days go by

This weekend marked the 53rd year since my Dad was born. I've been thinking for a while exactly what that means. Does any day of the year make a difference in the fact that I have learned to miss him every other day? Does it mean that we celebrate or that we mourn? Is this day any different than the days before it? Can someone tell me how to feel?

A birthday is a day to celebrate and express gratitude for someone, their life and the memories you've shared. When I host a birthday dinner I always make the attendees go around and say something they love about the person. Since my daily routine usually emcompasses reminders of things I love about my dad, the day passed without incident or intense emotion. However, I find myself looking back and again asking if someone could tell me how to feel?

I'm finding peace in a passage of scripture from the Book of Mormon:

Mosiah 16:8 The grave hath no victory, and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ.

Dear Dad,

I couldnt sleep last night because I am so happy. I am so excited about the things that are coming up in my life. I don't feel like I deserve for everything to work out as well as it has. But I accept the blessings, of course.

And yet, with all the peace and joy, somewhere in me there is a discontentment. It is a fear that I am not doing as well as I think. Maybe it's facade and tomorrow I will wake up in shambles. Maybe it will be at the end of my next beginning, maybe it will be when mom remarries, maybe it will be when my children ask about you. I don't know when, but I know that I will feel again the feelings I worked so hard to overcome.

For now, I will enjoy the joy and peace that is coming, because that's what you did. Live everyday like it is special. Treat everyone like they are special. Be patient and optimistic. Just like you said to be.

Love, Mo.

Thinking

"When I go out of town, I have to call it a trip because my whole life is like is a vacation"

A quote from the hardest working man I know. He slept a little, worked a lot, and enjoyed every second of it.

Watch out SUN, it's my turn to shine

Been listening to some Beyonce lately. There's a line in her song that makes me laugh because it is so outrageous; "If you leave me you're out of your mind". It also makes me laugh. Here's why:

Shortly after my 21st birthday I was in love with a beautiful man who decided that he could not continue with the plans we made. Three days after the break-up, when I was stable enough to tell my family and friends, I was driving on the freeway listening to Not As We by Alanis Morrissette and my dad called. I reluctantly answered the call hoping he was butt dialing.

"Hey, daddy!" (must...... not...... admit...... weakness......)
"Hey, babe. Your mom told me what happened. How are you?"
"I'm fine."
"Well I used to think he was a smart guy but clearly he's out of his mind."

Dad, if you're helping Beyonce write music now, I'd like a song about me.

Happy Birthday, Dad!!

Happy Birthday to my idol. the love of my Mother's life, the father of my best friends, the man who taught me to hold my tongue and laugh uncontrollably and get dressed up because I am special and to wake up early and work until there were blisters on my hands.

Happy Birthday to the man who changed my life, who gave up dessert for no reason, who flew to visit just me when I was alone, who didn't know how to say anything negative, who loved to kick back and watch TV after a long day.

Happy Birthday to the greatest person I've ever known. He taught me to have self respect. He taught me to love everything. He taught me the gospel. He taught me to live life zestfully. He showed what joy meant. He showed what it looked like to love a family. He wore his heart on his sleeve and apologized regularly. He was flawed. He was imperfect. He was funny. He was at times irreverent. Miss ya P-diddy.

Overcome

I originally wrote this post on August 17th but felt like it was an over-share. Then, today, I was reading my last entry about my dad and realized how contrived it felt, knowing what I really wanted to say and knowing that I'd already written it but was embarrassed. This is the honest truth:

Yesterday I spent most of my energy thinking about my dad. As we approach the month in which we lost him, I find myself feeling like time has flown.

I know how most people view death, so let me clarify- this is a positive post. I very rarely have sad thoughts about my Dad. There's rarely a day when I sit down and ask myself "Why?". Generally, and yesterday was no exception, I felt grateful for my strength, grateful for my mom, grateful for friends who have not known what to say and stayed silent but stayed present.

I feel like I have dealt like many would. I have taken medication, I have turned to the Lord, I have slept in and eaten twinkies and gained weight and lost weight and fought and cried and shut people out and let them back in and shared my thoughts and swore while no one was around and swore while people were around and moved and changed and evolved and tried to forget and tried to remember... And now I'm breathing.

I'm sure there will continue to be pain. I don't expect to ever "get over" this. I tried that, and I ended up avoiding my reality. Instead, I acknowledge that I will always have this as a battle scar. I surround myself with people who do not judge or misunderstand my grief or suffering.

I, just like you, was dealt cards that are hard enough so I can struggle, but easy enough that I have the chance to win.

