Always go to the Funeral

April 6, 2013 was a beautiful spring day. The sun was bright and warm. I wore a sleeveless dress to the funeral. I remember walking from the church to the cemetery and thinking, "I should be golfing with Daddy today."

It was the worst week of my life. Unfortunately, it's also true what the country song says: when something terrible happens, "you find out who your friends are." I learned this the hard way when my dad passed away.

Before my dad's funeral, I didn't realize how important it was that my parents told me to "always go to the funeral." I've been to funerals of at least a dozen people I've never met, because I know someone who cared deeply about the individual who passed away. I didn't realize how important this was until it was my own family who turned around and looked out at the church, heartbroken at the loss of such a wonderful man and father.

The fact is, it matters. It makes a difference. As my dad said, always go to the funeral, and if you can't, send a card. Call and check in. Drop by and knock on the front door. Stop and ask, "How can I be there for you now at this terrible time?" Do something, because even if you don't know what to say, it is worse beyond belief to say or do nothing at all.

Many of my oldest and best friends drove in from out of town to be there, including one who drove 18 hours to be in Wichita for less than 12. I cannot express how much it meant to me that these friends dropped everything to hit the road and be there. I've tried, but they will never understand that their presence physically helped me get through the day. Other friends I had not talked to in weeks or years asked Raymond for my address and sent a card, or surprised me in the receiving line at the church. I am so thankful for the amazing amount of love and support my family received at that time.

Unfortunately, I learned some hard lessons on the flip side. Some friends I thought were close didn't show up, call, or send a card. Some were there all week to support me or help out, but six months later were nowhere to be found. Some got tired of me when I wasn't "over it" in three months.

I knew I would "find out who my friends are," but I didn't realize it might take all year.

Overly-dramatic Pinterest words to live by.

After my dad died I could not bear to be on the golf course. It was too painful; the reality that he was not there, and would never be there again, was too hard to play with. He taught me to play. He had always been there. The one time I tried to play a few months after he passed away it felt like there was a dagger stabbing my heart on every tee box and green: his absence.

He had a pure love of the game. After he made me move to the men's tees, whenever he beat me on a hole or a round he was straight up gleeful. I didn't want to play without him, and until last week I wondered if I ever really would get back into the game that I loved so much. Then my mom, the most amazing woman on earth, surprised me by announcing she was joining the woman's club and she wanted to learn how to play golf.

The last thing my dad asked me to do before he died was to teach my mom how to play. I would have done it anyway, but knowing how painful it was for me, I didn't know if she would ever want to try. Last week she played her first round of golf. Afterwards she was so excited to tell me about every hole that she made me want to play again. I am so happy that today we played our first round together (first ever). I realized as we walked the course that if she wants to play golf, then I want all those memories I have with my dad with her too. He would have been so happy to see us out on the course today. I could feel him there with us, cheering us on, laughing at us in the trees, and walking with us every step of the way. I realized that of all places, I feel closest to him on the course.

He is gone, but his love of the game, thrill of a challenge, and warm presence will be there with us. Heck, we even got to go to the beach with him when I found a sandtrap...

Midwest Christmas Marathon and Wedding Planning

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and crazy January!

Raymond and I were lucky to get out of Wichita for a few days over Christmas and surprise his family in St. Louis. His mom had no idea we were coming until we walked through the door. It was wonderful to relax and explore for a couple days before we drove on to Branson and Silver Dollar City.

Raymond had to work on his birthday but we had a nice dinner and cake! New Year's Eve was relaxed with a few friends. It was exactly what we needed. I went back to work expecting to ease into January and was blown away by such a busy schedule. Immediately I jumped into a banquet space renovation project, worked the bridal expo, finished rental pricing changes, and much more.

I'm thrilled to see the space renovations coming along both professionally and personally. Our wedding reception is planned at the Museum! Here's a sneak peek at the new paint color:

Stepping backwards (for an important reason), in December my dad was given an Honorary Degree from Newman University. It was a big day for my mom and family. My dad always wondered if someday he would have given enough time and love to Newman to be considered for such an honor. Unfortunately he was not here to see it happen. We missed him terribly, but my mom gave a fantastic acceptance speech; I'm so proud of her! If only things were different, and he had been here to celebrate and be his usual humble self.

Wedding plans are coming along. Do you have a reasonably priced DJ you would recommend? Please leave me a comment if so! Choosing a caterer led to some tasty research. I was thrilled to pick and order my dress a couple weeks ago at The White Dress.

Thanksmas or Christgiving?

Raymond and I hung Christmas lights on my duplex last weekend, and last night I turned them on. No shame! Unlike some people, I have no problem mixing Thanksgiving and Christmas. What's the difference between last night and next weekend, anyway?

Every year at Christmas my family visits Silver Dollar City in Branson, MO. These are just a few of the thousands of trees covered in twinkling lights. We used to go over the Thanksgiving holiday, so it's possible my parents felt the same as me about combining the winter holiday love. I'm thankful we were able to go last December, as it was the last trip we made with my Dad and gave us all some wonderful memories (including snow!).

