Today’s blog will be different. And although I said last week I would keep the negativity to
a minimum, this was something I needed to write. It’s part of the healing
process. And right now my heart is very heavy and I need to get it out.
The holidays are a difficult time for a lot of people,
myself included. I have a particularly hard time with Thanksgiving. My father died just after Thanksgiving
when I was 11 years old. Tomorrow
is the anniversary of his death. He passed away 30 years ago. And in some ways
it feels like it was just yesterday.
Losing a loved one is never easy for anyone. Losing a parent is particularly hard at
any age. But when you’re 11 years old and you suddenly lose a person who meant
the world to you, it changes you forever. In so many ways it has shaped me into
the person I’ve become. Losing
someone close like this so early in life has made me stronger in a lot of
ways. And in some ways some of my
biggest character flaws stem from this one moment in time.
This year, I thought I would be OK. I had been cruising
along like normal going about my daily life. I thought maybe I would get a little sad. I’d take a few
minutes to reflect and just go on as usual. But last night a minor disagreement was the thing that sent
me over the edge. It hit me so hard that I started to cry. And I couldn’t stop. I cried for four
hours straight. The grief and the pain of losing my dad just overcame me like
it had just happened. I can still hear my mom saying to me as I walked into our
apartment, “He didn’t make
it”. I remember thinking, “but he
was fine the day before, how can he be gone just like that?”
I’ve done my best to think of all those great moments from
those precious years that I had with my dad. I was daddy’s little girl and the only child of my two
parents. Daddy was the one who
spoiled me, and mom was the one who delivered the punishments when I
misbehaved. But it was very
obvious to me, even then, that I was very loved by both of them. And although my mom wasn’t as
expressive about her love for me back then, my father expressed it every chance
that he got. To this day I’m grateful for that love from both of them. My mother was the one who had the
strength to take over and be both parents. My mom has always been very hard on me, but I know it’s out
of love. I love and respect her ability to carry us both through after losing
my father.
The admiration for my father is still something that stays
with me. I remember all the
lengths he took to get me the best of anything and everything for me. When it
came to my education he bought me every book he could get his hands on. My dad
always stressed how important it was that I got a good education. Even though we don’t have all the cool
technology kids have now, he still managed to find the best learning tools out
there for me. My father was in
military years before I was born. He fought in the Korean war. He was corporal
in the army. He spoke and read
multiple languages: French, German, Italian and Russian. After he was gone we
must have found dozens of books in all those languages. When he tucked me in at
night, he always said I love you in a different language. When I was in
elementary school I was in a bilingual classroom for 5 years. I always thought it was funny that the
one language I was learning, Spanish, was the one language he couldn’t
speak. He always placed the
importance on speaking proper English. I wasn’t even allowed to say “ain’t” in
the house.
He encouraged me to embrace every opportunity to learn. It
was very important that I went to college. He himself worked at the community college that I eventually
went to. He used to drive me by the college that he said he hoped I would
attend. One of my proudest moments
after he was gone was when I got accepted to Loyola Marymount University. It was his dream that I was attend LMU.
When I wrote my entrance essay I mentioned how my dad would drive me up and
down Lincoln Blvd, pointing out the letters on the side of the mountain and
saying “You could go there someday”.
My father was the one who encouraged me to embrace
music. When I expressed minor
interest in learning an instrument, particularly clarinet, he immediately went
out and bought one and got me private lessons. He encouraged me to practice,
even when I wanted to go out and play with my friends. I eventually abandoned the clarinet
after he died. I opted to sing instead. It turned out that I was a better
singer than I was instrumentalist. My dad loved classical music. And he hated
when I changed the radio station to Michael Jackson or Madonna when Bach or
Mozart was playing in the car. His favorite song was Ave Maria. To this day,
that song always brings me to tears when I hear it. I eventually embraced his
love of classical music. I wish I
appreciated it more when he was alive.
My dad spoiled me.
After a certain age, I was getting a two birthday cakes at each
party. One homemade one and one
store bought one with the all the cool characters. He would occasionally stop
by my elementary school to surprise me McDonalds for me and my friends and of
course would sit with us. Because he worked in athletics at the college he
would take me to all the games.
Because of him, I got to see the Lakers practice in the college gym. We’re talking back in the hey day of
the Lakers: the Kareem and Magic Johnson days. Somewhere at my mom’s place I
still have pictures of those players at practice. I had every stuffed animal imaginable. I still
have a stuffed rabbit he gave me when I was 2 years old, named Juicy. I had all
games and toys. Any
extracurricular activity I wanted to participate in, he encouraged, and
chaperoned. And even though he
gave me all that stuff, he also made sure I stayed humble and respectful. He was constantly reminding me to say
“please” and “thank you”. He encouraged me to share my toys with others. He stressed that the importance of
respecting elders and authority.
He reminded me that mouthing off and getting into trouble wouldn’t get
me very far in life.
I’m so fortunate to have had those great memories that are
still with me to this day. He meant the world to me and I know I was his world
too. He never failed to tell me when I made him proud. And as result I wanted to continue to
make him proud. Those formative years with him is what gave me the work ethic
that I have today. In my mind I’m still trying to make him proud even though
he’s no longer here. And when I
make mistakes as most human do, I’m extra hard on myself because I feel like
I’m disappointing him. I know it sounds irrational. My dad is the one who taught me how to love. It still breaks
my heart to this day that he never got to meet the one man who really ever matched
that kind of expressive unconditional love, my husband Jeff. The two greatest
men I have even known never got to meet.
Tomorrow morning I will go to his visit his grave. I don’t
go very often. Sometimes it’s just too hard for me to go there. I’m fortunate to live close to where
he’s buried. My mother has opted not to go with me. I think it’s still too
painful for her, even though she doesn’t say it. I will pay my respects. I will tell him that I love him and I
miss him everyday. I will thank him for giving me best childhood a girl could
ask for. I will thank him for loving me. And I that hope he’s watching me and
that I still make him proud. I will let him know that I’m in good hands with
the man I’m married to. And I promise
to be there for my mom.
I changed my profile picture on Facebook to honor him and
remind myself of the love and happiness I had with my dad. It’s a picture of
him holding me at 6 or 8 months old.
He’s looking at me smiling. It’s one of my favorite pictures. I wrote this blog as kind of a love
letter to say how much he meant to me and to help ease some of the grief I
feel. 30 years is a long time. And at 41, I’m still daddy’s little girl. Which
is why I still legally have his last name. I’m proud to be the only daughter of
Joseph Henry Rogers, may he rest in peace.
