Grief Isn't Bound by Your Calendar: Sometimes she comes knocking unexpectedly,
So today, I honor you, Dad, among others...
I’ve been struggling to write lately, chanting my mantra from William Zinsser, “Writing is hard work. Writing is hard work,” 1not realizing one of the reasons why it might be hard for me to focus right about now. Late October, beginning of November, this was the time that I had visited my dad in Sacramento, back in 2019—shortly after he was first diagnosed with lung cancer. All of my siblings came to see him. We came from Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Southern California. Family who were close by also came and so it was decided that we would have an early Thanksgiving Dinner and we did that year, early November in Sacramento.
Dad slipped in unnoticed and seasoned the meat while we were chatting in the kitchen, smiling up at us when he was caught. After all, cooking was his thing—and he was proud of it. And in this family, the men were the better cooks. My dad and uncle made Chinese food really well and my grandmother did better with the creole foods from the islands.
For Thanksgiving dinner that year, I made a spicy gluten-free jalapeno cornbread with pepper jack cheese and a green salad. Mom made a potato stuffing with hot tomato sauce, mashed potatoes, pepper, and raisins as was our custom, and my youngest sister made scalloped potatoes as another option. We kept cooking and chatting like old times and after dinner, we sang karaoke just like old times. Dad had to sit down but he sang a couple of his favorites. That was the last time I saw him alive. In June of 2020, I returned to Sacramento for the celebration of his life.
On June 20, 2020, my part in the service came after a serious sermon. I shared memories and tried to keep it lighthearted. I was happy to honor my dad in that way. My mom’s sharing would come next. There would be a meal at the house after the service, set up on tables outside.
Grief. She isn’t bound by seasons in your calendar. Not cut and dry. Not stationary either. Instead, she comes knocking, sometimes repeatedly, gently reminding you that there is more work to be done. Underneath, where it counts. So today, I write about Dad, to honor him and all of our loved ones whose places will be empty at the table when we celebrate Thanksgiving and soon, when we celebrate another Christmas.
A Time of Remembrance at Thrive Church in Sacramento, California
June 20, 2020
Good-bye, Dad
We wish for so many things when we are young. When we are young, we define success in very tangible ways: by how many degrees we’re able to stack up, how many good books we’re able to read, what kind of car we drive, and how many dollars we have in our bank accounts. We ask ourselves these things as ways to measure our success.
Dreams
My father had many dreams when he was young, in spite of losing his mom at an early age. When he was young, he took over his father’s business and married a smart, beautiful woman to help him run it in Trinidad. Years later, when my family moved to St. Croix, our father demonstrated his entrepreneurial spirit by buying and selling old cars that he had fixed up—including a Comet that went really fast. Ask my mother. There is a story that when my Dad was working at the shop with the guys, the Comet went by and the guys looked up and asked, “Isn’t that your car?” as it sped by with my mother behind the wheel. Ask my mother. She can tell you the rest of that story.
Cars
And speaking of cars, my Dad also had a Volkswagen Bug when we lived in St. Croix. My Daddy was coming home, so I ran up the hill beside the moving car. Was my Daddy happy to see me? Yes, but he spanked me for doing something he felt was unsafe once he got out of the car. (And I never did that again.)
Books
My dad knew I loved books. In fifth grade, we had quiet reading time, so I asked my Dad to bring me a book. He brought me The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. My dad knew I loved to read and I have been reading ever since. Sometimes I even read poems to my students in my poetry class in Pennsylvania.
High School & Too Many Activities
I was involved in so many activities when I was in high school: Fish Club, Spanish Club, California Scholarship Federation (My CSF card said I had “lifetime membership,” though I’m not sure what that means now and I’ve misplaced the cards: Do I still have “lifetime membership”? ), and The Academy Club (which I founded myself) were groups that met during the day at school. Track and cross-country teams competed after school, Speech Team competed on Saturdays and Youth Group met on Friday nights and then traveled during the summer on a bus for our “tours.” One day, Dad complained to my mom that I had too many activities. Well, all of my activities were so precious to me and I could not think of one that I could drop. My mom said that I started crying. Anyway, Dad kept driving me to my activities since driving lessons with him did NOT go well, but that’s another story for another time.
After College
On a more serious note, when I was out of college and after I had made mistakes in my twenties, I was preparing to leave home once again. My Dad came up behind me when I was washing dishes. He put his arms around me and asked, “Do you hate me?” I told him no, I didn’t hate him but I did not have the presence of mind at that moment to also say, “Dad, I’m still trying to figure out my own life.”
Sometimes your life can be a “hot mess” and you still need to reach out and do that thing this is needed: you don’t have to wait until your life is perfect to offer words of affirmation or words of encouragement that a person needs in that moment.
Gifts
I’ve seen evidence of many gifts in this family and along with writing poetry and drama, photography, IT skills, some of you are great cooks. Others of you can write songs and play guitar and in addition to all of these, your gifts of compassion, encouragement, forgiveness, or even words of hope—which can go a long way-- can be what someone needs when he or she reaches out to you.
I feel touched by the way this family has come together to honor my dad and support the family. That feels really good. Just like in October and early November when we visited Dad, yesterday we did some of Dad’s favorite things: we cooked, enjoyed food, and sang karaoke. I love the way this family is able to put aside our conflicts and support each other in these times. We know how to come together in times like these. I felt loved and I think it was a perfect way to celebrate Dad’s homegoing.
I am glad that all of you have joined me today. To Dad, I say: “I love you and I am glad that you are finally in the arms of Jesus. And as for me, I will be trusting God for my next move in this life.”
To all of you, I say, Let’s get together again, but let’s not make our reunion a funeral. Let’s not wait that long. Thank you and God bless all of you.
Good-Bye, Thank You, We Miss You
After the doctors figured out what was wrong with my dad, my dad left the room. He didn’t want to hear how many more months they were giving him. Didn’t want to lose his dignity the last few months of his life: no chemo, no losing of his hair or his memory. He wanted to keep his dignity to the end. No talk of death either.
Instead, he wanted to honor the living with however much time he had. My mother got him a holistic tonic from a doctor in Mexico, so that the tonic ate up the cancer that was in his body and most of what was in his brain. I am told that the tonic was able to break the brain/blood barrier, but there were headaches and he had pain meds for that. We feel that what caused his death was an infection he got while he was in the hospital and other complications.
We’re glad we had him for as long as we did and that God gave us that piece of time to share a meal together before He took him away. We’re also grateful for how the family came together to celebrate. Of course, those in Venezuela, Trinidad, and Canada could not attend since those borders were closed and folks in Florida didn’t feel comfortable coming during that time, but those who came shared and listened.
We Miss You, Dad!
You are definitely missed today, Dad. Had you been here with us longer, you would have been 84 this year. Thank you for bringing our family from Trinidad, West Indies, to St. Croix, U.S. Virgins Islands. (Mom’s job would later help us get to Southern California.)
Thank for you for your gifts of entrepreneurship, your love of gardening, your love of the arts, and the grace that you extended to all of us. You would be proud of the gifts that are enjoyed in the family right now. This poem from my sister, Lisa, says it all:
Missing You By Lisa Lowi-Teng I would love to see your face again To say just how I feel To let you know how much I care My love for you is real. Now that we are apart As I bow down to pray The words I could not say I pray my actions did convey. As you ascend to heaven I truly understand I can keep you in my heart Though God has you in His hand.
On page 9 of his book, On Writing Well, William Zinsser says “Writing is hard work. A clear sentence is no accident.” He echoes this sentiment throughout his book.