It's not that I don't love Thanksgiving -- I do -- but I don't see what's wrong with extending the Christmas season and making Thanksgiving part of it. I love Christmas so much that I want to enjoy the lights, tree, and warm candlelight longer than four short weeks. Besides, it takes at least one of those weeks just to get all the decorations out of the box.

Last year my parents and little sister spent Thanksgiving with me in Dublin, Ireland. The pub we stopped in for dinner had this "Thanksgiving" special! None of my family ordered it, but I had been in Europe for three months already and wanted a taste of home. It was delicious, as was the red lemonade in the picture, something you can only order in Ireland.

Last November only confirmed my opinion about merging the two major holidays when I was in Europe and the German Christmas Markets went up the first or second week of November. England obviously does not celebrate Thanksgiving, which allows them to enjoy the German beer, hand-crafted sweets, and carnival Christmas festival for at least two or three weeks longer than it would culturally be allowed in the USA. Tell me, what's wrong with celebrating Christmas for as long as possible?

The German Christmas Markets in Europe can go on for miles! Raymond and I had the chance to visit three or four different markets while in Europe. Birmingham had the largest outside of Germany! Oh, what I would give for some of those Christmas sweets or German beer here in Kansas...

Tomorrow I will take more glittery Christmas goodies out of their boxes and joyfully place them around my small duplex. In a couple weeks I will enjoy a delicious spread of food for Thanksgiving, including all my favorites (my mom's turkey, cream corn, Raymond's mashed potatoes, and LOTS of pie). And all the while, my phone will play Christmas songs that not only make me happy, but also very, very thankful.

New Blog and It's My Birthday!

First, Happy Birthday to me! Second, welcome to my new blog. The good news is that I have an all-new design that incorporates something I love: travel. The bad news is that you're here because the web template for Sunflower Skyscraper became corrupted and broken, meaning I have to delete it. Don't worry, it's not the kind of broken that will hurt your computer, only that the design became corrupt and I could not fix several problems with the layout and background images.

Raymond recently started his own blog (you can find it here) but he might have some guest posts as soon as I convince him to write them. Here you can find our life "postcards" and things we want to share with family and friends. 

Last year on my birthday Raymond and I rode a 45 minute bus to the city center to find the most American food around in Birmingham, England -- Chinese take-out! Then he found me a piece of red velvet cake in one of the bakeries. It was nothing like my mom's but the best we could find. I just looked at pictures and realized apparently we also saw the new 007 movie, weeks before anyone at home. The same day I talked to my parents and they told me they were coming to visit for Thanksgiving. That was the best birthday present I've ever received!  

My parents and little sister came to visit over Thanksgiving 2012.

I'm so thankful my parents did come to visit for Thanksgiving. We made some wonderful memories, and they are especially powerful as we lost my dad in April. It has been such an interesting year, full of adventure, joy, but also sadness. I'm thankful to be home and celebrating with friends and family in Kansas this year. Also, I think my mom may have made me one of her famously delicious cakes for tonight.

Make sure you subscribe for email updates in the box on the right side of the page. Thanks for stopping by on my birthday, please let me know what you think of the new design in the comments section below!

xoxo

Rachel

Moving Slowly

For weeks I have been attempting to write "Part 2" about losing my dad, and I just haven't been able to finish the post. I guess I took a hiatus from the blog because I felt I couldn't write about anything else until I finished adressing what happened in April. This week I realized that isn't true.

I'll write about April when I'm ready (which obviously just isn't yet). Every time I've sat down to write about those three weeks of hospice care I just become overwhelmed with grief and can't finish more than a couple paragraphs, most of which I delete the next time I look at the post. 

Grief is terrible and life consuming, and something that everyone deals with differently. I've slowly been learning this in the last five months. They say there are some general "stages" that most people go through when dealing with loss, and I still feel like I'm stuck in shock and disbelief. It was only this week that I really listened to loved ones who said that it's okay for me to feel like I just lost my dad yesterday.

My dad and I at Silver Dollar City, one of our favorite places to visit in summer and at Christmas time.

I have good days and bad days, but every day feels like a giant mountain to climb. I never used to feel like this before my dad died. Now, I feel maxed out on stress all the time and lose patience easily. The first few months after losing my dad I was extremely forgetful, which isn't like me. There were a few different days when I called Raymond after work to see what I should pick up from Walmart for dinner, and in the ten minute drive home I completely forgot to even go to the store.

Throughout college I filled my days with work and school from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m. and that was my normal. I handled it well, thrived on it even, but I simply cannot do those hours anymore. If there is one thing in particular I've realized I need in order to heal, it is time at home or the gym, away from other responsibilities or commitments, to focus on myself. For weeks I tried to deny this, feeling selfish, and my grief and feelings of stress grew to enormous levels. 

Exercise has helped, and in June Raymond and I started going to the gym six times a week. We haven't quite kept up that intensity throughout August, but we have at least made an effort. Several friends thought I was obsesive about the gym in June, but I needed something else to focus on and give my mind a break from 24/7 grief.

