If I Had Known…

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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

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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 ~

 

The Waiting Room

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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

My First Father’s Day Without You

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daughters, Diana Schwenk, Diana's Enormous Book of Quotes, dreams, family, fathers-day, growing up, Heinz Schwenk, joy, laughter, life, living in the moment, loss, love, memories, parents, Relationships, Stuff my parents used to say and do

I’m thirsty Dad.

Nice to meet you Thursday. I’m Friday, come over Saturday and we’ll have a Sunday.

Heinz Schwenk

Today is my first Father’s Day without you. The beginning of many firsts without you. Yes, I’m a bit sad about that Dad, but I don’t want to talk about that today. Because I am the luckiest woman in the world.

I am incredibly grateful for having had you in my life. You always made me feel so important and cherished. From day one I knew you were in my corner; even when I was wrong.

You’ve only been gone seven months. Gone yet not really gone. I still see you everywhere. I catch a glimpse of you in the mirror. You grace me with your presence in my dreams. And Dad, the other day an older gentleman who had your walk and your playful facial expression stopped in his tracks and looked at me. It made me smile. I know how blessed I was to have you as my father.

You’re in a better place now, free from pain.

I know you’re ok Dad.

And I want you to know I’m ok too, thanks to you.

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~