A Story of Gratitude on Thanksgiving

Tags

200 words, Dad, Diana Schwenk, Diana's Enormous Book of Quotes, family, Gratitude, growing up, happy, health, life, love, parents, perspective, Relationships, Thanksgiving

Me, Shannon and Dad in 1985

Never let things you want, make you forget the things you have.

In the summer of 2015, Dad called and insisted that I visit that September. Looking back, I am grateful he did so, as unknown to any of us, Dad would pass away two months later.

When I reflect on what I am grateful for, Dad is at the top of the list. I know how fortunate I am to have had a father who loved me, and kept me safe, who was in my life for 52 years.

Dad also was a grateful man. During that 2015 visit, from the couch he practically lived on due to the back pain he’d suffered, he looked at me and said, “You know, Diana…I cannot really complain about anything, I’ve had a great life.”

“A great life, Dad? You grew up in war-torn Berlin. Your windows imploded when bombs were dropped. You were hungry much of the time!”

I don’t remember his answer verbatim, but it was something like, “yes, but we looked out for each other on our street, we shared everything. I was loved.”

~ DIANA’S ENORMOUS BOOK OF QUOTES ~

This Thanksgiving, don’t forget what you have…

 

 

 

Advertisement

7 Things Dad would want you to know

Tags

believe, caring, children, courage, Dad, death, Diana Schwenk, family, Fear, friends, generosity, grief, growing up, happy, health, Hump Day Chronicles, joy, kids, laughter, life, lifetime, living in the moment, loss, love, memories, Mom, parents, Relationships, sadness, stories, Stuff my parents used to say and do

This post has been sitting in my draft folder since December 2015, just a short month after Dad passed. It hasn’t felt right to publish it until now. ♡

*******

Dear Mom,

I’ve been thinking about you and Dad and our family.

In particular, I’ve been thinking about how Dad and I could just sit in the same room, not saying anything, yet somehow be on the same page. And I’ve been thinking about some of the conversations Dad and I have had over the years and I think there are at least seven things that Dad would want you to know.

I’ve listed them below in the form of a letter to you from Dad.

Meine Liebe Salat Schnecke,

1.       Don’t ever doubt how much I loved you

Remember our Wedding night? It wasn’t a fancy party. We did the best we could though and we had fun right? I can still see you running through the street singing in the middle of the night when you’d had a little too much to drink.

What the neighbours must have thought!

But I didn’t care, you seemed happy and honestly Margot, I may not have been able to express myself well, but that’s what I wanted for you. I always wanted you to be happy.

I knew how hard your life had been, I wanted to show you how good it could be.

Remember when we arrived in Canada and once we got on our feet a bit? You have no idea how happy it made me to see you eat butter, eat at a restaurant, eat fruit and cakes and whatever you could get your hands on. Remember that time I brought a dozen lemon donuts home when you were pregnant and you ate 11 of them? I didn’t mind that there was only one donut left for me.

It made me smile to watch you eat all the foods you missed in your childhood.

2.       Building our family

I know you were scared and so determined that our children would never be harmed like you had been. I was shocked that time you would even think I might hurt them but I grew to understand where this fear came from. I loved our kids – I would have done anything for them, and I think I was able to convince you of that with time, right?

No regrets Margot.  Don’t ever underestimate the value of what we were able to give our kids. Sure we weren’t perfect parents, we made mistakes along the way, but we did everything to the best of our ability for them and I think they turned out pretty good, don’t you?

3.       Our 50^th anniversary

Mom and Dad’s 50th Anniversary

Wasn’t that a fun party, Margot? I was so excited to celebrate with you. You looked so beautiful in that blue dress, I was so proud beside you in my new suit. And look how many friends came to celebrate with us!

And our trip to Germany! Yes Canada was our home now, but how wonderful it was to go to the place where we met and married to celebrate our 50^th.

4.       You were a real handful sometimes

A fighter. A hard worker. You had fire in your eyes!

