Leaving the Shire and Other Adventures

I've been procrastinating writing this for days, which is interesting because I'm excited to share about this photo which was 3 years (or even 31 years) in the making!  But it's also hard, because it means I'm moving forward.  But it's time to end this chapter.  When I heard The Hobbit was going to be made into a movie I had a crazy idea- to WAIT until the final film was in theaters and then watch each movie, one night after another.  This was CRAZY because I am a BIG LOTR fan!  I saw each one at the midnight premiere!!  I've sat through 2 LOTR marathons, 1 of those was EXTENDED VERSIONS at my own Dad's 45th birthday party.  But I am ESPECIALLY a fan of The Hobbit.  I consider it "my book" for a couple reasons.  First, my Dad read the entire book while my mom was in labor with me.  Seriously!  Also, when I was older he read it aloud to me with incredible voices and energy.  And he described to me with a proud smile on his face, the Halloween costume he had as a 6th grader- Thorin Oakenshield, blue cloak and all.  The connection between us and this book even inspired the title of my published personal essay, "There And Back Again With Daddy."  So it makes sense that I would want to be able to enjoy those movies in the most ideal way, one right after the other.  

Beyond all these reasons though, I think I was waiting because I didn't want to start a journey I wouldn't be able to finish with my Dad.  We had traveled through the Shire many times and I didn't want to begin a journey when my father was still alive but have to finish it without him.

In fact, the night we finally watched the first film, one we waited 3 years to see, I was a horrible, cranky, mess.  I kept finding myself thinking "What would have Dad said at that moment?" or "Dad would have laughed at that part."  It was like all the holidays I had experienced the past year without him were easy because I had celebrated each one without him at some point already in my life.  And the really important moments, like Sophia's baptism, I knew he was with me then.  But this was the first time I was doing something simple, yet significant, that I felt he should be there for...and he wasn't.  I didn't blame him.  It was just hard.

Then I had that thought I've often leaned on for support "Daddy wouldn't want you to feel that way.  He would want you to be happy."  So I was able to take a deep breath, kind of relax, and start to enjoy the film.

The little details touched my heart as they reminded me of the sweet experiences of reading the book with my father.  Bilbo forgetting his handkerchief.  Longing for his Hobbit hole.  The songs of the dwarfs.  The presence of Beorn.  I could go on and on.  I had gone on that literary journey over 2 decades ago, and yet it was all fresh in the front of my mind and heart.

After 2 fun nights watching the first couple films at home, we headed to the movie theater for the final film.  I'll admit I was holding back some tears as I walked up that ramp into the theater.  This was it, it was finally happening.  The last movie was here and my Dad wasn't...  It was now my journey to take.  It was time for my own adventure.  I had my sweet husband there to travel it with me.  It was time.

In all honesty, of course the book was better than the movies!  But the films were still fun and I'm glad they were made.  It was quite the visual experience! But the best part might have been the end.  The song playing during the credits was called "The Last Goodbye."  It was the end of an era of amazing cinematic adventures, and they definitely recognized that.  But it was also an end to a chapter in my own life.  Not that chapter where my Dad had died.  That was over.  I had been living with that for a year.  The end of the chapter of mourning and hanging on.

I had needed that time.  It was an important process of growth and self-discovery.  But now it was time to turn a new page.  It was time to move forward.  Here are those lyrics...

I saw the light fade from the sky
On the wind I heard a sigh
As the snowflakes cover my fallen brothers
I will say this last goodbye

Night is now falling
So ends this day
The road is now calling
And I must away
Over hill and under tree
Through lands where never light has shone
By silver streams that run down to the Sea

Under cloud, beneath the stars
Over snow one winter’s morn
I turn at last to paths that lead home
And though where the road then takes me
I cannot tell
We came all this way
But now comes the day
To bid you farewell
Many places I have been
Many sorrows I have seen
But I don’t regret
Nor will I forget
All [who took the road with me]

Night is now falling
So ends this day
The road is now calling
And I must away
Over hill and under tree
Through lands where never light has shone
By silver streams that run down to the Sea

To these memories I will hold
With your blessing I will go
To turn at last to paths that lead home
And though where the road then takes me
I cannot tell
We came all this way
But now comes the day
To bid you farewell

I bid you all a very fond farewell.

