Bittersweet Victory

The Baltimore Ravens won the Super Bowl last night. Making so many of my friends and family members really really happy.

And I'm happy too. I cheered each touch down and interception, cringed when the 49ers fielded a comeback and was on the edge of my seat as the Ravens defense stopped the 49ers from scoring in the final seconds of the game.

But really, I knew they were going to win. Even when it looked pretty bad, I knew it.

Because of course, after making it to the playoffs for the past five years and the AFC Championship game for the second year in a row, this would be the year they'd win it all. The year when my dad wasn't here to see it.

I think this will always be hard for me. Whether they win it again next year or in 10 years or even 20 years, it's still going to make me think of my dad and really miss him.

But this year, just four months after he died. I am a wreck. A blubbering, sobbing, irrational wreck.

The tears started with the Divisional Championship game, when they beat Denver. I was watching the game at home and was so excited at the end of the game. It was quite a game too. Double overtime, a field goal kick to win it all. I was cheering their victory and then all of the sudden realized I was crying. While my head was in a happy, excited place, I knew those tears weren't happy ones.

I watched the AFC Championship game in Richmond with friends, so that kept me distracted enough to stop the tears. Until I got in the car to leave their house. And turned into a sobbing, irrational wreck.

Yesterday the tears came with each touchdown. And then with all of the news coverage afterwards, that or course, I couldn't turn away from. Today, they came at work when my coworkers commented on how excited I must be about the win, some acknowledging that the Skins are my favorite team but knowing the Ravens are my number two, others commenting on the win in relation to my dad. Either way, I cried.

I just keep coming back to the thought that it's not fair. That game last night was exactly the kind of game my dad would have been fired up about. An early lead from the Ravens would have made him happy, the comeback from the 49ers would have had him ranting that the Ravens were just trying to lose it. He may have even changed the channel at that point. But he would have turned it back, been pulled back in, and been so happy with the win.

I know so much about life isn't fair. And I know there are going to be so many other times in my life that I'm going to miss him SO very much.

But this one, I wasn't expecting it. It took me by surprise and continues to just completely overcome me. I think I've cried more in the past 24 hours than I have in months.

I hate that something that would have made my father so happy is bringing me so many tears.

Memories

When I was seven years old all I wanted was a playhouse. We lived on a acre of land and I envisioned my own little house out back, complete with a front door and windows with curtains and a flower bed. I asked for it frequently and don't recall what kind of reaction my request got, but I do remember the surprise I got upon arriving home on one of the last days of the school year.

I got off the bus at my neighbor's house and walked over to my house via the backyard. As I crossed over the property line I noticed a big wooden board hanging from one of the trees in the far corner of our yard. As I got closer my dad looked down at me from up on a ladder and said "Look - I'm finally building that tree house you've been asking for!"

Um... yeah.

But I knew even at that young age not to complain and not to point out that a tree house was not really at all what I asked for. I just went with it.

And within a few weeks I had my own getaway in the back yard. Complete with trap door to enter, a big barrel as my table and another cut in half as my two chairs. My dad also built a slide as a second exit, but we never quite got the right material on it so you could actually, ya know, slide.

My friends and I were frequent visitors to that tree house for years. It was even where I ran away to several years later, packing up a bag of books, my pillow and some apples when I was mad about being grounded for something. I stayed all day, until my mom came outside and yelled out that my dad would be home soon. Then I promptly packed up and returned to my room before he got home.

***************

Every summer when I was a kid we'd spend a week in Ocean City. We rented the same condo, on the bayside at 26th street. There was a dock there that we went crabbing from, and it was on a little inlet, putting it a good distance from the main boating lanes of the bay. The summer when I was 11 I had one of those little inflatable boats to take into the ocean with me. It even came with two oars, so one day during our week my dad suggested I try it out in the bay.  

Let's just say it didn't go well. I had a really hard time getting the whole rowing thing down and could not get myself back to the dock. I went in circles a lot. And then when it seemed like I finally mastered a motion other than circular, it was out towards that main boating channel. OK, so it was probably actually the tide pulling me out, but either way, it was not good. My dad kept calling out instructions from the dock. Telling me what I was doing wrong and how to fix it. It didn't work. I was drifting further and further away. So then he dove off the dock, swam out to me and pulled me back in. 

I thought my days of boating in the bay were over, but then next morning by the time I woke up my dad had already been out to get coffee and made a quick stop at the hardware store, where he bought rope. A long, long rope. 

He tied one end to my little rubber boat and the other to the dock and sent me back out into the water. I have no idea how long the rope was, but it definitely gave me plenty of room to play around in the boat, attempt to improve my rowing skills and still be reeled back in when I failed miserably. 