Yeah there were times I wished you would just calm down, relax a little. Just let go of stuff, but maybe it was your pushing that got us as far as we got. And even when you were angry, I knew it was because you were afraid that things wouldn’t work out – those ghosts from the past were haunting you. I knew that you were fighting for the very best.

And you know what? I think I may have originally been drawn to that about you. You have spunk!

I mean who else would have moved to a new country, not knowing the language to start a new life with me? I chose well. You were the right partner for me.

You worked just as hard as me. Remember our job at that summer camp? Picking apples?  Making hats? And all the other jobs we had until I got that job at Kraft Foods and we bought our first home? And even then you cleaned houses to help out with the expenses. Yes we worked hard for what we built.

5.       Regrets

Maybe I could have been more supportive at times. Like when you were seasick on our voyage to Canada or when you broke your ankle. Maybe I could have told you more how much I appreciated you. I just never was one for words. But make no mistake; I was grateful and I really cared about you, even if I wasn’t very good at saying it.

6.       The last few years

I know how hard it was for you to watch me on the couch in pain. It was hard for me too. I wanted to be healed. And sometimes you made me angry when you pushed so hard for me to get up or exercise. But when I would think about it, I knew you were scared. I knew you meant well.

But the hardest thing, Margot was to see what my poor health was doing to you. You were so brave. That’s why I tried so hard to be brave too. That’s why I tried not to complain even when I couldn’t drive the car anymore. You did everything. I really wish I could have helped around the house more. I was so sure I would get better and things would go back to normal. But I didn’t. I’m so sorry things didn’t work out the way we had hoped. If I had known that I wouldn’t get better, perhaps we could have made arrangements that would have made the last years easier for both of us.

7.       Now that I’m gone

Our last few years together were hard, and I am so thankful for all you did for me. I know you’re sad and that you must grieve – after all we spent 56 years together, one doesn’t get over that quickly. But don’t just remember the last years. Remember the fun times. The family vacations. The German Club New Year’s dances. When I taught you how to drive. Those nights we walked around the block when the kids were in bed.

And don’t grieve too long. There is so much more for you to experience. Spend time with our kids, our grandkids, our wonderful friends. Get back out there doing the stuff you love to do. Simplify your life. Laugh, live and love. Life is far too precious to do otherwise. Grab onto life with both hands and enjoy it as much as you can. And know that when your time comes, I’ll be here, waiting for you.

Dein Mann, Heinz

Brummelbär

Tags

Dad, daughters, Diana Schwenk, family, fathers-day, kindness, Life's like that, love, memories, parents, Relationships, Stuff my parents used to say and do

“Dad had such a deep voice,” I said to my mom on the phone a few weeks back.

“Yes, that’s why I called him my Brummelbär (Brummel bear), his voice rumbled from deep within,” she replied with tenderness in her voice.

I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about dad lately, with Father’s Day and his birthday looming closer. I used to dread June because it brought Father’s Day, my brother’s birthday and my dad’s birthday, and when I didn’t have a lot of money, it seemed taxing to buy three cards and gifts in one month.

Man, what I wouldn’t give to have that worry back, to have dad back.

Yet, I can’t really complain. I was blessed for 52 years with the best possible man for me, as my father. He was a good man, a kind man, a peaceful man. And he loved us.

As best as I can tell Brummel means rumble. And mom’s right. His voice rumbled from deep within like a bear. And it remains in my heart, in my DNA it would seem, guiding me, and still brings me comfort when I most need it.

So glad I captured his voice in this video!

The Slippers

Tags

children, Dad, Diana Schwenk, family, grief, growing up, Hump Day Chronicles, life, Life's like that, loss, love, memories, parents, Relationships, Stuff my parents used to say and do

 

I have an old, ugly pair of slippers from Wal-Mart.  They make a click-clack noise. The same kind of click-clack noise Dad’s favourite slippers used to make when he walked across the kitchen floor.

