My Dad

--> I am sure we all have a lot to say about Dad.  All of us have individual relationships with him, and I am pretty sure they all run very deep.  I am writing this because my dad is sick right now in the hospital.  Everyone I know needs to know that I think he is an amazing dad.  This is a personal letter and reveals many ugly things about me, but it does show that I cherish my relationship with my dad.

First off, as a child, I was way closer to Mom than to Dad.  Dad was always working and Mom was always home.  Mom always drove me places.  BUT, at some point, Dad recognized that I might be interested in being a doctor when I grew up.  Around the age of 12 (when we moved to Missouri), Dad would take me with him to the emergency room when he was on call.  The nurses would set up a stool behind them so I could watch from above as many surgical procedures occurred.  One time he pulled a piece of meat the size of a golf ball out of someone’s throat.  Another time, he drilled into the forehead of someone whose upper sinuses needed draining to avoid going blind from the pressure.  The most interesting one was a guy whose carotid artery kept bursting.  I think I saw two or three of this man’s surgeries.  Dad would fix the artery, then create a “flap” to cover up the artery.  

As a child, I also remember working for Dad’s office.  It was such fun to talk to Betty and Ken.  Ken used to “vacuum” my ears out once a week.  He would remove all the “boogers” in my ears.  I loved it.  There were also a couple of patient files that I loved to review, particularly the one with the guy who blew off his face with the rifle.  The dumb guy lifted his head back while attempting suicide.  He missed his brain.  Dad described to me in detail the conversation with him in the emergency room.  The guy had to sit up because he would drown in blood if he laid down. Oh, and the pictures!

Anyway, as I became more stupid (aged 16-29), Dad became a major player in my life.  When I lost Mom as my best friend, I struggled with who to turn to.  I didn’t even think of Dad.  So I “wandered.”  In my lost state, it was actually Carlos who told me that my father would be the best person to turn to when I needed help.  

This new relationship with Dad began as a “blind leading the younger blind” around.  We were both hurting and struggling with the betrayal of Mom.   I remember testifying at his divorce.

The next ten years, married to Carlos, were spent with me and Carlos trying to make a doomed marriage work.  I was not active in church.   As I moved from town to town, Dad always called the local ward to let them know of my presence.  He wanted me to have some contact with church members.  When my children were born, I had food brought to me, which was amazing. Relief society sisters made blankets for my babies.  But most importantly, in these 10 years, Dad called me every week.  I don’t remember much about the conversations, except that every week he asked me if I was going to church or if I had gone to church.  I always dreaded the question but answered with a smile saying, “sure Dad, I might go” or “Yeah, I thought about it but then I got busy. . .”.  He never failed in his duty as my priesthood holder to look over my spiritual well being.  I CANNOT ever thank him enough for his persistence.  As annoying as it was, I feel like it was my weekly nudge by the Spirit. 

At some point, I turned to Dad with the fact that, again, I needed help to get out of a marriage.  Bless his heart, Dad called me every day in South America.  He knew I needed to hear from him and talk to him.  I remember desperately waiting for it to be lunch time in Missouri, because that meant my dad was going to call me.  I could make it another 24 hours.  I didn’t ask him for these calls, but he knew.  He just knew.

Again, my Dad helped me home.  I couldn’t fly.  My fear of flying was so intense that even looking at an airplane on TV caused me to have a panic attack.  Dad figured out a way and found me a ship to bring me home.  It was my first cruise ever.  As sad as it was, I love cruising to this day.  It took me 7 days, and I mourned my lost children and marriage the whole way home.  But it was very healing.  Thank you, Dad.  I don’t think I ever paid you back =). 

As I have become human, my life is good.  In fact, my life is great.  Dad doesn’t call me every week anymore.  I stupidly don’t call him every week.  But he does call me.  And I do call him.  Most recently, when Paul’s kidney’s failed (11/2010), the doctors told me to call all the family to come into town because Paul was going to die.  I happened to be with 3 of my kids at the hospital.  At this moment, all of us where “shell-shocked” and wandered outside.  Separately, we wandered the parking lot on our cell phones calling the person who was going to help us through this grief.  Of course, the first person I call is Dad.  I cry to him and he comforts me yet again. 

My dad is my Rock. 