And it is 24/7. I can work, and socialize, and go to the gym, but it's always there. If you have never lost someone close to you, you probably don't understand. That's okay. I'm glad, for your sake, that you have never had to go through something like this, but I also ask your patience and kindness. There's no time limit on grief, although I read today that most people will only put up with your grief for about a month and that's the most they can handle. How could I have even started to deal with the loss of my dad in four short weeks? If you have dealt with serious grief, then you know what I'm saying... and thank you for understanding. 

I can go through daily life, working hard and trying to sleep, but that doesn't mean I've even barely started down the long path of dealing with this loss. Every season and year will bring different memories, which are lovely and painful at the same time. 

Sometimes these moments sneak up on me during a perfectly normal day. On Friday night I drove past a high school football game, and it reminded me that it is fall sports season (meaning golf). Immediately, just by driving past a back-to-school scrimmage, I was transported to a world full of golf memories with my dad. He was so busy at work, but he always made time to go to my tournaments.

My first golf tournament in college, my parents were so excited that they drove all the way to San Antonio to see me play.

Every day is just plain hard. I post this in hopes that other people I know who have lost a parent in the last year understand that they are not alone in feeling like every day is a struggle. 

Eleven Rainy Months

Losing my Dad, Part 1
by Rachel

I guess I'm ready to break the silence. Hello, world. If you would like to know what I've been posting to the internet in my absence here, please check out my work blog for the Museum of World Treasures.



My parents, photo taken June 2012 (two months after the first diagnosis).



There are many reasons why I haven't written a personal blog in so many months, and there are also reasons why the posts stopped so suddenly. 

My dad died. 

It is difficult to find sufficient words to describe the last year of my life, or even just the last six months since I came home from England. It's hard to make the words in this post even feel as if they are flowing together to form sentences, but at the same time I feel as if I could write an entire book about the most traumatic thing that has ever happened to me (my dad would tell me to stop being dramatic if I had said that out loud). As long as this post is, it is only a summary of the months leading up to the day the doctors told us it was time for hospice care. 

When we found out that my dad had cancer in April of 2012, there were so many questions and so few answers. Not only did he have cancer, but it was a rare and therefore less-researched kind (bile-duct cancer). What treatments could we do? How long would we have? Why was this happening to my dad, the most health-conscious and fitness-concerned man I know? 

The summer brought few answers, but some treatment options. He went to chemo at least twice a month but continued to work full time, or as much as he could, even with his laptop in bed in the hospital. He continued to work as he was able until the week we were told that the only option was hospice care. That was also the first week he took pain killers throughout the entire ordeal. 



My mom, dad, little sister, and myself in London November 2012.

 I struggled over the decision to go abroad, but at the time he seemed to be doing so well. We had hope that we could have as much as several years, although they would be filled with chemo and treatments. It was hard to leave, but I had faith things would be the same when I returned at Christmas, and my dad encouraged me to take the opportunity.

I will forever be grateful that my parents were able to come and visit me over Thanksgiving in England. For that week, I was able to show my dad a world of new and exciting things that he had only read about and seen pictures of. Together with my mom and little sister, we toured the Tower of London, drank Guinness in Ireland, and explored London by the Underground. My dad was struggling as the cancer and treatments took their tole, but hiding it from the world and doing his best to continue on as he always had. Over and over again he repeated throughout the last year that sometimes we cannot control what happens to us; what we can control is how we react and whether we allow things to devastate us or whether we continue to move forward and grow as human beings.



My dad and I when he came to visit me in London.


I came home on December 20 and had a wonderful Christmas with my family. We took our annual trip to Branson, MO, although we worried it was too cold for my dad. It was the last time we would all be together in Branson, the place where my parents cultivated years of precious family vacation memories. 



My parents celebrated Christmas in Branson with the entire family.

 Everything began to change quickly in January. I started my new job at the Museum of World Treasures, moved into a new house, and started classes in Kansas again. Unfortunately this time of change also marked the first time in 2013 that my dad went into the hospital. He was re-admitted time and time again throughout the weeks of January, February, and March as they fought various infections and problems associated with the cancer. 

It was chaotic and stressful for me to try and balance a new job, school, and needing to be with my family as much as possible. Sometimes I felt like I wasn't doing a very good job at any of those roles, but I did just as both my parents had always taught me to do: I fought on, sometimes blindly, and kept going.

Things got worse over the weeks. The days at the hospital began to outnumber the days at home, but we still had faith and my dad was ready to keep fighting to do whatever possible to beat the cancer, or at least live with the cancer. And up until the end I truly believed, with everything in me, that he was going to and that cancer was not going to take my dad from us at only 57 years old. 

The first weekend of spring break Raymond and I were scheduled to visit his family in St. Louis. My mom called the morning we were supposed to leave and asked me to cancel the trip. We found out that day that the unthinkable had happened: the doctors said there were no viable treatments left, and that they were recommending hospice care.

My family had already weathered many months, but that day the storm got worse.