*******

Winter 2012

Michaela and I went back east to spend Christmas with family. Dad was wearing those slippers and click-clacking across the floor. The noise drove Mom crazy. The next time Dad reached for those slippers after a trip into Hawkesbury, they were gone.

In the garbage.

Mom had had enough.

So me and Michaela went to the Fairview Shopping Centre in Pointe Claire and found a pair of slippers for Dad at Old Navy. We’d intentionally picked silent slippers to avoid that click-clacking sound. We couldn’t wait to give them to Dad for Christmas. On Christmas Eve we handed the wrapped slippers to him. He opened the package and angrily tossed the slippers to the side. 

“I hate them.”

They weren’t his well-worn favourite slippers and they weren’t the kind you could just slip on either. You had to bend down and stick your finger in the back to get them on.

*******

How I wish you were still with us Dad, so we could get you the perfect slippers.

The kind you wouldn’t have to struggle to get on.

The kind you could just slip your feet into.

The kind that would click-clack across the kitchen floor and drive Mom crazy and cause that smile of defiant satisfaction to tug at the corners of your mouth…

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

The Ring With The Blue Stone

Tags

children, Dad, death, Diana Schwenk, family, foundation, gift, good character, grief, growing up, History, Hump Day Chronicles, lessons, life, Life's like that, love, memories, Mom, parenting, safe, Stuff my parents used to say and do, values

My parents in 1960 and the ring with the blue stone

When you want to build something, you start with a good foundation. When you want to understand something, you start with the fundamental pillars of the subject. In other words, you learn the history, the mechanics of it, the whys and whats and wheres.

In the same way,  when you feel lost, it helps to go back to where you began so you can remember where you came from, what you have learned about this business of living, what you truly long for in life, and how you can get it and how you can share your gifts with the world. Sometimes you grab onto a symbol of the past and carry it with you like a talisman that you can look at, or touch when you need to be grounded.

Since Dad passed away, I’ve been in kind of a fog. I got the basics covered, you know…  I wake up, brush my teeth, shower, dress, exercise, go to work, eat, go to bed and start it all over again the next day. 

But I’ve lost a bit of my oomph.

A bit of my zest for life.

Dad was always my rock.

He had this way of making me feel secure and letting me know that he was there for me, no matter what.

My Plan B, if Plan A should fail.

Although I rarely resorted to Plan B, I knew I could if I had to, I knew it was there if I needed it.  

This past New Year’s Eve, as I was deciding which piece of jewelry to wear for an event I was attending, I came across the ring with the blue stone. The ring that cost forty dollars in 1960 and took Dad several weeks of saving so he could buy it for Mom to celebrate their first anniversary.

Dad was so upset when Mom gave me that ring almost thirty years later. But I’m so glad she did, so I could find it on the last day of 2016 and slip it on my finger. And with the wearing of it, remember the values he taught me and the traits he exemplified; like a good work ethic, empathy, diplomacy, loyalty and strength of character.  

What a gift!

What a great foundation from which to find my way again!

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

If I Had Known…

Tags

200 words, Canada, Dad, daughter, death, Diana Schwenk, Diana's Enormous Book of Quotes, family, Father, grief, growing up, Heinz Schwenk, Life's like that, love, memories, parents, Relationships

One year ago today, Dad passed away peacefully after eating supper in his hospital room…

If I had known that that last time we were together would be the last time I would ever see you, I would have looked at you more closely. I would have listened more carefully to what you had to say. I would have said to you all the things I ever wanted to tell you.

― Anonymous, page 49, Reflections upon the Death of a Father by Harold Ivan Smith

Dad, I wish I would have stayed longer that Friday. I wish I’d taken the opportunity to be with you alone to talk, to listen, to sit silent, to watch you sleep, to watch you eat your dinner.

I wish I would have looked into your beautiful blue eyes that never changed with age and searched them out for the wisdom you’d learned over the years.

