Letters To Dad

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that you have been gone for nearly 3 years. But this time of year never ceases to remind me of how I lost you and watched you fade away. It’s still incredibly vivid in my memories and it still hurts just as much as it did back then.

Things are so different now. But as things change and times get tough, I feel you with me, guiding me to where I belong. You are still my guidepost for everything. I often think of you and how you just had this way of making everything feel better, even when the world was crumbling. You would make me laugh. You would make me feel safe. And you always made me feel like I could do or be anything.

My heart is damaged, but it’s healing. And I’ve made room for another person to take up residence there permanently: Nick asked me to marry him and I said yes. You always liked Nick, which is saying a lot since you pretty much despised everyone I ever brought around. I’m glad you got to know the man that I chose to spend forever with and I’m glad that he got to spend time with you too. I tell him about you often; stories, memories, and I ask his opinion on so many things because his thoughts and ideas tend to remind me of things you would say or think. I chose the best man to be my partner in life and it helps my healing heart to know that he reminds me a lot of you. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel safe. And he makes me feel like I can do or be anything.

What I wouldn’t give to have you here with me, to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day, to have a father daughter dance at our reception, and to hear your jokes during your toast. But I am lucky enough to have had you for 25 years to show me what a great partner, spouse, and father is. I’ve chosen the best partner because you taught me how. And I have no doubts that the guy I’ve chosen will be the best spouse and father. Though you aren’t here to do all the things a girl needs her dad to do for her on that special day, I know that you will be with me and you are proud that I am happy. Plus, I have no shortage of Elston men to watch over me.

My name changes but I will always be an Elston at heart: stubborn and hardheaded; relentless and hardworking. I’ll have you with me always, Dad. And that’s what gets me through these tough times. So I miss you as always, especially now. But I am ever so lucky to have found happiness after losing you.

I love you always, Daddy. I’ll always be your baby girl, even when I’m married.

Love,

It’s been two years since you left this earth, but it’s been longer since I remember hearing your voice. I still remember the last time you squeezed my hand and looked into my eyes, silently apologizing for not being able to fight your illness anymore.

It was then that I told you it was okay to stop fighting and it was okay to go and that I’ll be okay. I thanked you for loving me and providing for me. I thanked you for be raising me to be strong and independent and for always believing in me. I thanked you for being my dad and for...everything. I told you that I’ll always love you. And honestly, I am relieved that you were able to go in peace on your own terms and that you aren’t suffering anymore.

Two years have gone by and things are so different. I knew they couldn’t stay the same and that I would never be the same. Losing you was the hardest thing I have ever had to go through. But somehow I think that I’m a better person for having gone through it. I’ve had to really dig deep to find the strength to go through everyday knowing you’re not on this earth anymore. And some days are more of a struggle than others, but most days I get through it and I’m still happy. I think that’s all you wanted for me: to be happy.

I didn’t go through it alone. I have the people that love me and care about me here to guide me out of the darkness. And sometimes when it’s too much, I still always have someone to sit with me in the darkness until I’m ready. And honestly, that’s more than anyone can ever ask for. I hold memories of you and lessons you have taught me so dear to my heart. It’s funny, that even though you’re gone, you still continue to teach me.

So all and all, I promised you that I would be okay. And I am. And I hope that’s okay with you. I still miss you and I wish daily that you were still here. I still have my bad days where I don’t want to get out of bed or leave the house because the grief is too much. But I’m getting through the grief, one day at a time. I do my absolute best to be the best I can be and to make you proud. And as always, I miss you and love you forever, Dad.

Hope heaven is beautiful and you are enjoying your time with Granny and Grandpa, Grandma Pauline, Snuffy, Kiki, and so many others up there.

Like all days, I celebrate your life and the memories I’ll always have of you, but especially today.

Love always,

It’s been a week and a day without my dad. The world seems different to me. I never imagined a world that exists without my dad. Even though I’m grown, I feel like a child wandering, lost. Everyday things seem so much harder and the nights feel so much longer. The emptiness and unrelenting pain is grief and I know that this is the process. I know I have to go through it and I’ll be okay. It’s just that nothing ever prepares you for what this feels like.

At my father’s celebration of life yesterday, I saw so many people. That chapel was filled that people were standing out the door. It didn’t surprise me that so many people’s lives were touched by my dad. He was a great man. Yet the faces were all a blur. I was hugged by everyone, telling me how sorry they were for our loss and that my dad was a good man that will be missed and that he was proud of me. I just said thank you for coming. I didn’t know what to say or what to feel because it all seemed so unreal like at any moment I was going to wake up from this nightmare. I told the story of the man my dad was. I told everyone how he was the best dad and I told them how he gave us everything. I told them what he taught me and the stories of him just being the person he was. I told them how much I love him and miss him and how I’ll remember him.