Growing up it was ALWAYS tradition for our family to sit in the movie theater until the credits were done (way before producers started putting fun, silly clips at the end.)  We sat through them mostly so Daddy could see where the movie was filmed.  For some reason he really liked knowing that, and there was no imdb.com back then.  In honor of tradition, I had planned on staying until the end of the credits.  Chad even expected it.  But after that beautiful song, things changed.  I realized I already knew where this movie was filmed and that really, I didn't need to stay.  I'm my own person, and I can do things my own way.  It might seem like something small, but it really was a huge step to go to that movie, enjoy it (almost tear-free,) and then walk out of that theater with my husband before the credits were finished rolling.

I thought I had done it.  I was finally moving forward!  But in reality I was still a tad stuck, because I wasn't ready to write about it.  In other words, I wasn't ready to reflect, process, be completely done and move on.  Because then I would be moving on without him and I would have to figure out this next chapter in my life without him too.  And what would that be?  What would I do next?  For so long I've been dealing with his being sick, his demise, then his death.  That was a big part of my life, and perhaps even a crutch to keep me from moving forward on other things I've wanted to do in my life.  I was finally comfortable in this place of coping and enduring.  But now it was time for more than that.  It was time to go on a new adventure and leave my comfortable, figurative hobbit-hole.  It was time to embrace that fact that I didn't have a handkerchief.  My Dad always had one in his pocket for me to borrow, but that was no longer a possibility.  It was time to face dragons and find gold.

I'm closing that book and leaving those great memories of Daddy to start a new adventure.   In this new book I don't see him.  I feel him sometimes.  He communicates to me at times.  But for the most part, he is writing his own story somewhere else and I am writing my own here.  And I am going to "wear a sword instead of a walking stick!"

I started this post saying that picture took 3 years to happen because that's how long we waited until all of the Hobbit movies were out for us to see consecutively.  But it took 31 years of experiences, love, and faith to finally HAPPILY see them and then move forward.   And I did it.  And I am moving forward, through leaps and bounds because J.R.R. Tolkein was right, "The road goes ever on and on."  I am entering worlds I didn't fully see before.  It will still be a journey, but it is worth every day's efforts.

My new adventures include really living in the moment and enjoying the good times with my family.  My new adventures include laughing with my husband more, and at myself more too.  My new adventures include having greater faith and letting go and jumping out of my comfort zone- I will break the dishes and crack the plates!  My new adventures will be a myriad of house projects as we try to finish our renovations.  And I am eager and excited!  But don't be surprised if you see my front door painted green.

Love,
Eva

P.S. “There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.” 
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

"You Must Believe In Spring"

 It was important to me that the one year anniversary of my Daddy's death (or "birth" into the next phase of life, as I like to think of it) feel beautiful and hopeful.  I know God knew I needed that.  And He blessed me by giving me a bit of spring in January.  Just like I spent that day a year earlier enjoying my children and the sunshine at a local park, we did the same thing this time, only the scenery was slightly different from San Diego.  Here is our special, hope-filled day...

 My Michael climbing and smiling!

 My Sophia being her sweet, beautiful self.

 My Sammy after he slipped in the muddy snow but insisted on still playing.

 Sophia!   Jumping!

 The sky reflected so beautifully in the stream...

 Michael even noticed and pointed out the pretty running water to me.

 Being a cheese ball with his cool walking stick!

It warms my heart to see my kids running and going on adventures together!

 The kids found this lovely bird very close to us and flying around.  Daddy felt very close too.

 These berries were so alive and amazing.  Talk about a vibrant sign of life!

Even though there was still ice floating on parts of the water the kids were eager to step into it, throw leaves and skip rocks on it.  They remind me to make my own fun, enjoy the little things and seize the moment!

 Sammy...my precious little adventurer!

 The water was beautiful.  Even though it's cold, the birds are still enjoying the afternoon.

 Some geese flying overhead...  I love noticing beautiful, natural moments like these with my kids.

 Feeding ducks, just like we used to at the UC Davis arboretum when I was kid...

 Yes!  Kids being kids and running down the hill on their own accord.  

Can anything make you feel more alive than a sight like this?

 I love the running water.  What was frozen is melting, moving and sharing life again.  

Everything that has been frozen in death will be alive once more...

 All my kids are in this fun picture.  Yes, in  treasured moments like these the future is definitely brighter...

