Dad travels

For all of us in our family, I would say that the dad "sightings", like finding pennies in random places, or noticing lids dropping in quiet kitchens, have diminished significantly over the past year.  When a person dies, those still living cannot help but remain in the senses, and we look for signs that he or she's still around, when really, I think that the one who has passed over exists far beyond what our senses can tell us.  The experience is so grand and transformative that we who remain are left to speculate and only take in a limited amount of information which we try and process intellectually or emotionally.  Dad sightings have shifted and become more like dad travels.  The thoughts that I have about dad enter frequently when I focus on my mother and my sister, and with all of the lessons we're learning in life without him.  I'm pretty certain that dad traveled his share given the countless losses he experienced, the tragedies he suffered, and with the many hands that he held throughout his life.  And actually, his presence in my mind grows quite strong when I write about him.  So, given that he exists somewhere beyond our capacity to know, and that we must go on living our lives, it seems to have become more of an effort to place my dad in the forefront of my mind.  The fact is that dad was loved by so many people, and through them is also how he remains close to us.  Is he just as close to all of us now, wherever he is, as he was a year ago when we "saw" more of him, or pondered that he was watching over us?  I ask this, I close my eyes, and he just answers.  "Yes.  I'm right here."

Dad missed his father very much when he was alive.  A few times, he and I, or our whole family visited my grandmother where she resided in Carmel, and he would share how much he missed him.  What I miss is dad's infectious energy and humor, his kind soul, his dedication to his family and to the community.  I think that we have great lessons to learn about ourselves, within our families, and about humanity, when we gaze into the depths of our losses given that we were on one path of life when he was around, and now we're charting our own.

On December 12th, just two weeks ago, my husband and I drove to St. Helena to be with the Hispanic Community of the Catholic Church to honor Our Lady of Guadalupe and dad, their precious deacon.  What they had prepared in remembrance of him was spectacular--they custom-designed a bench, just the right size and on the most perfect spot on the lawn on the north side of the church in front of an alter for Mary, and they placed a plaque on the bench with a penny that says, "It's a good day."  They had also arranged a collage of photos of dad from over the years which showed his love and devotion to the people of the church and to his family.  I cannot thank them enough for this gift that truly honors dad in a fitting and momentous way.  Dad loved to sit on benches, and he loved to "people-watch".  The bench is a perfect symbol of dad, too, in that people can go there to rest, to reflect, or to find comfort with another person, and these were a few of dad's personal favorite things to do.  I wish it was closer to where I live so I could make more frequent visits to sit and think of him.  But I will rely on others in that small town, and people from far and wide (how perfect, too, that dad made friends wherever he went) to sit on that bench and feel the love that was reciprocated from the church community to him, and from him to us.

Today is Saturday, September 25th.  In my typical Saturday morning style, I woke up early and watched Project Runway to start my weekend off right.  Often I am up after 7am when I am not forced by my alarm clock to wake, but this morning I rose as if I was getting up for school.  I love it when the house is quiet and I can enjoy an indulgent breakfast, my cup of coffee, and the company of my two cats.  Some mornings I wake and spend time reading or writing, and like today,  feel inspired to blog a little.

Since I created this blog to reflect upon dad, I ought not spend too much time dwelling on my interest of Project Runway, or my love of coffee and quiet Saturday mornings.  My writing intent should remain on dad, since I feel as time passes, it is becoming harder and harder for me to see him and know that he is present.  Last month, the weekend after the anniversary date, mom decided to throw a party to thank friends who knew and loved dad and who were present with us the week of his death.  The gathering was also meant to symbolize a new year of change and be an opportunity to look forward into the future.  When Tony and I first heard that this event was in the works, we were skeptical about how it might unfold.  We did not really want to relive that week.  Period.  And we couldn't understand how mother would want to, either.  But she felt called to gather people, friends, back to her home and fill it with energy to keep dad's spirit alive in all of us as well as to remind us of the wonderful friendships our family has.  Despite my reservations about what I envisioned this "party" to be, the day turned out to be extremely joyous.  Mom and Beck prepared delicious Barefoot Contessa-inspired finger food, Becky organized festivities (a Jeopardy game of dad facts), and all of our friends brought the energy and love mom was hoping for.

