Letters to Dad: How You Affirm Me

Dear Dad,

Whenever I wonder about the potency that my words have as a parent with C-Man and H-Girl, I think about the fact that when they were entrusted into my care, I found myself saying the EXACT same things to them that you and mom said to me. I am also keenly aware of the value of words that affirm a person. I vividly remember when we borrowed Uncle W's van to move my stuff out of my NYC apartment. You guys had me drive since I was more familiar with the city. All that really meant was that I knew how crazy NYC drivers were and my nerves were absolutely frayed at the thought of driving in that madness. But, I agreed. We found ourselves on a one-way street with cars parked along both sides of the street. This was not at all uncommon. Parking is terrible in the city. However, we reached a place where two very wide vehicles were parked right across from one another and it was a tight fit. I took one look at that and thought "Trouble."

However, you said, "You can do it, Rob." The thing was that you meant it. While my mind was replaying all of the times that I stalled out that Subaru stick shift the first time I tried to drive it, you were convinced I could pull this miracle off. So, I took a deep breath, sent up a prayer, and slowly pushed on through. No one was more surprised than I when we made it through, and there were no sounds of metal on metal or a bumper falling off. And then you said, "Yay! You did it! I knew you could." Boy, you were the only one, but that sure felt good. You knew I could.

I think that is how the impossible gets done. Someone says, "You can do it." And that person might not believe it, but they try. And because of someone else's belief in their ability, they succeed. We all need cheerleaders. People who believe we can exceed our own expectations. That is how we become great. Outstanding. Better than we ever thought we could be.

So, you have taught me two things. Not to give up. Keep striving for outstanding. And always, when given an opening, let someone else know that they can do it. They have the potential to be amazing. And when they exceed what they thought they could do, say, "Well, of course you could do it. I knew you could." And if they ask me how I knew, I will tell them my dad told me a long time ago.

I love you.

~Robin

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Letters to Dad: Love Languages

Dad,

Several years ago I read a wonderful book called The Five Love Languages. I was trying to understand why my relationships weren't working out. I wasn't yet ready to admit to the obvious (I had chosen terrible partners), but I did learn something unique and wonderful from this book. People understand love like they do language and if you aren't speaking their language, they do not feel loved. The five love languages are words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service, and physical touch. Most people have a primary love language and, possibly, a secondary love language. It is only when people "speak" their language do they feel loved. Of course, they tend to show their love in the language that they understand.

I don't know if acts of service is the language that I understand, or the one that you understand, but it is the one that I would say we both understand. When I was overwhelmed with doing dishes, it was always you who walked into the kitchen and silently picked up the drying towel and set to work in order to make my job go faster. During the summer, I eagerly anticipated you coming home for lunch, so that you would make grilled cheese sandwiches. When I was learning to drive, you were the one riding shotgun, because it was too much of a strain on mom's nerves. I don't know how many times we made that circuit around the church parking lot. During my college years, I know that you worried about the maintenance on my car, and I always had you down to the filling station putting air in my tires each time I came home. You even made me a list of which gas stations had "good" gas. I still don't know the determining factor, but I only bought from your list. I kept it in the glove compartment. I thought of it as a Love List. My dad didn't want me buying bad gas.

It's unfortunate that you couldn't have made me lists to save me from every bump that comes down the road of life. I know that you would have had you been able. As it is, I wish that I could make a quick pop back in time and grab that gas station list out of that old car. I really miss that list.

~Robin

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Letters to Dad: When I Was Young

Dad,

When we were discussing memories of my childhood, I know that what you remember most when I was a kid my gymnastics. I was always cartwheeling, backbending, or forward walkovering down the hallway. I remember that, too. However, I also remember having really cold feet and curling up in your lap, sliding them under your legs, and settling in for warmth. I know that they were like ice blocks, but you never once complained. I felt very safe in that lap.

Do you remember that couch with that hidden leg in the middle? It was covered by the material swag (or whatever that is called of the couch). I constantly stubbed my toes on that thing, because I ran around without shoes. That experience was followed by me saying nasty things to the couch. Whenever you heard that, you would say something like, "You really shouldn't talk to the couch that way. It isn't the couch's fault." Ooooh. I would get so mad. Isn't the truth a terrible thing to have to deal with sometimes? Of course if wasn't the fault of the couch. However, that only left me being angry with myself and that didn't feel so good! I love how you took those little opportunities and used them for teaching moments. I have tried to do that with C-Man and H-Girl. It always amazes me when I saw the fruits of my efforts.

