Honoring my Dad

I'll begin with the story of the bad haircut. Myles' hair, as beautiful as it is, grows with abandon. If he was a girl, it would be down to his waist. He adores his evening bath, and every morning without fail he wakes up with bed head. No matter how we try to tame that bed head, it pops up, defying all combs. So the longer his hair gets, the more unruly it gets, and the more irritated mama gets. Last week, I was fed up. As he sat in his highchair eating a snack, I decided, this is it! I'm cutting it here and now.

I got out the clippers and showed them to Myles. They freaked him out. Disappointed, I resorted to a comb and scissors. As I cut his hair, Myles began to cry and grab his head as if he were in severe pain. I told him I knew it didn't hurt, that it was okay, that the less he resisted the faster we'd be done with the whole thing. As I was furiously clipping it occurred to me that I was not doing a good job. It's hard to cut hair when your client is twisting and grabbing and screaming! Then, after I had chopped the sides and top, I realized Myles was the most hysterical I'd ever seen him. He began dry heaving. I was horrified. How could I torture my sweet little one? Even though I wasn't causing him physical pain (I did not cut him or even come close), it was clear that he was emotionally distraught.

I stopped immediately, apologized profusely and redirected him to the tub (taking a bath always makes things better). As we washed away his tears, I got the chance to study my handiwork. His hair looked horrible. I remember in the 80s my first little elementary school boyfriend had a spike on top with sorta long hair in the back. Not long enough to pass for a mullet, but longer than the tops and sides. That's what Myles looked like. I later joked with Seth (who kinda liked the cut) that I could throw in some texturizer and tell other mamas: "I took him to Ananda...you wouldn't BELIEVE what they charged me!" Thankfully, we traveled to grandma's for the weekend and in front of the television, with papi working hard at all sorts of distractions, my mom was able to shape it up a little. I don't think I'll ever take a pair of scissors to his hair again in 2009!

On Friday night we headed to my mom's to celebrate Christmas (again) by exchanging gifts with her and my brother's family. We wished my sister's family could have been there, but after coming out to TN so often this fall, it was impossible for them to make it. My dad's absense was palpable. As soon as we walked in the house, Myles ran in as if he was looking for my dad. On Saturday morning as I was doing dishes and looking at the photos of my dad on the countertop, I missed him with that indescribable ache. It starts to sink in (and takes some time to fully register) that he's gone for good from this life. My dad had such a presence about him. He was such a positive being to be in the room with. Always serving people, always with a smile on his face, in a good mood. To not be able to hug him again or hear his voice...it's a lot to accept. As a Christian I believe I will see him again. Still, it's a long time to wait.

To honor my dad and remember his presence, we began our Christmas together by lighting four candles that represented love, memory, grief, and hope. My mom got this from a book called the Empty Chair, which I highly recommend. It's written from a Christian perspective about how to cope with holidays/holy days/special days after the loss of a loved one. As she lit the candle for love, we each shared what we loved about my dad, and what he loved most. For memory we remembered stories about my dad, funny and poignant. She lit the grief candle and we talked about our grief. And when she lit the candle for hope we talked about the hope that we will be with my dad again in heaven, the hope that we will see bits and pieces of him in his grandchildren, that we will share with them the stories of his life. (As I write all this, I have a little one tugging on my arm. I should have waited until after bedtime. My writing is not what it could be. But that's my life these days.)

After our ritual, we ate a delicious meal and then opened gifts. The boys had a blast! Myles got the basic plan city road set, and it's now set up on our coffee table for daily enjoyment. My sister sent us all LiveStrong bracelets (I wear the one that was my dad's even though it's too big). Seth and I gifted everyone with a dvd of a conversation we taped with my dad a week before he died, and later that night we watched it with my mom. There was my dad (it felt like it was yesterday) talking about what life was like for him growing up, remembering the moment he met my mom and how they fell in love, offering advice about career and family. He was very thin when we shot the video, and sitting on a pillow because it hurt him to sit even on a couch without padding. That cancer was killing him was evident in his body, but his voice was the same old dad and his spirit was gracious and good humored.

We made it through Christmas. When 2009 came, I shed a few tears because as awful as some of the events of 2008 were, I don't want to put behind me the last year when I saw my dad alive. Leaping into 2009 is leaping into a year when my dad is not bodily present in my life and the life of my child. It feels like moving on. And while I know we have no choice, we cannot stay in the present, there's something that feels all wrong about ringing in a new year in which my dad is gone from this earth. There's a lot to look forward to, and I grieve so much what's being left behind. I'm reminded that only by the grace of God we go on.

My mom was such a blessing to each of us this weekend. She was honest about grief, and once again I recognized that she has lost so much, that her loss is so different from mine. But she also insisted that we have a beautiful meal, that we laugh with the boys, that we do the things my dad would have wanted us to do like telling stories, being together, eating ice cream cake...

Gently, without fanfare, we move into this next year. There will be birthdays, anniversaries, challenges and achievements. Hopefully, prayerfully, there will be a new church. Spring will come. The earth will re-create itself each morning as God wills the sun to rise again on a new day. Myles will grow and need another hair cut. Time passes. I remember in theological school I learned that in some traditional African religions, they believe that the ancestors continue to live among us so long as their names are spoken and they are remembered. There's a power in remembering. So I guess that's what I'm grateful for tonight. No new year's resolutions, except to put one foot in front of the other and keep stepping.