We are now into year two without him.  I have my special table with his photo, the American flag we were given at his funeral, his military hat, and an angel on it in the corner of our bedroom.  It needs a little dusting, but it remains there to remind me of him every day.  I should put a penny on it....  What is harder, these days, is this challenge of defining our evolving family and family traditions.  We continue to be surrounded by dear friends who even agree to go dancing with our sweet momma, and my husband's family who open their arms to include us in their family celebrations.  We want to keep dad alive in us.  He was the patron of all of our family events and of the friendships that developed with our family over the years.  And now we are challenged to do this without him.  I am hopeful that as we walk in this new direction, we will have dad's fortitude and grace to help us understand the continued brilliance and light that draw us towards others and to a sense of peace as we look at ourselves anew.

One year anniversary

In little over a week from now, I will resume teaching and begin my seventh year as the inclusion teacher at the little school in Berkeley that experienced a whirl-wind of loss, last year.  I cannot help but pause and think about what I was doing one year ago, around this time.  I was preparing to meet new colleagues and connect with folks I'd missed over the summer.  I knew I needed to create schedules and think about how best our teachers could teach the students who I deeply cared for and supported, and I had to pack up all of the materials that I'd transported to my home which needed to get back to school.  

I had spent several days the week before August 23rd with my father and mother, driving to Carmel with my dad and eating with them at their favorite restaurant.  Tony, dad, and I had even gone to a baseball game, the "turn-back-the-clock" game, the weekend before, and we had a lovely time.  We all knew dad wanted to go visit Beck in Portland, so we conceded in giving him our blessing to go.  Mom got her hair cut and styled, that Sunday, and it wasn't before long that Tony and I were driving in shock to her house to deal with our loss.  

It has now been almost a year since the day that changed our lives.  So many tremendous words have been said about him, and we've honored him in different ways throughout the year that now to approach the anniversary day of his death, all I want to do is to be close to all of my memories of him in life.  To lose a loved one takes the breath from you for a short time, and you kind of wonder what to do with yourself once it happens.  Of course, our mother has experienced the loss of dad in the most profound way since he was her soul mate, and to lose a part of you that you've spent 37 years with is like losing yourself.  The fact is, dad made a significant impact on the lives of almost everyone he met, and this left a gaping hole in many of us.  

Mom, Beck, and I recently flew to Boulder, CO to visit friends and to meet with a man whom dad consulted with to help start a wine shipping company.  Mom also knew this man well, so they had much to share with one another about his growing business and about life, in general.  At one point in the visit, this man proceeded to tell us the story of how he met our dad and about how much dad had helped him make his vision a reality.  He talked about how many years it took of dad introducing him to clients and how much marketing they had to do before he made it big.  As he was telling the story, I could only think about how here was one more thing that dad did that we didn't know about that made him so important and connected to others.   A year ago, I was the one who called this man to let him know that our father had been in an accident.  He, like so many others who knew dad, came to his funeral that following Saturday to say good-bye.

It's hard to know what to do to tell the world how important a person is, was, after they have gone.  Moments are so fleeting that to do something almost seems trivial besides be together and tell stories of the person who has passed with others who knew him or her.  Everyone experiences loss, or probably will at some point in their lives.  We want that person to be with us, even in death, but if we can't see them, or hear them, I guess we must look for the little signs to remind us that they may still be very present with us.  We ask those who have passed to watch over the living, to help us and protect us from harm, and I think that that's an immeasurable task.  I think, then, we must just proceed in the vein that the greatest lesson is to love to the best of our ability, and despite suffering and despair and the pains of life that can be overwhelming, at times, it's up to us, too, to give pennies and peace, just as dad did.      

Catching up

Officially, it has been just over four months since I have posted a blog on this site, but unofficially, I actually crafted a long, heartfelt message on Memorial Day that did not make it to public viewing because of tragic computer mishaps.  I had put so much energy into the post, and even tried to re-write it a second time but continued to be disappointed unfortunate events that I gave up and haven't written since.  Well, I haven't written not because of the events of that day but because I don't think I've adopted the blogging mentality yet, and well, I was not able to manage engaging in my work life, my home life, and a blogging life.  Perhaps things will change in the near future, but forgive me if I only get around to posting every so often.  There is much to be said despite the limited opportunities for thoughts and experiences to become words, and given that, these words only reach a small circle of people in the world.  Nonetheless, my ramblings are meant to help motion my gaze, and any one else's who is interested, in the direction of my dad, who lived in the world for sixty-three, some-odd years, as a soldier, a father, a deacon, as a teacher, as a man who loved everyone. 