But we thought you had turned a corner. And so we left that afternoon as you slept. And we sat the ‘get well’ teddy bear on your table with my handwritten note, “It was good to see you Dad, we’ll be back tomorrow, love you …”

~ DIANA’S ENORMOUS BOOK OF QUOTES ~

I Get That Now

Tags

Berlin, Dad, death, Diana Schwenk, family, Father, Germany, grief, growing up, Heinz Schwenk, Hump Day Chronicles, life, Life's like that, love, memories, Opa, parents, Relationships, stories

Opa, 66, with his Daschund (Cherry) in 1973.

Opa (my paternal grandfather) became a father at 27 years old when Dad was born on June 28, 1934.

Born in 1907, Opa lived through two world wars and the depression. Over the years, Dad told me many stories of his childhood growing up in Berlin, Germany.

Like the time he stole a horse from the Russians so that his family and neighbours could eat meat.

And the time he and his teenaged buddies lifted a Volkswagen over the owners fenced-in yard with a small gate – too small to drive a car through!

But I know very little about Opa. I know that he was raised by his aunt, and that he may not have known some of his siblings.

And once when Dad was in elementary school, he wet his pants in class because the teacher wouldn’t let him go to the bathroom. Opa went to the school the next day to talk to the teacher. Dad never knew what Opa had said, but the teacher told Dad that day that if he ever needed to go to the bathroom, he had permission to just go, didn’t even have to raise his hand to ask.

I know that Opa was athletic and participated in track and field. I know from our visits to Germany as a family, that Opa struggled with alcohol and by the time he was a senior, a half bottle of beer was enough to do him in. Yet even at a ripe old age, Opa could still walk up the stairs on his hands.

Opa passed away on June 28, 1987 (My Dad’s 53rd birthday). Opa had suffered a stroke on a Thursday. Dad booked the earliest flight he could get but unfortunately Opa passed away around the same time Dad’s plane landed in Berlin that Sunday.

I remember when Dad phoned to tell me Opa was dead. He was so calm on the phone, so matter-of-fact. I, on the other hand, burst into tears. Dad tried to console me. When I composed myself, it dawned on me to ask Dad how he was doing and comment on how awful it must be that his father died on his birthday. “I’m fine. Everyone dies eventually Diana. I’m ok.”

On June 28, 2012, I happened to be back east at my parent’s place for Dad’s 78th Birthday. We were talking about this and that when suddenly out of nowhere, Dad with glistening eyes said, “It’s 25 years ago today that my father died.”

I touched Dad’s arm.

What could I say?

Maybe you never quite get over the death of your father.

I get that now.

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

 

Those Blue Shorts Dad Used to Wear

Tags

British Columbia, Canada, Dad, Diana Schwenk, dreams, family, growing up, Hump Day Chronicles, Life's like that, love, memories, Mom, parents, Pinantan Lake, Relationships, Stuff my parents used to say and do

The other day in the early hours of the morning I was sleeping and in my dream Dad was waking me up. I opened my eyes and he was wearing those blue shorts he used to wear and an undershirt. It was a younger version of Dad and he was handing me a gift…

I woke up thinking, I got to remember this dream and the gift. Later in the day I’d forgotten the gift. I should have written it down when I woke up.

“Those blue shorts. Man I saw him clear as day in that dream,”  I thought to myself. And then yesterday after work,  I remembered I had a picture of him, wearing those shorts and an undershirt!

Mom was always good at taking pictures. I still joke that if I go to the bathroom, I have to lock the door to prevent Mom from coming in to take a picture. But back in 1985, Mom and Dad came to visit me in Pinantan Lake. They’d flown to Calgary, rented a car and drove through the Rocky Mountains to see me.

Mom with Dad wearing those blue shorts and undershirt

Dad, me and Mom at Paul Lake

Me, Shannon and Dad

Mom and Dad on the last day of their visit to Pinantan Lake

It occurs to me as I write  this post, that Dad was two years younger than I am today back then and in my dream it’s sort of like two peers connected for a moment in time. And maybe that’s all the gift I really need to remember. I miss you so much Dad, thanks for visiting in my dreams.