Pardon My French

I ran into a friend recently who I haven't seen for some time. She asked how my family was doing since my Dad's passing. "Isn't the year mark coming up?", she asked. I looked down at my wrist as though my watch would say "September 15" or "Not September 15". "Yeah, it's coming up," I responded, as though she had reminded me. "Aw." I was impressed at how I maintained my composure. I was able to let her believe she had reminded me. I won't be here. I will have my head in the clouds. I've kept it together for 365 days. Kept it together for my job, my family, my relationship. I deserve that day.

Dear Dad

I miss your perspective. Simple. Rational. You see the world as black and white. Wrong and right.

You make no excuses.

You love my silly moods.

You love my mom and my sisters and brothers in a way I can't recreate.

You never got sick. You never slept a full night and you worked harder than the President and you never stopped.

You surprised me with your wit.

You surprised me when you were spendy. Thrifty was your way and thrifty was fun.

Lessons In Domestication

On Sunday mornings the, then, 5 Dial kids would one by one make our way into Mom and Dads bed for a tickle and cuddle session. I remember my Dad called Kyria a cuddle bunny and my 11 year old mind felt an emotion close to jealousy. This particular day my Dad got up first and went to get ready. He went into the Laundry room to iron his shirt. He suggested I follow him, which I never ignore, to this day. In the next 10 minutes he taught me a lesson that, until recently, I thought was a large waste of time. He taught me how to iron a dress shirt.

Yesterday, while ironing before church, I recalled those 10 minutes. I felt joy knowing that I don't have much to give, but thanks to that lesson I was able to do something for the man who's shirts I will always want to iron.

What's the opposite of a silver tongue?

When I was young, I had a speech impediment that prohibited me from cowwectly pwouncing my "R's". At this time, my Dad was applying for a software sales job at Word Perfect. We were living in Arizona so he sent in a video for the initial interview (Bachelorette Style). The video complimented his resume by saying, "Hey, I'm charasmatic and likable!" To show his sense if humor and family-centered personality, he ended with a shot of his oldest daughter saying enthusiastically, "My Daddy Wants to Wowk for Wowd Pewfect Wwwwweally Bad."

We laughed about that for years and my dad would facetiously give me credit for the subsequent job offer and move to Texas. I am now realizing that really this was the beginning of me getting away with saying ridiculous things and still maintaining my street cred.

miss you

I couldn't remember how we embraced. Did we hug when I walked in the door like I do to everyone now, or did that come about because you left and I need affection on all sides? I asked mom and she spoke about your "bear hugs" but I don't remember. I don't really want to hear that. I want to figure it out on my own. I want to keep my memories together and if they are inaccurate please don't tell me because memories aren't tangible and if they were I would lock them up. I don't mean to sound so... however, I am sounding. I just don't want to think about this anymore.

Jim Croce Songs

I think I was the only person in the fifth grade who knew every word to American Pie and Don't Mess Around With Jim. This was with purpose. While all my other friends were being polluted by Shaggy (banging on the bathroom [door] was the Dial home version), I was learning what Dirges were and not to spit in the wind.

So grateful for those Saturdays at the lake, burning in the sun and snacking on a lunch we had packed, memorizing the words to old songs. There was a story to every song- and most stories ended with, "and that's why you don't play with fire."

I WANT SOMEONE TO READ THIS SO EVERYONE WILL STOP THINKING I AM SO OKAY

Can't stop thinking about that day. So normal. Chipotle for lunch. Wore black and brown to be defiant. The look on my moms face. The tears in my brothers eyes. The way the room spins. It was the closest I've ever been to Hollywood. So dramatic. So awkward. There were dirges playing in my mind. There have been dirges Playing since then

Come. Back.

No one expected anything from me on that day. Everyone expected the repeated panic attacks in my bathroom or in the car or at the service. It was normal on that day. They expected the words out of my mouth to be fake and abrupt. They expected me to not eat anything. No one wondered how I was doing because the answer was evident in my eyes. And in my shoes. And my words. And in what we had just endured. It felt okay to be sad but also to laugh and enjoy the day because it was Saturday and the weather was nice and all my friends and family were together. I wasn't tired because I associated sleeping with being scared and alone which I was avoiding. People kept offering me medicine but I refused because it felt so normal to feel this way. Normal to cry and then laugh and then lose concentration midsentence and to get short of breath while sitting still.

And, today, that behavior is not acceptable.