For anyone who went to church yesterday, you probably heard the Gospel reading that said,  "Ask and you will receive."  The Father will not give you what you think you need or want, like the snake for the fish or the scorpion for the egg.  Sometimes you get what you want or need; it just comes in a different format.  The priest at the church where I attend mass spoke about how parents can see things their children cannot, and this goes for God, too.  As I'm writing this and thinking about dad, I do not want to simplify in any way, how tremendous the experience of death is in light of this gospel.  The story itself is simplistic, yet in life, what we experience is so much greater in terms of what impacts our lives.  Right?  Yet this simple story in the gospel would seem to be addressing the big points in life, our greatest wants and needs, and how God sees things on the grander scale.  We really don't know what to expect, and we don't necessarily know how to handle life if God gives us a fish that looks and feels like a snake.   When do we discover that we have, in fact, been given a fish?  Too, once we realize that we are in possession of the fish, we only live with it for so long before we prepare it, cook it up, and share it with our families.  Fish come and go, as do all of the precious and fulfilling gifts that we are given, like people in our lives, and we are made more whole and nourished because it was once with us and it is now a part of us. 

In less than a month, it will have been a year since my father's death.  I'm sure that all who knew him will feel that same loss of breath on the day that he passed.  Our family is different now, evolving in an unfamiliar direction, with the hope that we can always keep the light of dad within us as we trip over the rocks and boulders in our way.

The other thing is that as we've all been bumping and bruising along, over the past year, we've all found pennies which insights us that dad is not far.  For anyone that is reading this blog and has a penny story to tell, please tell your story either in the comments section of this blog, or post it on deaconboblittle.com.  The website has not been updated lately, but it would be wonderful to hear about how dad has continued to touch your lives and help you when you needed a little extra.  He's still watching over all of us, and I believe he's in kuhuts with God now telling Him to give us all really big, beautiful fish.....

Happy Birthday, Mom and Dad

I just spent the last 20 minutes searching the Wikipedia website for important events that occurred in history on March 19th and March 20th.  I can tell you that March 20th is the first day of spring and is the vernal equinox where the day and the night are of equal time.  On March 19th, 1931, gambling was legalized in Nevada, in 1954, Joey Giardello knocked out Willie Tory in the first boxing fight on color TV, and in 1946, my father was born.  That wasn't one of the important events in history that I found on the Wikipedia website, but it will go down as one of the most important events in the history of my life.  Also, on March 20th, 1952, my mother was born.  How fitting it was that mom was born on the first day of spring, as it makes perfect sense in the events that have chronicled her life and ours.  Given the event of August 23rd, 2009, when at around 11:19 in the morning my father took his last breath of life, a spring somewhere so deep that you might imagine it not existing, opened anew in all those closest to him, especially my mother.

Searching further on websites looking for other events significant to August 23, 2009, I located a headline that states, 'Upwards Lightening Caught on Film'.  On the day dad passed, this magical and unusual event was captured by US researchers from Duke University in North Carolina.  The article stated that, "...these are not just sparks that come out of the thunderstorm and travel upward and tickle the upper atmosphere.  They actually deliver to the upper atmosphere as much electric charge as the very strong lightning strokes to ground."  (He'd like the word, "tickle" :)  Hmm....could this have been some kind of physical representation of dad's ascent?  The week that followed his death, everyone that was closely involved in preparing the funeral made connections to the fact that, well, God must have needed him in heaven to make such a bold gesture, and that his spirit was connected to both the earth and the heavens, i.e., the horizon.  The word horizon is defined as "the line or circle that forms the apparent boundary between earth and sky."  It is also defined as "the limit or range of perception, knowledge, or the like."  Did dad expand the horizon, on that day, of all those who he left behind?  Did that bolt of lightening (bolt actually being the "word of the day" as noted in another website I found...) represent the indomitable strength of God and of dad's spirit rising to a place that we cannot humanly conceive of?