As I told this story, I poured every emotion I had into those words so everyone could feel it. So he could feel it and know how much he made me into the person I am and strive to become. My hope was to tell the story of my dad to inspire them to be as he was. Because my dad is my hero and he inspires me every single day.

I got to listen to people’s stories about my dad and how he left his mark on their lives. I was surrounded by love and it felt comforting to know how beloved my dad was. My brother spoke about how my dad isn’t truly gone and that he lives within his family, my brothers and my mom and I. We are strong because of my dad, he gave us that strength. And even though I’m digging deep right now to find the strength, I know it’s there. I know that we will be okay.

As much as I long to hold my dad in my arms, I’ll have to settle for holding him in my heart. I hold him there forever and there won’t go a day without his words in my head telling me, “atta girl,” or “you got this, Baby.”

He’s never gone.

The last 6 months of my life have seemed like that have been truly the hardest. 6 months ago, we almost lost my dad. He got sick and it all seemed to be moving so fast. And I was not ready. I can’t tell you how many phone calls I got to tell me that this was it and he was going to leave us. I had never been so scared. But he wanted us to save his life, whatever it took. So we did.

I don’t think any of us truly understood what that meant. We saved him because he wanted us to, but I don’t think any of us could have ever thought things could get so bad. My dad was fighter. He was invincible and nothing could take him from us. But we were wrong.

He went from the ICU to a care facility to another one after that. He was on a ventilator. He had a trache. He was suffering from infections in his lungs that turned his body inside out. But he was out of the woods. We had to help him fight to get better. And we did. He got better. He fought like hell to get off the ventilator, to speak again, and ultimately to go home. He was so motivated to go home, to see his grandson and to get back to us. We got him to the rehab care that was supposed to get him better so that maybe he would get him back home. And he was more motivated than ever to come him.

But each day became harder and harder. He was in more pain and there were more days than not that he didn’t know us. He was fighting so hard but his body just didn’t let him. As much as we believed and prayed and as much as he fought, his body couldn’t fight off infection. He got sick one more time before we decided that he shouldn’t be in pain like he was. He was not living, but existing in a world of hurt and pain lost somewhere in his memories. He looked at my mom and we knew he was ready to come home..for good.

After 5.5 months, we brought him home even though it broke our hearts to do it. We made him comfortable and made sure he felt loved and safe. And as much as it hurt, we waited for him to go peacefully because that’s what he wanted. We had our moment and nothing was left unsaid. But as comforting as that was, it didn’t make what was happening better.

He was home for 2.5 weeks before he ultimately decided it was okay for him to go.

So many times we thought/were told that he wouldn’t make it through the night. But he always did. His vitals would drop and his body would feel cold, only for them to normalize and become warm again. He never opened his eyes after we said goodbye, the day he was most lucid after he arrived home. But he was still in there. And as much as we reassured him it was okay to go, he didn’t. Of course, the nurses and doctors said he was a medical marvel and that he should have already gone, it didn’t surprise me. My dad was no ordinary man, no ordinary dad. He was special and he was a fighter. He fought all the way until the end.

My world stopped at 9:33am Saturday 3/17/18. And even though he’s the one that has passed on, I feel like my family and I have slowly died with him. I don’t know a world that exists without my father in it. I don’t understand a place that thrives without him there. My heart has never physically hurt like it does and I have never felt so empty. I had 6months to prepare, but I still wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for the artic freeze that ran through my body when I heard that he died. I wasn’t ready for the overwhelming disparity and sadness. I wasn’t ready to let go of his hand because I am so lost without him. I’m not ready. But the thought of him at peace, painfree, helps. He’s in a better place.

As broken as I feel, I know that there will be a time where I will feel better. I have hope that each day will get a little easier to get through. And the pain may never go away, neither will my dad. He’s with me always. I carry him in my heart and maybe not right now, but one day that will be enough. He taught me to have hope and to believe in better. And I’ll do that for him.