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

Have you ever looked at picture of your parents at the age you are now and wondered what it would have been like to hang out with them as peers?

The Waiting Room

Tags

courage, Dad, death, Diana Schwenk, family, Fear, grief, Happy Birthday Dad, Heinz Schwenk, Hump Day Chronicles, joy, kindness, laughter, life, Life's like that, living in the moment, loss, love, memories, parents, Relationships

Mike raising the flag for Dad’s birthday (June 28) and Canada Day (July 1)

Dear Dad,

Eight months ago when you left this world to go to the next, we, your family made a pact to come together for your birthday so that none of us would have to be alone.

Arno and Ela came from Germany. I came from out west, sadly without Michaela. And Mike, Heather and Spencer drove in from Montreal’s west island to meet at yours and Mom’s home. In my head, this family reunion would be joyful and fun because we would all be together. I thought we would celebrate you, maybe even release balloons with personal notes to you.  But that’s not what happened.

I’m not saying that we didn’t share great memories and moments of laughter, after which Mike brought out your silver tray and shot glasses just like you used to do when entertaining guests and we clinked our glasses in your honour. But always the underlying and unspoken fact that you were not sitting out on the deck with us was with me, and I suspect with the others as well.

Frankly, life is not the same without you Dad. I don’t mean to sound all dark and gloomy – honest I don’t, I’m merely stating a fact.

I recently read a book that said when we lose someone we love, we think we are immediately entering our new life without them. Where we usually end up though, is in a kind of metaphorical waiting room – between our old life and our new life. And there we sit, doing things the same way as before, hanging on and reluctant to change or let go for fear of forgetting our loved one.

The book goes on to say it’s normal to do that but the author encourages her readers to take baby steps by changing little things in their routines, a bit at a time, until they are fully participating in their new life. Stepping into their new lives does not, however, make them forget their loved one.

And that’s what we’re doing Dad, each one of us in our own way, but it’s hard. It’s particularly hard for Mom. We’ll figure it out though, Dad. I know you would want us to enjoy life. And even as I write these thoughts here…

I can almost feel your hand reassuringly patting mine and hear you saying, “C’mon Diana…Everything is OK, it’s going to be fine.” 

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

Happy Birthday Dad

Love you and miss you

Diana xo

Instant Coffee

Tags

coffee, Dad, death, Diana Schwenk, family, grief, growing up, Hump Day Chronicles, love, memories, parents, Relationships

Do you, or did you ever, have someone in your life that you could spend hours with, never speaking a word?

I think when a relationship gets to that point, you’ve hit a level of comfortable-ness where the two of you are just happy to be in each other’s company.

When I was school-aged, I would get home about 30 minutes before dad who liked to enjoy a nice cup of instant coffee after a long day’s work.

I had the timing down to an art. Dad was one of those people who seemed to live within a specific routine. Maybe that’s why he was always a source of comfort to me. No matter what else was going on at school, in the world, wherever, I could count on dad to do and be exactly where I knew he’d be.

So at the exact right time, I would plug the kettle in and when he’d walk in the door, I’d be making his coffee with one level teaspoon of sugar and a bit of milk. After our initial greetings we would sip coffee together quietly; dad doing one thing and me doing another. Neither of us ever feeling pressure to fill the silence with words.

People wondered about us. Wondered why we didn’t talk and how we could be so in tuned to each other.

I still love my coffee. But I’m a brewed-pot-of-coffee kinda gal now. Yet for some reason, I found myself buying instant coffee one day, a few months after dad passed away. I know now that I was just looking for a way to be with him again. A cup of instant coffee seemed like the best way to do that.

Now on Sunday afternoons when I’m thinking of dad I make myself a cup of instant coffee.

At first I worried that I had nothing to say. And then I remembered we never really had a need to break the silence with words. He knew I loved him and I knew he loved me.

I will always treasure our quiet coffee-time memories Dad.

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

Who’s one of your favourite people to spend time with? What do you like to do together? Is it something that you don’t do with anyone else?