What brings me peace each day is the thought that dad is buried on the line of the horizon, and that he is watching over us from somewhere very close by.  I have not visited his gravesite in a long while, and I thought about driving to St. Helena this weekend just to be near his body for a short time.  When you sit facing him, you face east, and dad lies facing west with the horizon behind him.  He, in his spiritual form, could be resting on a mountaintop away from the despair of human suffering along with others who have died.  They endured each day and then were asked to come home.  He could also be intimately involved in transmitting hope to those who have lost their way on earth and cannot see the horizon for the moment.  He was pretty good at this in life, and he told me that he never wanted to stop fighting for people who were suffering.  Okay, dad....I believe you.

What better day to look towards the horizon than on the first day of spring.  Dad must have known mom would be okay given her bearings in life, having been born on the day that represents new life and equality with the earth and the sun (as was believed by the Persians who personified the earth and sun as a bull and a lion...me and Beck??).  Perhaps I'm stretching this a little.  I've always been interested in making connections to ideas that are just outside my reach in order to discover a mystery.  Luckily, I married a man who keeps me grounded in what's in front of me, as well.  All I can say is that I ate a mom-famous spritz cookie in honor of my dad yesterday.  I talked to my gram (my mother's mom) and she said that she ate a piece of cake for dad while looking at a photo that she just happened upon when she was cleaning her desk.  Mom and Beck are away enjoying some moments of freedom and celebrating mom's birthday.  And I plan on putting my hands in the soil today, decorating our yard with flowers, and looking towards the horizon...

The Lid

Tony had an interesting event happen while he was working from home just about a week ago.  He was sitting in the living room, typing away at emails when suddenly there was noise in the kitchen.  He saw both kitties asleep in their spots so it could not have been them that caused the commotion.  When he arose to investigate, he saw something on the floor that had fallen from the top of the refrigerator.  The object was a Tupperware lid, that had been securely placed on the top of the fridge for at least a year, and written on it were the words, "Bob Little".  Either a gust of wind or steam had lifted the lid off of the container it fit, or Tony was visited by someone who wanted to say hello.  I'm hoping that dad or one of his confidants was hanging out in our house, that day, watching over Tony and sending us all positive vibes so that we could make it through the day.

What would I say...

This afternoon I was thinking about what I might call and tell dad if he were still alive. My day was difficult, and I used to call him on the evenings of those challenging days. I typically called my parents several times a week just to say hello (I'm not a big phone talker) and maybe to unload, or to check in to see about how they were doing.

~Here's what I might call and tell him tonight after my hard day of teaching.
J: Hi dad, it's your oldest! How are you up in heaven?
D: I miss you guys.
J: We miss you, too, dad. How was your day?
D: I watched over your little sister today, and I spent some time holding hands of those who have recently lost loved ones.
J: Wow, you're amazing.
D: What did you do today?
J: This morning, I gave a math assessment to some of my students, dealt with a few crisis, got my students to write a little, responded to a few more crisis, went to a meeting, worked late, came home and ate a bowl of cereal. I'm tired, and I wish my job were easier.
D: You're supposed to help those children. I could never do what you do.
J: You did a lot more, and your heart was so big....I'm just trying to follow in your footsteps.
D: Don't give up.
J: OK...I'll try, but it's hard.
D: I know, but hang in there. I love you.
J: I love you, too. Talk with you later.
D: Yep, I'm always with you.

As time passes, it's getting harder to hear him in my heart, though I know he's there. I guess I'll just have to keep calling him to remember his words of wisdom and to tell him I love him...

Days are passing...

There are many days that I long to chronicle events when I know that dad has imparted grace upon me or mom, or Tony, or Becky, when I know that he's been following one of us all day, or during a moment of despair or reflection. Both Becky and I have reported calling on him during a plane trip then returning and telling mom about it, and she tells us that he's been with us because she couldn't sense him for a while. Other times, one of us finds a penny in the most unassuming place, really, as if he has a whole jar of pennies in heaven and he manifests them at the precise moment that we need him.

I think that dad could do no more here on earth, and that he had experienced all he needed to proceed to the next bearing on the course. I hope that he's with his father, with our aunt who passed many years ago, with our little cousin who died but who saw the world as glorious the few years that she was alive. Perhaps our dog, Angel, is running around at his feet and our bird is perched on his shoulder (though Tweety particularly loved our mother :) .

Our little family is eternally grateful for all those who gathered around us the week that he died, and we think about how fortunate we are that you're in our lives.

Until next time....