One of your great strengths was patience with people. I think back to how easily you dealt with Grandpa. He was such a difficult person. I think maybe you were used to dealing with difficult people. People who sucked all of the air out of the room. People who were used to being the sun and the rest of the people were planets who revolved around them.

I know that Nanny was likely one such person for you. By the time I knew her she had slowed down considerably, but I can imagine that in her day, she was the sun. In one of the last conversations that she and I had, in Athens, she told me that your dad was the only man she ever truly loved. I know that is tough to wrap your head around. It only goes to show how complicated love and people are. And it is a well-known fact to everyone, but you, that you were her favorite child. I tell you this for a couple of reasons. I am not sure that you really knew that your mother loved you. She did. So much so that she created a real problem with her daughter who was always trying to measure up. Families are so dysfunctional. And then your sister did the same thing with her kids. She favored her son over her daughter.

I know that you say that you and Nanny "made up," but I am not sure that you ever allowed yourself to fully love her because you felt betrayed by her. She did love you. So you can let that you go, before you go, if you haven't already. If you have, and you know that she loved you unconditionally, well this is just reinforcement.

I just heard something the other day that I will share with you. I have no doubt that I will get the opportunity to use it in my life since I heard it! If you are given the choice in a relationship to be right or be loved, it feels so much better to be loved. That isn't to say you shouldn't stand up for what is right. But you just don't have to be right all of the time. Sometimes that need to be right pushes people away. I tell you this so that you know that I am still growing. Still learning. And I know that I am not right all of the time. I just want people to feel loved. I love you dad. I will miss your wisdom.

But, most of all I will miss the man who would let me climb in his lap and warm my cold feet. You don't get many of those.

Love,
Robin

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Blindsided.

I knew someone who used to talk about rollercoasters in terms of stress. When it is really bad it is sort of like this: you are stuck in a rollercoaster park. All of the coasters are unlabeled. You must choose one. So, you get the stress of the choosing, the stress while you wait in line, and then the stress during the ride, and then you get to do it all again. Of course, everyone likes and dislikes different coasters. Give me the smooth ones with lots of up and down and tight curves. The wooden coasters and the ones that go upside down are the ones that alternately make me feel like I need a chiropractic readjustment or just downright sick to my stomach.

Yeah, this post is about my dad. I spoke to him just about a week ago and he was doing well. In fact, he was doing about the same as when he was initially diagnosed. He was still getting up daily and his pain meds hadn't increased at all. In other words, his routine was pretty much the same as right after his initial diagnosis. On Thursday of this past week all of that changed. Bam. No longer did he feel capable of getting out of bed, and he isn't able to eat or drink much of anything. That has affected his ability to speak. His need for pain meds also changed. He went from doing very well to looking like he has a life expectancy of about two weeks.

There are no words to truly express how shocked I am. He was using an alternative treatment that I think might have worked had he found it six months to a year ago. However, I was beginning to hope that it was going to work ~ even now ~ since he wasn't getting worse. You see, I was beginning to disbelieve the original diagnosis. I thought my dad was going to be the person to beat stage 4 cancer.

And then today arrived. My brother called and told me how bad it was and that my dad was not going to beat stage 4 cancer. My dad possibly would not live to see the month of June. Wow.

Hope is the best and the worst thing in the world.

I had to go lie down because it gave me in instant migraine. I know I jumped right in line for the roller coaster. I remember the people in my dream, but I don't know any of them. I just remember my parting shot at all of them being, before I woke up, "I don't have time for your crap and your drama. My dad is dying of cancer." I was literally crying when I came out of that sleep.

I pondered the what to do for a while. Talking on the phone is never good. He can't understand me and now it hurts him to talk. I considered going back up there, but I don't want to remember him like this. That decision was reinforced when I did talk to him today. It greatly upset him when I cried on the phone. He wants me to be okay with his dying. And I will be... eventually. But, I am not sure that it will be in less than a month. I don't want to make his passing worse. This cannot be all about me.

So, I suggested to my brother that I write my dad an email every day and he read it to him. I have decided that it is unimportant if dad remembers our history or not. I remember it. I want him to feel the love in it. And if it jogs his memory, that is wonderful. If it doesn't, than I will be remembering for both of us. It is the last gift I can give him before he goes.

I am thinking that I will post them here. You can read them or not. I will call them Letters To Dad and then give them a subtitle. If that is your thing, read away. If not, come back when it is over. Either way, I understand.

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