My father was the last person to comment on this little neglected site of mine. Grandpa Heinz Says:
December 31st, 2012 at 1:35 pm I am so proud of you Sarah – for your determination and Wyoming grit, for your amazing ability to tell a story and suck us all in, for your commitment to living that is real and non-synthetic, and for so much more. And I love your sweet little Poa Sage! She is a beautiful reflection of you! I LOVE YOU! –dad
It’s words like this that make me think I can’t continue living the life I know without him. And every single day I swear at the dirt I walk on for consuming my father before I was done with him being my dad and a grandpa.
Loss is omnipotent. I am not the first to experience this disbelief, complete belief, total surrender to that which I can’t control, all again and again like a load of laundry run through with stains that don’t disappear. These cycles of pain are on a looped musical track of insanity. I never prepared to lose my dad because I never expected to lose him. How is it possible that there are only a handful of “knowns” in this lifetime, and this is one that we just don’t prepare to face?
A year ago this month my family was here with us for our week of wedding anniversaries. My folks celebrated 40, us 10, and B&B 1. We met in Laramie and then drove over the Snowy Range to hike above Lake Marie. I was 7 months pregnant and my dad was 2 months out of heart surgery. We hiked above that Lake until the clouds rolled in thick- so for a long glorious while. There’s nothing that my sister and I like to do more with my dad then play outside. Hiking, biking, working, that’s what we do. And there’s nothing more humbling than trying to keep up with the man ahead of you with scars still fresh from heart surgery.
My dad’s spirit is present. I seek kindness. I seek patience, love, commitment. I nuzzle into his hug and feel his beard on my cheek. I gleam when he comes to join me as I play the piano, belting in his baritone voice. My dad the perfectionist, the hard worker, but the man who always, regardless of time or place, answered his phone when I called. And whatever he felt, he felt sincerely and adamantly… the joy at card games all together, the frustration with people who I felt had been unfair to me, the admiration of an adorable grandbaby, and fascination with new skills. Genuinely good, gracious.
There was never a moment to doubt my dad’s dedication for my sis and I. There was nothing on this earth that made him prouder than our neurotic, bouncy selves. He believed in nothing more than us, his two sometimes seemingly radical daughters.
Each day I have this strange and sick hope that my phone will ring and his name and picture will show up on my phone. Death isn’t fair in this earthly way. But neither is hunger, corporate greed, environmental degradation, or discontent. Yet this is where we reside. A hole is left that won’t be filled. His goodness and acceptance will glow from where that hole sits, and will embrace my baby girl in ways that only my dad could. Life won’t be the same. I grip the hope that he will always be with me, though. I miss him.