Privilege Blog

And In Conclusion, Or, Saturday Morning at 8:58am

So, my dad died early Monday morning.

I wanted to tell you now, not to make a fuss, but because I’d told you it was coming. And because I wanted to thank you all for reading, some of you for years and years. Some of you, a decade. I am so grateful to have a community built on words.

If I had to tell you how I’m feeling, which I don’t, I know, but I will, I come to write here every Saturday because I love the process of making and finding meaning with words. And that process, in my life, came from (was inspired by? is a space left by?) my papa.

I know one or two other people who like to talk as he did, about everything, small and concrete, vast and abstract, for the sheer joy of conversation. But no one else lives 20 minutes up the hill, no one else finds me so unreservedly entertaining and valuable, no one else has his voice. Nobody has his particular ancient and always newborn mind.

The thing is, I am not alone. Many people felt his support, some all the way into careers they have told me they owe to him. This post is about me, I admit, but Dad’s recognition is out there and his obit in process.

I’ll miss him. Many of us miss our fathers when they go. I guess, since I’m crying as I write, I miss him already.

Grief is not sadness. Grief, in my experience, is the way your throat closes, or you don’t want dinner, or you need to wrap up in a blanket at 2pm in the afternoon and be done with the day. A very wise woman told me that grief is visceral, and needs to set up camp before mourning can begin. Well, she didn’t say, “set up camp,” but is anything we recount exact? Only as true as we can make it.

I remain grateful. As long as he was able my dad read every single post on this blog. He knew he’d had one of the most fortunate possible lives; me too. I hasten to add, I am OK. I am changed, but OK.

Have a good weekend everyone. Thank you so much.

47 Responses

  1. Oh Lisa — May you feel love and comfort in the days ahead.
    May you laugh and cry with your family and friends.

    “Your absence has gone through me
    Like thread through a needle.
    Everything I do is stitched with its color.”

    — W.S. Merwin

  2. Many hugs to you and your siblings, Lisa. Life seems so different as an adult w/o any living parent. I don’t care for it but we all face it. Carry on with the grace you seem to have in abundance. God bless.

  3. The gratitude grows and grows, warming and distilling the grief. Thank you for sharing your beautiful relationship.

  4. I love you cousin, and grieve your loss.
    I thought I had a father shaped hole in my heart when Win passed. I thought it would remain that way…but instead, it’s been filled with keen memories.
    Your dad was a huge presence. I’m so glad I got to meet him.

  5. No matter how expected, how long a life, it still shocks us until we can “set up camp” and grieve…I’ve found anyway. As someone already commented, life does feel so different without a parent alive, as well.

    Your dad had a huge presence, even here on your blog. Sending huge hugs to you and I hope knowing how much he loved you is of some comfort. XO

  6. I’m glad to see you keep writing.
    I’ll be watching on Saturday mornings to see how you’re doing.
    You aren’t alone.

  7. Lisa, I remember your telling us, more than once, how Professor C loathed sentiment. So when I read your “Dearly beloved; very good at punctuation,” I knew right away how much he would have loved your sendoff. Thank you for introducing your blog readers to this mighty man, your father. xo

  8. He sounds wonderful, Lisa. Was wonderful. You will miss him terribly. In the way only you can, because no one had the exact same relationship as you and he did. I laughed when you said no one else “finds you so unreservedly entertaining.” Because that’s how my step-father always made me feel. As if I was the only person in the world he wanted to talk to at that exact moment. As if I were the smartest, funniest girl alive. I still miss him.
    xoxoxox

  9. Lisa, I am so sorry for your loss. How wonderful that you were so close, and that he always knew how much he was loved. XO

  10. To say I know how you feel sounds trite; so perhaps I won’t. Though I do. Stay safe, get under that blanket, raise a glass, eat a comfy dinner.
    All will be well.

  11. How fortunate you have been to have had such a wonderful parent, and how great the grief of losing him must be. Those of us who read and enjoy your writing are gathering to support you. We offer you our love.

  12. Love to you Lisa, as you grieve your dad in whatever way that happens for you. Something insignificant—I can’t remember what—came up this morning, and it made me think, “Oh, I miss my dad.” But the missing of him is not painful, and after he died it surprised me how soon my grief turned to acceptance, calm, and gratitude, and an ongoing relationship with him, and ongoing conversation that I treasure. His calm wisdom sustained me in some dark times, and I am happy to find the wisdom remains. I’ve even passed some of it on to others who have also found comfort in his words.

    I love this that you wrote:

    “I know one or two other people who like to talk as he did, about everything, small and concrete, vast and abstract, for the sheer joy of conversation. But no one else lives 20 minutes up the hill, no one finds me so unreservedly entertaining and valuable, nobody else has his voice. Nobody has his particular ancient and always newborn mind.”

    That’s the way I love to talk, and the way my dad took delight in me. It’s a precious gift to feel so “entertaining and valuable” to someone. Most significantly, you described in such a beautiful way your dad’s mind which also describes my dad’s mind, which always left me in awe. My dad died at 89, and he still had an “ancient and always newborn mind.” Thank you for giving me that phrase.

    xoxoxo.

