Father's Day

Hi everyone,

In honor of Father's Day, I invited a special guest blogger to join us. It is Mark's cousin, Marcy. Although many states separate us, we are bonded together through the loss of a parent, a love of running, and the joy of sharing laughs. I know you'll love her as much as I do... so please welcome Marcy.


In 1994, my father passed away at the young age of 51. He had been sick for many months, and while watching a loved one suffer is terrible, I am grateful I had the time and space to say goodbye. I was 16, and while I was old enough to understand how intense his illness was, I was also young enough to lack much insight into the impact this would have on the rest of my life.

There are a lot of terrific memories I associate with Father’s Day and my dad. My dad and I would often go running together, and since my short kid-legs could not keep up, Dad would run circles around me when I walked off a muscle cramp. When I was about 4, we ran a 3-mile race together, and I recall being terrified of running across a wooden bridge over a stream. Despite the cheers of encouragement of a bunch of grown-ups on the other side, I froze. Dad grabbed me, lifted me up, and carried me over the bridge and then we continued on side by side.

In addition to running, Dad loved sailboats. One afternoon, I came home from junior high school and found most of the furniture moved out of our living room. Dad had used masking tape to mark the floor plan of an imaginary sailboat on the carpet. He measured it out and scaled it to fit the room, and made it look as real as he could -- including moving the portable toilet for his actual sailboat into the outlined space of the “head” (bathroom). He announced our family was going to sail around the world. Much to my pre-teen horror, we gathered around in the “boat” after dinner and Dad charted the initial course on a map, explained our responsibilities, and assigned us watch shifts (this included entering information in the logbook and working as a team). I thought he had lost his mind. Perhaps he had, but the point was he was trying to pass on a dream of his to me and my brother, and in this eccentric and unbelievable fashion, did so in the most practical way he could.

Later on in my teenage years, the faux boat became a real boat. Dad had found an article in a sailing magazine that explained how to build a boat in 5 hours. The time estimate was quite inaccurate; I recall it taking many months. We measured, cut, hand-planed, glued, sanded and finished the hull, keel, mast, boom, rudder, and oars out of wood. I learned that it takes a long time to locate the perfect piece of lumber to make a sailboat mast -- I knew this because we went to at least a dozen lumber yards until we found it. And we didn't neglect decor. Dad was mildly amused when I insisted on painting the boat interior and bottom purple. I also insisted on making the sails out of cotton bed sheets -- so I could tie-dye them purple.

It has been over 15 years since my father died. I am still learning about his life and his death, and how both have influenced me. At the time of his death, I was quite aware that he would not be around for holidays, graduations, and other important events. The first few Father’s Day holidays that passed included sadness and tears. More recently, Father’s Day sneaks up on me and I realize it is coming at the last minute. There may still be important events where his presence is missed, but it seems my energy has shifted to examining the ways he still influences me, which facilitates some unexpected healing and contentment.

Last year, I started a year-long training journey with the end goal of completing an Ironman (a 140-mile triathalon: a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride, and a 26-mile marathon). Most people think this journey is crazy. What do the masking-tape sailboat “trip”, the tie-dyed purple sails, and training for an Ironman have in common? Is completing an Ironman as crazy as masking taping a fake boat on the living room floor? When anticipation, creativity, patience, and resilience collide, is the result an Ironman?

Contemplating my memories of Dad and how they integrate into my current life seem to make Father’s Day easier. On this Father’s Day, I will go for a run, maybe spend some time family and friends, mull over more memories and perhaps discover some more connections between being a Daddy’s girl in the past and life as it is today.

Take good care-

Marcy

From a special guest blogger: "Father's Day Without Dad"

Hi! In honor of Father's Day, I invited Cathy Bueti to guest blog. She carries the true spirit of Sally's Circle: she's a breast cancer survivor and recently lost her father to cancer, but her memoir, "Breastless in the City" (LOVE the title!), is all about how she found love, happiness, and hope throughout it all. Take it away, Cathy, and thanks for sharing such honest thoughts.


I have been avoiding the card aisle for weeks now. I don’t want to see commercials or fliers advertising Father’s Day sales. I think about how none of that matters. I still have moments when it doesn’t register in my head, or rather my heart, that I don’t have a dad anymore. This is my second Father’s Day without him. He passed away from pancreatic cancer on June 2, 2008. He suffered with it for a year. During that time I hardly saw him. We spoke on the phone and emailed. That was what our relationship had become over the years. Very distant and difficult.

I realized at the end that he did the best he could. Our relationship was strained to say the least. He was an abusive alcoholic when I was growing up. He was never a happy man even when he quit drinking. It was very difficult to get along with him. I learned to forgive although I wish it had happened sooner. The last time I saw him was on his 60th birthday only two months before he died. I hadn't seen him in a year since his diagnosis and subsequent surgery. I was grateful he invited me over to see him that day. That was something he never did. When I saw him things came out of his mouth that he never said before.

"Next time I will be a better dad." He said
"You did the best you could." I replied.
He said "No, I did what was best for me."

As the tears began to roll down my cheeks I thought about how I wished this conversation had come along years earlier. When he walked over to me I knew it would be goodbye. He put his arms around me and I cringed at how broken his thin body felt. I heard him whisper "I love my little girl." I cried as I thought about how this was something he never said and wished he didn't wait till it was too late. Although he didn't say it in his own way he showed me at the worst times of my life. He was with me when my husband died, he was with me when I was told I had cancer. Somehow when the chips were down in my life he pushed his way back in to be there for me. I didn't appreciate it at the time. The tough part though was how absent he was when I was experiencing the good things that life brought me.

I thought he could be OK even with a cancer diagnosis. I was OK, I survived. I wanted him to survive too. This loss is tough for me both as a daughter and as a cancer survivor. I feel guilty sometimes that I am still here.

Even though I think of him often on days such as this it always seems harder. So on this Father’s Day I will be thinking of him with the knowledge that his spirit lives on. Sometimes I feel him around me. Those moments bring me tears and at the same time also bring a smile.

My Dad: The father of rock 'n' roll

For the past 6 years, ever since I visited the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame in 2003, I swore I'd return with the absolute best tour guide: my dad.

This past weekend, I finally made that promise come true. Off to Cleveland we went!

The Hall of Fame was incredible. For 7 hours we wandered through exhibits, marveled at Mick Jagger's super-skinny jumpsuit and Diana Ross's sequined dress, listened to songs together on oversized headphones, and watched videos of exclusive interviews and performances. The main exhibit was on Bruce Springsteen, an artist I never particularly loved and am now totally obsessed with. (My dad actually scored a last-minute ticket to see Bruce tonight -- on the phone just now he said it was "the perfect end to a perfect weekend").

Music has always been a wonderful bond between my dad and I. Whether singing along to Erasure as he drove me to a playdate as a kid, or blasting Blink-182 as we drove home from visiting my mom in the hospital (Dad loves the entire "Enema of the State" album!), music has always been our secret language.

But music isn't our only language. Throughout the weekend, we talked about lots of other stuff: life, work, relationships. All the things you want to talk about with your dad... to get his advice, to learn from his wisdom, to prove to him that you're growing up and making good decisions (even when you're pretty sure he already knows that).

So, tonight's a tribute to "the father of rock 'n' roll" -- my pops! He just called me back to tell me they're playing all Bruce Springsteen on 104.3 FM. So as he drives home from the concert and plays Bruce on the radio, I'm getting ready for bed and letting Bruce croon me to sleep. Miles apart, music is our great connector.

Have you ever been on a trip with your parent(s) that meant a lot to you? Share it here!