***************

When I graduated from high school two of my best friends and I decided we didn't want to go to the beach for senior week, we wanted to go to New York City. We saved up lots of money, picked out the shows we wanted to go to and sights we wanted to see, got our Trip Tik from AAA and hit the road for the 4 hour drive north. 

My dad was NOT happy about this trip. I know he would have much rather me have gone to the beach since he knew the drinking and partying typical of senior week wasn't my thing. I don't actually remember how my mom and I got him to agree that I could go, but, he did. 

We made it to just outside of Philly with no problems. Then, well, there was a big, big problem. 

My car broke down. On I-95. On the shoulder of the fast lane. 

It was bad. So very bad. I called AAA and was waiting for them to show up when of course, my dad called to check on our progress. I had planned to call after the car was towed and I had a clue what was going on. I could feel his stress and worry through the phone, though he was trying to remain calm.   

Then, things got worse. The AAA tow truck never showed. They claimed the car was abandoned when they got there. It wasn't. Multiple police cars went by us, never stopping to see if we were ok, despite the hazards on and "Send Help" sign in the window (it was the bag the Trip Tik came in - thanks AAA), and we finally flagged down another tow truck. 

Who towed us to a lovely neighborhood in South Philly where we learned that a rod from the piston when through the oil pan, draining all of the oil and killing my engine. The day was dragging on and by the time we got this news it was about 2 hours til the garage's closing time. My dad talked to the mechanic who said we could stay there until they closed and then we could wait on the steps. 

Needless to say he drove quickly, making his way to Philly to get us. I was convinced he'd be taking us home. But he didn't. He drove us the rest of the way to NYC, made sure we got checked in to our hotel and then turned around and drove home. 

He may not have been happy with my choice, but he supported it anyway. 

***************

Happy Birthday Daddy. I miss you every single day and will never forget all that you did for me. 

Good People

I've been reading Vince Flynn's books for easily five years now. I first heard him talking about a new book on Elliot in the Morning and was intrigued. A friend of mine heard the same segment and took the plunge and started buying the books. I borrowed the first one from him and was hooked.

If you aren't familiar, Vince's books are CIA/counter terrorism themed. They are suspenseful, engaging and in many cases frighteningly accurate in terms of similarities between the fictional world of his main character Mitch Rapp and what we hear on the news these days. They also aren't really a genre I generally read much of, but I really really love these books.

Shortly after I started reading the series I mentioned it to my dad as books I thought he'd like. I'm sure my mom started off getting them from the library, as my parents don't buy books as a general rule, but soon my dad was so hooked on the series as well he made it a point to buy all of the books, even ordering hardback copies of some of the older ones from secondhand bookstores online. I don't think he had ever made an online purchase before, but he was determined to have the full collection.

Luckily, that made shopping for him a bit easier for awhile, as I always knew the latest Vince Flynn book would be the perfect Christmas or birthday present.

This summer, while things were still pretty good with my dad's health, he asked when the next Mitch Rapp book was coming out. I checked the website and discovered it was scheduled for release in mid-November.

As the summer wore on my dad started going out less and less, his energy level was pretty low. So he was home all of the time and he was going through books at a pretty good pace. This was also around the time we discovered that his treatment wasn't working and they had to switch to a new, and their last, option.

I decided to try and get an advance copy of the book. Some google sleuthing turned up his publisher's name as well as her Assistant and Associate Editors. A bit more sleuthing and I figured out the email address format for their company, wrote my message and sent it off hoping I'd get a response, but not really expecting it to work.

I also emailed the producer of the Elliot in the Morning radio show, since Vince is a regular guest there, to see if he had any tips on how I could get an advance copy of the new book.

Within 24 hours I had responses from all three people I contacted.

Amazing.

The new book was still being edited so there weren't any ARC's available to send yet, but as soon as one was, I was assured I'd get it. And then a day or so later I got a follow up email - the Editor had shared my note with Vince and he wanted to send an autographed copy of his last book for my dad.

About two weeks later, the ARC of The Last Man arrived in the mail. And within a few days of that, a hardback copy of Kill Shot, with the inscription to the left came as well.

Both such awesome gestures. I couldn't believe my random plea actually worked.

The unfortunate part is that cancer sucks and the books came too late. While it was only a few weeks, from when my dad was relatively healthy and reading 3-4 books a week, waiting for the new one from his favorite author, til when the books arrived, it was enough time for the medicine to stop, the cancer to spread and us to lose him.

I got the ARC the day after he died. And the autographed copy shortly after the funeral.

I hate having to tell that part of the story.

I wish I could be writing that he got the books and got to read the new one himself. Or even that I got to read it to him (though, some of the rather... um, fiesty, language would have made that a bit awkward!). I hate the way this story ends. I hate it because I miss my dad so much. But also because I feel like the ending takes away from the really nice thing that these total strangers did. How they went out of their way to get this book to me because of a random email that showed up in their inbox on a Thursday morning.