  13. What an amazing father you were blessed with and understandable your grief. Losing my dad over 40 years ago, I still miss him greatly but feel fortunate to have had him for 29 years. Some Fathers Days are still difficult, as well as unexpected moments of grief. All normal and to be expected for one we love deeply. Prayers for you and your family . . .

  14. My deepest condolences to you. Grieve and mourn as you need to, for as long as you need to. The loss of an exceptional father is not readily overcome.

  15. Hugs and best wishes. I don’t comment much but have been reading your blog for a long time.

  16. How comforting to know that you were loved by this wonderful man. He was your hero as well. Huge hug to you. Lisa!

  17. Long time reader here…sending you and your family my deepest condolences. It is such an odd feeling to have lost both of your parents – I’m 13 months into that journey and still catch my breath at times.

    May your memories of your beloved dad bring you joy and comfort.

  18. This is such a beautiful tribute, Lisa. I know how lonely it is when the one person who finds you “unreservedly entertaining and valuable” is no longer there. I hope your love for each other can console you.

  19. So much love to you and your family, Lisa. We’re so fortunate to have had your dad for company on the blog, as well. I’ve spent time the past week reading through the posts written by and about him and smiling all over again. He was a joy, and adjusting to a world without him must be so hard. Your description of grief is so incisive and accurate. It’s pain beyond words, but my own throat closed and I felt tears in my eyes as I read yours. Be good to yourself. I love you!

  20. That was a beautiful eulogy, Lisa. I lost my father twenty-five years ago and though we sometimes had a delicately-balanced relationship, I still miss him and wish I could talk to him. Grief comes in waves, frequently unexpected, and can go on for longer than most of us expect, but eventually those waves become a bit gentler.

  21. Sending my love, warmth and sympathies to you Lisa. You will always have a special place in your heart for your father and your memories will live on forever.

  22. With deepest sympathy to you and your family. As someone who has experience this, please know that with time the sweetness of the memories do eventually find a balance with the bitterness of the loss.

  23. Heartfelt condolences to you and your Family, Lisa. He sounds like a magnificent human being… I just watched a documentary at Sundance this week: Last Flight Home. It shows the last two weeks in the life of Ondi Timoner’s Father – another wonderful man and adoring dad. Amazing testament to his Life – and Death.

  24. I am so very sorry for your loss. You have described a man who sounds truly wonderful. It’s a beautiful tribute.

  25. I am so very sorry for your loss. What a gift your father was to you: not only while he was alive, with his plentiful love and support, but to have left you with so many wonderful memories to sustain you, especially when grief seems the hardest. Hugs + hopefully, (mostly) correct punctuation. x

  26. I am very Sorry Lisa. By all means set up camp as you cope with this loss. Be gentle, patient and kind with yourself as grief is not always linear. May your father’s memory be a blessing to you nd your family.

  27. There is something more added to your grief if you have been fortunate enough to have both parents into adulthood, when your last parent dies. Beyond grieving your father for who he was and what he gave, there’s an anchor that is lost. Be kind to yourself, I hope you find comfort and peace.

  28. I’m so sorry for your loss,dear Lisa…
    I’ve felt frozen at first a couple of years ago…but it is wonderful to have a father like I’ve had
    So,I think, it is wonderful to have a father you’ve had
    Love,
    Dottoressa

  29. Dear Lisa: My deepest and sincere condolences. I find this to be an odd time of life. My children are about the same age as yours, and are fully-formed functioning adults, and I have to keep reminding myself that I must respect their boundaries. My aunt, the last of her generation, died last spring, and the baton has been passed to my generation, and I am not sure we know what to do with it. My musical and literary touchstones are dying, and I find that I’m not replacing them with other younger touchstones. Their art was more than just art. It was also part of time and culture. And finally, I am afraid to check my email every day because I’ve reached the point where I know my friends are vulnerable. Those damn actuaries. So I am curious how you navigate this strange time of time. I don’t feel like I’m navigating it so much as standing still, waiting. I don’t know if you feel like this, but my father had been dead quite a time before my mother passed away, but I remember saying to my husband when my mother died that I felt like an orphan. At 63 no less. Cyber hugs to you!

  30. Everyone has written so beautifully to you here, Lisa, that my own comment will seem very prosaic – but it comes from heartfelt experience.

    When someone you love deeply dies, your relationship with that person does not end. The love and the relationship both continue, but in a different way – it’s up to you to find and chart that course. Over time, if you allow them, memory and love will see you safely home.

  31. Your grief will distill your gratitude and your gratitude will be increasingly strong, or so it has been in my experience.

  32. Love didn’t go away when my dad died, the conversation became a little more one sided – mostly only my side, but I can tell what my dad would answer and that had guided me on more than one occasion.
    I remember the Christmas after my brother died in January I was making Christmas cookies and banging the cookie sheets around the kitchen as mad as hell, then I realized I was saying to my brother, “You’ve been gone all year, couldn’t you come home for Christmas?” I don’t think we get over not seeing someone as close to you as your dad is, but with time we get used to them being there only in spirit.

  33. So sorry for your loss. As someone who clearly treasured your words, your father is woven into them now. They will carry him forward. Wishing you love.

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