Joy in our posterity

Yesterday, we all got together as a family.  All of our children were there.  Most of their spouses were there.  Many of our grandchildren were there.  When I walked in the door, I saw four little girls, all under the age of 6 months old, laying on the floor.  It was quite a precious site.  Other children were standing in the room discussing with their parents, who were all sitting on the couch or floor round about.  It was amazing.  There was no contention.  There was laughter.  There were smiles and sweet comments.  Discussions about daily life were taking place.  I quickly thought to myself, "this must be what heaven is like."  I sat and soaked in the feeling and emotion of the moment. 
Of course, every get together isn't like the one last night.  Sometimes there are "issues."  But all of this spurred on a conversation between me and my husband on our way home last night.  We talked about how wonderful it was to have so many great children.  At the same time, though, I really kind of feel like 7 is a small number of children.  Both of us agreed that we would have even loved to have 7+ more kids.  We had so much fun being part of the lives of our children.  Every age they attained was a new adventure with new and improved personalities.  AND, sharing their lives as adults is, again, a new adventure totally worth having! We then concurred that surely, this must be one of the most rewarding of all activities throughout the eternities. 

Disclaimer:  This blog is not written in any way to encourage/discourage/judge anyone regarding their choice on how many children to have. 

I need to write this all down before I forget. . .

3 Sundays ago, I was promised by my sweetie that we would leave church right after Sunday School.  I kind of dread RS, but that is a story for another post.  Anyway, after Sunday School, I went to the lobby where we meet when we leave, but he wasn't there.  I happened to peak into priesthood meeting and there he was playing the piano.  Oh, OK, I thought, he obviously has to stay for open exercises.  I will go ahead and sit in these chairs over here.

I sat next to the wife of a former Stake President in our stake.  I have never talked with her before, but heard that she was super nice.  So we started to chat.  I am not one for long conversations, and was eager for dad to get out of priesthood so we could go home.  As we began to chat, I recalled that this sister was supposed to have dementia.  At first, as we chatted, she seemed fine.  But then after a few comments I noticed that she would stop in the middle of her sentence, clearly looking to find the word or remember what she was trying to say.  She would then start to tear up.  Quickly I would enter a word or change the subject, because she was clearly upset by the fact that she couldn't remember.  After about the third attempt to cover up her problem, I stopped her and said, "Don't worry, I can see you don't remember.  My mom had dementia.  Please don't cry, I want to sit and talk with you even if you can't remember things." 

Immediately she brightened up.  I asked her about her dementia.  I asked her what it was like.  She wanted to talk about how lost she feels sometimes.  She told me she remembers everything, she just doesn't remember how to say them.  I asked her about her children.  She didn't remember any of their names but she knew she had a lot of them.  I asked her specifically about one of them who I knew, and she immediately knew that this daughter was actually a daughter in law.  She said she felt so lonely when they came to visit because she didn't remember their names and that it was so frustrating to try and carry on a conversation so she mostly just sat on the couch and petted her cat. 

We talked about her childhood and how she met her husband.  He happened to be from the rich side of town, and she was from the poor side.  She said she was so lucky to get such a handsome husband and someone so rich.  She told me all about when she was little how she used to play in the bluffs while her dad trained pilots. 

Every so often while we talked, she struggled with her memory.  Every time she struggled she started to cry a little.  At one point she said to me, "You must hate sitting here with such an idiot."  Oh, how I wanted to figure out a way to convince her that just because she couldn't remember didn't mean she was an idiot.  I told her how amazing she was.  She said her husband told her those same things all the time.  We had some funny discussions too.  We were talking about how easy washers and dryers made our lives now instead of having to do laundry by hand.  She said she had two machines, "one to stop, and one to go."  I corrected her and said, "you mean one to wash and one to dry?"  She thought that was so funny.  We laughed and giggled for 5 minutes about that one.

After my hour had passed (dad never came out of priesthood), I was sad my time was up.  She asked me my name.  I told her who I was and she immediately recognized my last name as someone who had something to do with music (clearly thinking of Paul Allen, not Perri Ann Allen).  I let her know that the next time I saw her, I would tell her my name again.  I told her it wouldn't be fair if she remembered my name and not her childrens' names.  Again, we both got a good laugh about that.  We hugged and became fast friends.  Then I went home and cried.

The next week I told the former stake president about our conversation and how wonderful of a time we had.  I knew she wouldn't have remembered our conversation long enough to tell him.  As I told him he just cried and thanked me.  I could see how much he loved her.

The week after that I saw her again.  I quickly went up to her and told her my name.  I told her that we were new, great friends.  She said she wished she remembered our conversation.  I said it didn't matter because I did.