Lessons From the Past

29 10 2006
Four years ago today my Dad passed away. I stood in the middle of the kitchen in my old house listening to the silence after the announcement. I couldn’t cry right way. John came up to me and hugged me and didn’t say a word. I was able to lean on him and have no fear of falling. I’m glad he was there.

I think my current situation has much to do with that day. I am craving that feeling – that “It’s okay, I’ve got you” type of trust. It can become exhausting when you are the one that does the falling and, at the same time, the one responsible for the picking yourself up.

It’s not going to be where I’ve been looking.

It might be hard, but it is not impossible. I always appreciated my Dad’s honesty and strength. Even when I was making horrible decisions in my life he would tell me to face those decisions and do everything I could to make them right. “But, God dammit kid, try not to make them in the first place.”

I hear you, Dad. Loud and clear.

Grandpa Lars and my Dad, Gunnar.

My favorite picture.

*Sorry about the picture quality, but I don’t have a scanner…..




6 responses

29 10 2006

“God dammit kid, try not to make them in the first place.”

I hear you, Dad. Loud and clear.

{echoing the sentiments of the daughter you taught so well, and to whom you imparted so much strength – Randy}

30 10 2006

I think I’ve said it before but I really wish I’d met your dad – he sounds like one of the most sorted guys ever.

30 10 2006
This Girl I Used to Know

Man, that is a really excellent picture!

30 10 2006

Time doesn’t make it any easier, does it?

Thank you for sharing.

30 10 2006

Of course, your Dad would be the ultimate it’s-OK-I’ve-got-you guy.
I really hate to think of you sad, but I know it’s just the crazy flow of things sometimes. Open the door a crack and let the random disappointments in, shut it, and feel something that feels just as bad. There is no peace while you’re in the maelstrom, but it doesn’t last forever. You know that.
The trouble with these blasted anniversaries is that in spite of all our good intentions they are distinct, and relentless reminders of what it is we have lost. I suppose the balance of that is that because of the trigger we find ourselves being able to remember clearly what it meant to live in the world with our Fathers still in it. A steadfast and clear world, where there was no question of our worth, few questions of disappointment.
I think it is worth the sadness to remember it.
I didn’t know him, but I know, without any doubt, how proud he would be.

31 10 2006

Your dad sounds fantastic.

And also, what a looker.

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