Too Much Noise

We hardly ever listened to the radio in the car. There was no time, we had too many conversations to have. Too many thoughts to share. Too many questions and stories. Even on long, early trips to Houston for work, we would talk work or travel, inventions or potential business ideas. I almost feel like the ingenious part of me, the creative-risk taker part of me died with you. I haven't thought about anything like that recently.

I loved seeing you relaxed. Coming over to my apartment to get dinner together and you were early and you would lay down on my couch and tell me a funny story from the drive over. Or when you'd come up and visit me at school and you'd get up at 4 and work 5 hours so by the time I got up all your work was done and we could laugh.

You were so quietly capable. You had no specific talent, just an ability to work hard and get things done. Without you around it's amazing the things that we have to make up for.

You always made me feel loved. You always made me feel protected. Safe. Cared for. Funny. Beautiful. Righteous.

Eclipse Polar Ice Gum. The kind with the annoyingly loud package that is not conducive to a quiet church service. That's what it was today. I saw the package of gum in your office that no one has touched. The package has one piece left. You left it there on a Wednesday morning thinking you would come back the next morning and finish out the package. Unless you knew. I wonder if you had any inkling. Would you have told us if you did? Would it have helped?

I didn't think to take the gum. I felt like if I kept it untouched it would preserve that day and maybe I would wake up and it will be next year and this actually didn't happen. I'm mad at myself that I think like that still.

Everyone Has Something To Say

Dear Dad,

You have good advice. The irony of our situation is that you are the most opinionated person I have ever interacted with, but because you know me, and trust me, your opinion is muted. Your opinion is whatever my opinion is. If we disagree, it is in private or with Mom as a buffer. You would never call me out in public. You would never make me feel like I shouldnt be heard or respected.

No one has that art down as well as you do. People are full of unsolicited advice. People are too sensitive. People are wrong. You were right and candid and a communicator.

Miss you,

Elyse

One More Night

This is a day I would say, "Diddy, let's go to dinner." he would suggest some strange and oddly delicious restaurant and we would talk shop, Mexico, and dating. I would laugh at his jokes and puns he didn't know were funny. He would tell some stories from when he worked in Corporate America. He would ask about yoga. He would express how proud he is. He would make sure I'm living my life right. He would suggest things for me to do with my calling. He would pick up the bill and silence his phone. He would get irritated at me for texting. He would ask how many kids I could have and still keep my job. We would talk about how much we will wakeboard this summer. He would want to plan a trip to Utah to visit Kyria and go snowboarding. He would turn off the radio and just listen to me as I expressed my emotions about my current situation. He would say, "Babe, why do you worry? Work hard. Make the right choices. Pray. Everything will work out." I would cry because I love him so much. I would ask if we could get yogurt because I didn't want it to end. Dessert would be straight laughs and light hearted conversation. I'd listen to the same stories I'd heard a million times about him courting my mom and love them just the same. I'd go home and take it for granted like he'd always be there to buy dinner and make laugh.

I Feel It All

I had so many questions. The pain was masked by curiosity. Where? Why? What do I do? I remember asking anyone who would listen what they thought I should do. My real friends told me to calm down and breathe. My family went to Martins Cove. The house that Dad built. We sat together as 30 of our closest friends watched my mother puke into a glass bowl, watched my brothers lie face down on the cement floor, watched as I demolished a pint of ice cream.

That night we slept in a foreign bed in a foreign room. I needed something strange so I wouldn't have any associations to this feeling. I wept with my sisters. We talked about forever. We talked about God's plan of salvation. Nikka told us how it happened. We felt Him watching us. Wanting to reach out to us. Missing us just the same.

The next day came the friends. The families. The news stations. The food. Everyone asked how we were. We still laugh about that question. How do you think? I called my friends who I needed there. I repulsed food. I showered 3 times a day. I forgave previous foes. I refused dreams. I took medicine. I laughed with Lauren. I don't remember much of the two days after. Except that I wanted to laugh and I wanted honesty.

Pretend

You got me. People who know us say we are the same. I know that means I am intense and passionate and obsessed with being correct. To most people it's annoying, but to you it was your life so you understood. I wasn't alone in that. I wasn't alone in anything. I felt my emotions out loud. Now I feel everything inside. I would rather pretend to be okay than deal with anyone who may not understand. I don't feel okay. I feel sick. I feel hungry. I feel uncertain. Life has become real. Precious. Necessary. I view the world as insensitive because everyone is moving on. It's not their fault but it needs to be someone's. I feel raw. Like a flower being picked apart. Soon I will run out of petals and there will just be me. No hiding.