So please, let your takeaway from this post be that there really are good, nice, caring people in this world. People who will go out of their way to give a stranger going through a tough time a pick me up.

And if you've never read Vince's books, I encourage you to check them out. My mom is even planning to start reading through the collection now, well, right after she finishes the latest from Debbie Macomber and Danielle Steel...

The Little Things

I made it through the storm unscathed. Though, I have to say, the mental anguish of just waiting... waiting... waiting... got to be a bit much. We get SO much advanced info these days I felt like all I did all weekend was wait for the storm to arrive. And then when it did, on Monday, I was very lucky to have no impact.

That's not storm damage. That's actually how it looked pre-storm.
And is apparently "standing" enough for the landlords

I certainly wouldn't trade that for downed trees or power outages, but still, it's quite emotionally draining, even without impact. Oh, and I did want the crappy, rotten old fence in my backyard to come crashing down so it could be replaced, but nope. It's still (sorta) standing.

Anyway, I've been obsessively watching and reading the news over the past few days. I couldn't turn off the local news before the storm hit, and then once it passed us I switched over to MSNBC for the national news. While New York and New Jersey have been captivating, what I've been searching for online is news and photos from the Delaware beaches. It looks like they were spared the worst of it, and only had moderate flooding. Between Bethany and Dewey the dunes were compromised, but in Bethany, the dunes held the Ocean back.

I read that and started crying.

My parents have a house a few miles inland from Bethany. They bought it before the dunes were put in and during the project, and ever since the project, my dad would complain endlessly about those dunes and how they blocked the view of the ocean from the boardwalk. There were signs up all around town, showing what things looked like after a storm in '62 and the kind of flooding that the dunes were being put in to prevent. My dad's comment - well, if it only happens once every 50 or so years then why do we need them. I'd roll my eyes and tell him that he knew it was unpredictable and that the dunes were a necessarily evil. Saving lives and property trumped an ocean view as he strolled the boardwalk.

So when I read that the dunes did their job and kept the ocean out of downtown Bethany my first thought was "Ha!" And my second was "he missed it."

It's those little things that are so hard to deal with. Those conversations that wouldn't have any significance to anyone else. Those little things that just make this so real. And break my heart again and again.

No Words

It's been radio silence around here for over a month now.

I've got a lot of words and thoughts and emotions swimming around in my head, but I haven't been able to get them out. I liked opening my blog and seeing Wiggles happy little face. I didn't want to follow that up with sadness. But I can't not write about it.

My father passed away at the end of September.

Every time I'd sit down to write this post the tears start pouring down my cheeks and my brain would just shut down.

I'd have no words.

Just emotion.

But really, there are a lot of words I should be trying to get out.

People keep asking if I want to talk, and I'm not sure what they want me to say. I know it's sincere, and they want to be helpful but all I can envision is the incredibly awkward attempt at a conversation with a co-worker, or cousin I see once or twice a year, or childhood neighbor who I haven't seen in decades. The conversation where I start snot sobbing and they tell me what? It will get better? Just give it time?

Or even worse, the conversation that I think is completely benign and then all of the sudden, the person comes out with "I'm sorry to hear about your dad. I know he was so proud of you."

Proud.

That word is my kryptonite. I can handle a lot of other comments, but as soon as someone tells me how proud he was I fall a part. (Side note: it's good I can type without looking at the keys because just typing the word proud has my eyes filled with tears again.)

I don't want to be writing about this. I don't want this to be my reality. But I also don't know that I can write abut anything else right now. For the first few weeks I was strictly a consumer of the internet, avoiding posting anything anywhere because I just didn't know what to say.

I never shared on FB anything about my dad's illness or his death. Part of me wishes I had, so more acquaintances and casual friends would know and I could avoid awkward conversations down the road. But much more of me couldn't deal with the thought of every time I opened Facebook, or got a notification on my phone it would bring on the tears. The sympathy cards that come in the mail are bad enough at triggering the water works, but at least I control when I see them. I make sure I open them when I'm alone in my room, with the box of tissues near by. But Facebook comments follow you around. I use it at work, on my phone, at home... it's unavoidable in my life and I needed to be able to avoid.

Wow. This is so stream of conscious and all over the place. I kept thinking this post would be eloquent. The eulogy I wanted to write but knew I had no hope of actually being able to deliver coherently. I guess I'll get there.

Right?

And I'll write about other things too. It doesn't have to be all or nothing around here. I know that. I do. I just have to let myself act on it.