Harper Lee

Everyone has a father, but not everyone is lucky enough to have a dad. I've been lucky enough to have not only a dad, but I had the greatest dad. My dad was my hero and though he was not a hero to the world, he was a hero to his little girl. My dad was a strong man. Strong willed and strong minded. It seemed like there was nothing he couldn't do. I admired that. I still do. I wanted to be strong like my dad. But if you knew me as a small child you would know that I was not the strongest. I cried a lot because everything made me cry. I was always scared. I would get discouraged easily and I always said, "I can't." I got bullied a lot too. I felt like my dad was a bear and I was a duck and I couldn't possibly have come from him. My brothers were bear cubs and I felt so out of place because I wanted to be was a bear cub too. But I was a duck. And actually, I think because of that, my dad loved me more. He was patient with me and tried not to yell at me if he could help it. When I felt left out or alone, he made sure I felt included or would keep me company. But whenever I wanted to give up or give in, he would never let me. Dad knew I wanted to be a bear cub like my brothers, so he taught me to be a bear cub. He was tough on me like he was tough on them. He pushed me like he pushed them. But the difference was that he had a softer spot for me. When his tone was stern, his face wasn't as hard. He had a softness that I only saw with me. When I would run to him and yell out,"Daddy," he would smile and put me on his shoulders. He would always let me sit on his lap in his big chair no matter how tired he was. Whenever I was afraid at night, he would wrap me up in his shirt and tell me that the boogeyman is afraid of him. And as I grew up, I think I became more and more like a bear cub than a duck. My dad taught me many things. He taught me how to throw a ball and throw every baseball pitch in the book. He taught me to never be afraid to show anyone, especially my brothers, that I can do anything they can. He taught me how to ride a bike, how to multiply and how to whistle. He taught me how swing a bat and how to jump a hurdle. He taught me how to eat sunflower seeds and he taught me about football and baseball. He taught me about loyalty to your team and to your people that are in your corner. He taught me to not be afraid of the opinions of others and to stand up for myself and for others. He taught me to make my choices in the good of others and that it's okay to walk away from those who are cruel and selfish even if it means losing popularity or friends. He taught me to fight for the good in the world and to do good. He taught me to never let a guy change me or make me feel inferior. He taught me how to chase my dreams and how to achieve them. But most importantly, my dad taught me to let my ball playing do my talking: to let my actions show who I am what I am about. My dad never gave me any idea that I couldn't do whatever it is I wanted to do or be whomever I wanted to be. I was a duck that wanted to be a bear cub and I became that. I became stubborn and strong willed and strong minded, just like him. And when I wanted to have a career in a field that was mostly dominated by men, my dad never once doubted me. He believed in me, sometimes more than I believed in myself. He told me once it was because he knew that if anyone could change the world and change this line of work, it was me. Because I was his bear cub and I didn't let anyone, especially any guy, push me around and stand in my way. And I let my ball playing do my talking, everyday. I achieved my dream because he taught me how. My dad has given me many gifts, but I can't ever thank him enough for giving me the one thing a daughter needs from her father: unconditional love. My dad has shown me how a man should treat a lady, by loving me and loving my mother. He loves me so much that he believes in me and all my dreams. I am the person I am today because of my dad.

The psychosis portion of Parkinson’s is something I talk about a lot. But my dad does suffer from the issues that effect his motor functions and body movements. The way that I describe it is this: the brain cells cannot communicate with the rest of his body. His brain will tell him to move his leg, but his body just can’t do what it’s told.

This can be incredibly frustrating for both the patient and the caregiver. Simple movements are hard. My dad often says that “he can’t.” “Help me.” “I don’t know why I can’t do this.” The phrase “I can’t” was never in my dad’s vocabulary. He raised me to never give up or give in. You keep pushing until you get there. He seems to have lost that mentality. I think that scares him. But luckily for my dad, I study movement. I know how to treat patients that are immobilized, completely or partially. I know how to handle my dad. And I want to share how to handle someone with Parkinson’s that has difficulty moving.

What not to do: Don’t ever tell them that they aren’t trying. Seriously? Let’s upset them and embarrass them even more. That’s the worst thing you can possibly do. Don’t rush them. PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE! It will take time for them to remember how to move, give them that time. Don’t yell at them. Honestly, what good will that do? Yelling will not make them go any faster and it will not make them suddenly well. It hurts their feelings and they will remember that you weren’t nice to them. Don’t do it for them. This can be difficult because you just want to get something done, but they need to do it themselves. They need to do the motions, no matter how difficult. This helps them.

What to do: Encourage them! They will tell you that they can’t but you have to be positive. I always tell my dad “you can.” And “concentrate and do one movement at a time.” I remind him how to do it. I needs that. Smile! A reassuring smile makes things better. They won’t feel so self conscious and they will be more likely to ask for help.

Today I had to reteach my dad to scoot up from his chair to get up. It took him a bit but he got it. Patience helps. He forgets, but sometimes he remembers and he remembers the queues that I have given him. That makes me happy.