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.....