Family Funnies

Over the past few months my father has brought up an old family recipe for rice pudding several times. Apparently it was his grandmother's and she passed it down to his aunt. His mean old aunt who rumor has it didn't share it with anyone. He asked both of his sister's about it and the one thought the other who still lives in the house they all grew up in might have had it.

I'm not sure how their conversation went, but I do know my dad told me last week that his sister had just emailed him a rice pudding recipe. He was hoping it was *the* recipe, but if not that it would be a good one.

On Friday night while my mom and I were at the grocery store getting ingredients I got a little suspicious. I couldn't imagine the old family recipe would call for jello pudding mix. My suspicions were confirmed when I picked up said box of pudding mix and found the exact same recipe written on the side of the box.

So much for great grandma's rice pudding.

******

Last weekend I went to sit in my parent's (newish) recliner and couldn't get it to recline. Later I asked my mom what I could have been doing wrong and she said it probably wasn't plugged in. 

Huh? Why in the world does a chair need to be plugged in. 

Well, it's an electric chair she replied. 

Yeah, mom, you might not want to call it that. 

She explained that the chair isn't a manual recliner, oh no, it's electric. So after you plug it in and press the button it moves for you. 

This is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of. My dad defended the purchase, apparently when they were testing them out in the store mom just wasn't being forceful enough to uh.... (what in the world is the word you use when you want to say sit back up in a recliner? Is there a word for the opposite of recline? At least recline in this sense? I guess sit up will have to do.)

Anyway, I digressed. My mother wasn't forceful enough when trying to sit back up and she couldn't get a normal recliner back to regular position. So they bought an electric recliner. 

Friday night when we were having thunderstorms I kept begging her to sit in it because I think it would be absolutely hysterical if the power went out and she was stuck in her electric recliner. (Seriously, I giggled just typing that.) 

Unfortunately we never lost power (words I never expected to type) and she didn't find my suggestion nearly as humorous as I did. 

******

During said thunderstorms we were watching lots o' news coverage. In fact I learned that local news stations are required to stay on their air during severe weather to provide the public with warning and updates. Anyway, at some point something was annoying me about their coverage (I don't remember what) and I was arguing with the tv. 

My mom talks to herself all of the time and whenever I hear it I ask who she's talking to. She returned the favor, questioning why I was doing that. My dad came to my defense, saying at least I was responding to something someone else said and my mom comes back with: 

"Well, at least when I talk to myself then I can answer too and I'd be having a conversation"

No words. None.

******

This was a very good weekend. Filled with lots of laughter, lots of reading and absolutely no beach traffic! A total win all around. 

Football Giveth and Football Taketh Away

Yesterday was the end of the regular NFL season.

My beloved Redskins ended the season 5-11. It was the Head Coach's worst record in his lengthy and esteemed career (his second worst was last season. Also with the Redskins). Over the past three seasons they've won 15 games. Some perspective for the non-football fans among you, some teams won 14 or 15 games THIS season.

But, I still love the team. I watch the games, while wearing the merchandise and clapping and cheering for each and every touchdown. Even in these hard times I can recognize the effort the players are putting forward and celebrate the individual performances which in many cases are impressive.

My dad is a football fan too. Planning his schedule around the games and staying up well beyond his normal bedtime when his team plays a night game.

And... that's where the similarities end.

His team is the Ravens. My hometown team who didn't move to town until I left for college. A team who won the super bowl a few years after coming to town and has been in the playoffs for the past 4 years, this year ending their season with a 12-4 record, winning their division and landing a second seed playoff spot.

When I called my dad yesterday at the close of the game, when they clinched that wonderful playoff spot, his response was filled with grumbles and complaints. I got a litany of each and every misstep, missed catch and fumbled play. I just rolled my eyes and listened. Really, it was the theme of the season. Apparently perfection is what my dad seeks in his football team and the Ravens just aren't perfect.

So tonight I was quite surprised when my dad called to talk football again. He was talking to his brother today and it clicked for him. My team finished 5-11, his 12-4. My team needs major rebuilding and changes to have any hope of seeing the playoffs next year or the year after. His team has a decent shot of making it to the Superbowl this year. He said from now on he's going to try and be more positive about the Ravens when he's talking to me.

{You got that, right? Not more positive in general about this darn good team, just more positive when talking to me.}

***************************************************

As another sad season of Redskins fandom came to a close, I did have a pretty happy football moment. I placed third in my fantasy football league! I'm up to three leagues these days, but this is the original league. The one that kicked off the obsession back in 2007. My record thus far was 7th place (twice), 6th and then 5th last year. Miracle upon miracles I skipped the expected 4th place ranking and jumped right to third! Score!

That meant winning $40. Money that I was happy to go spend today on super cute new red shoes and a fun coin purse. Totally what you're supposed to spend money you won betting on football on, right?