Steak Salt: I have two bottles of Reese's Steak Salt in my cupboard. While reaching for salt and pepper to prepare the roast beef for Sunday dinner last week, I saw it sitting there and it made me cry. Reese's was Dad's absolute favorite way to season his steaks and hamburgers and just about anything else that he was grilling that needed salt. You can't find it up here anymore so he bought some online awhile ago. I acquired mine when he was going out of town and asked me to take care of their dog. I said, "Sure, but it will cost you." He laughed and asked me what the price was and I said I'd do it in exchange for a bottle of steak salt. Dad called me shortly after they left and said, "There's some milk left in the fridge that you should take home and I got the kids some Oreos and left them on the counter for you too. And, there's two bottles of steak salt for you." Then it was my turn to laugh and tell him I was just kidding when I asked for it. A year later, the salt made me cry for two reasons: It reminds me of Dad's cooking and right before he died, he started a low salt diet in order to prepare for the transplant. He liked to salt stuff and needed more than the average person due to Crohns that had cost him parts of his smaller intestine and all of his large. He hated the diet and it makes me sad to think he didn't really need to be on it as God had plans different from the transplant we were all hoping for.
A screwdriver: A random screwdriver prompted thoughts of Dad's livelihood and started a few tears. It wasn't even his screwdriver.
The Ohio/Michigan state line: Dad's body was staying in Ann Arbor so that doctors could use it for educational purposes. I was going home to Ohio and I had a nearly overwhelming desire to go back to the hospital. Go back for what? It was completely irrational but I entertained going back to sit with his body. Apparently, I thought they would let me sit in the morgue for an unspecified amount of time, until I was able to figure out what life was going to look like without him. Somehow that state line drove home a finality that I was not ready to address. Incidentally, it's nearly a month later and I'm still not sure what life is going to look like without him.
The Office: I worked with Dad for most of my working career. The office just represents more loss that I can't even begin to address. At least I was smart enough to go the first time when no one was there. I am still not prepared to see the office personnel and have avoided going by myself so far. Last week, I waited until everyone was gone and then took the kids with me so I wouldn't be alone there. They played in the game room while I worked for a couple of hours. The arrangement worked out ok, but I know I'm just avoiding and delaying what I need to deal with here too.
A 1956 Chevy Bel Air: Dad like cars and car shows and the Bel Air was one of his favorites. I have so many memories of cruise nights with Dad when I was in my 20's. We would drive one of the Lincolns or on really nice nights we would take "'58 Pink", Dad's 1958 Pink Cadillac to different cruise-ins and then go get dinner somewhere. A few years ago, we started taking the kids, mainly because we wanted to go. He would say stuff like, "Hey T, look at the interior of that car. It's pretty nice." So, I would look at it and then comment on the blue or red leather interior and then he would have to lift the kids up so they could see the interior we were all excited about. I can barely look at old cars right now, but this "in process restoration" one passed me on the road and started a few tears.
A blue t-shirt: Not mine (surprise!), but someone else's. I don't even know who it was because it was some stranger at the store. All I know is that it was close to the same color as the blue t-shirt I was wearing at the hospital when Dad died.
Pinwheels: You know those marshmallow cookies covered in chocolate? Dad and I like them a lot. He used to give them to me for my birthday. Currently, I have some in my desk drawer. It was from the last package he ever bought. He got them before he started the low salt diet and then discovered he probably shouldn't eat them. They had my name on them, in his handwriting and they are all gone except one. The lone pinwheel has been sitting there for almost two weeks now. I can't eat it, because when I do, then Dad will never get me Pinwheels again. Since he wrote my name on a post-it note, I could get another package of them sometime and just put the note on it. I may even do that someday, but I will know it won't be the same.
Now that I look at this, maybe some stranger's frame up in-the-process-of-being-restored car and someone else's crappy old screwdriver and the emotional reactions they illicit aren't quite as arbitrary as they seem. I know there's a purpose for grief and I know I have to do it right or else I risk having it affect my life in ways that won't be healthy. I guess it's the feeling that nothing seems quite right any more and that things seem slightly out of control in ways that I cannot accurately describe, that makes me think this stuff is so odd.
I keep asking God to tell me what I'm supposed to be learning from the events that have transpired over the summer. I know that He will give me the answer someday. In the meantime, while I'm waiting, I know He is with me and I know that He will walk with me through this latest challenge.
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