When I read my dad’s eulogy… to him.
I was sitting to my dad’s left when he turned to me and said, “You know, it’s been a great year.”
We were celebrating his 82nd birthday. It had been exactly one year since we learned about his pancreatic cancer diagnosis.
I chuckled to myself. The week before I had expressed the same sentiment to a dear friend and was met with, “Uh, how has your year been great, Katherine? Your dad’s dying of pancreatic cancer and your husband’s tackling a three-inch tumor in his colon.”
“Okay, well, yeah,” I backtracked, “it’s been hard...but it's been crystal clear where to put my energy and focus. That part has been liberating...what can I say...that part has been great.”
A couple of weeks after that dinner with Dad, COVID and shutdowns became a reality, and 70% of my business disappeared overnight. Everything stopped in a way that I’d never experienced. Ever. My dad was dying, my husband was finishing up a year of surgery, radiation and chemo treatment [he’s okay...knock on wood...he’s okay!], the kids were home adjusting to online school and here we were. You know, because, well, some version of this happened to all of us.
After a while, in the wee early mornings, the restrictions became a gift. No carpools, no commute. I had the time and space to process, to create, and sit my butt in the chair to write. Although frankly, some of my thoughts didn’t feel like writing. An embarrassing amount was jumbled up words. But I thought, Maybe, just maybe, if I can find the words to express how I feel about my dad, about our journey, maybe I could also get a grip on how I feel about losing him...and maybe this will help me hold on to him.
I worked on my dad’s eulogy, and before his lucidity and energy took a turn, I seized the moment and asked him if I could share it with him. He said he was honored. He said he loved it. And then he gave me some good feedback and pointers: “Just write about the relationship we created, Champus [the special name he called me].”
He was spot on. I was trying to write the big life eulogy. When I boiled it down to the closeness we created in our relationship over the course of our lives, it was simple...and straight from the heart. And then I started to write more of my story, and the combination of exploration and taking action was deeply empowering.
I didn’t see then what I was doing, but now I understand: I needed to take healing into my own hands.
This is the gift of story-work. It pulls you in. It brings you closer to what’s inside. By looking backward you get to learn about yourself, who you are, what you care about -- and where you want to head. You get to create meaning -- and meaning right now sounds pretty good, eh? For me, it brought me closer to my dad and it continues to bring me closer to the person I am becoming.
The night he told me what a great year he’d had was the last time I saw my dad in person. As he ate his Crab Louie salad, he continued, “While it's been so wonderful to hear what I’ve meant to people, the most amazing part is that I’ve been able to share what they have meant to me.”
That was my dad. A generous and brave man who cared deeply about, well, everyone. There isn’t a day I don’t think about him, feel the profundity of this loss and yet, also, feel filled up by his love. I know he will always be with me.
Learning how to pivot and “shake the etch-a-sketch” this past year hasn't been easy. One of my clients referred to the dreaded dreaded pandemic and I had to agree. Even though we are meaning-making creatures, I don’t know if I can in earnest say this year has been great. :)
My dad always made people around him feel valued, so in that vein, I want to thank you, too. Thank you for allowing me in your inbox, for reading my blogs, and for honoring my voice. I’m grateful to know you’re listening, learning and traveling alongside me. I hope my words and my stories bring you closer to what’s important inside of you, because what I’ve learned more than anything, is that when you share what’s inside, you’re never truly alone.