 I love the white snow on the ground and white clouds in the sky!

 That is me SMILING on the anniversary of my Daddy's death.  I can do that because he's taught me well (and still is) that life goes on and on...

 On the way home the kids started spontaneously clapping to a blue grass, pioneer-style instrumental version of "We Thank Thee Oh God For A Prophet."  It reminded me of the Civil War and Mormon battalion reenactments Daddy enjoyed.  I know he would love this song and their clapping to it!

 I had to stop and get a picture of these Canadian geese.  The first real report I ever wrote was about Canadian Geese.  I still remember going over it with my Dad and learning how to edit and rewrite!  It was such a learning experience and I think of that first experience of learning how to write every time I see a Canadian goose.  I know he used to remember the same thing when he saw them too.

 As I was doing dishes, the colors outside my window caught my eye.   Just like last year, Daddy painted the sky for me.  I took these pictures from my backyard while standing on a cold patio chair in my socks- but it was worth it!  Maybe someday I will edit out all those wires, poles and that fun, uneven fence!  But even without doing that, it's breathtaking.

 It feels good to know we have made it through a year without Daddy here with us the way he was before.  I miss him, but I know he is doing wonderful things in incredible places.  I feel him close to me all the time, especially as I watch my kids enjoying this beautiful world.  Life is ever changing.  Kids grow.  Seasons change.  Spring comes again.  And Daddy, well, he is having his own changing, growing and spring in the next life.  I am happy for him.  And I am happy to be here with my children and husband, changing and growing too...ready for spring.  Love, Eva  

The Day The Music Died

Today it's been one year since I held my Daddy's hand and watched him take his last breath. It was in his pale yellow bedroom overlooking the city he grew up in, in the hills of San Diego.  And in all that time I haven't written about the tender mercies I experienced that morning, or what I did with the rest of that sacred day.  Well, now it's time.

We had been there for nearly a week.  Daddy had slipped into a coma and we knew his time was fading.  In all that time we hadn't seen a single hummingbird. Feeders surrounded his balcony because he liked to watch them from his bed.  As I tended to my mother and spoke to him (because the nurses told us he could still hear us) I watched for those lively, happy hummingbirds.  

But none came.  

Not until the moment that his body grew cold and his hands held stiff.  I held my mother.  I let the tears stream down my face.  We made sure he really was gone and nodded to each other that he was in a better place now.  And then I saw it.  Flying like a graceful dancer with beauty and life, zipping here and there outside the window, a hummingbird.  Where we had seen none for days, there were now many.

Throughout the rest of the day I continued to see them outside through the windows, on the balcony and at the park.  I was so grateful, grateful for these little reminders that my Father was happy.  He was soaring.  His spirit still had life.  He was no longer here, but alive somewhere else in the skies, in the heavens.  That is what those little birds meant to me on that day.  They were a comfort when my heart was cold.  They warmed me, as little flying creatures continue to do so, as they seem to find me each time I start to feel weary.  Sometimes they are dragonflies hovering around me children on a hike.  Or a butterfly that follows me and tries to land on my arm.  

I am so thankful for that continuing gift.

That morning I let the children say goodbye if they wanted to have one last moment with him here on earth.  My oldest two did, and then it was time for us to leave while the body was taken away.  I wasn't sure at first what to do in a foreign town, in the heavy mood I was in.  I decided what we all needed was some fresh San Diego air and a sentimental distraction.  So we headed to the local park, one that was next door to a school my Dad attended in his youth.  The same park he had played in as a child.

I was barely able to find a parking spot, it was so crowded!  But I pulled in just as another car was leaving.  And when I got out of the car I couldn't help but smile.  The plant beside me was a Bird of Paradise.  There were several of them, bright and beautiful.  These were the same plants that my Dad had joked about on SEVERAL occasions- try EVERY time we walked by one.  The joke went like this: "Look out!"(cheezy pointing gesture) or "Be quiet!" (then whispering) "It's a bird of paradise!"  That joke never got old, every year that we visited San Diego and every time I heard him say it, it made me smile.

What made me smile even more on that day was hearing my kids say it.  Once I told them what "Little Grandpa" used to say about those plants they were sold, making that joke every chance they could as we walked by their beauty.  Especially my Michael, who is a budding comedian after his own Grandpa's "Dad-joke" style.

I found it both ironic and precious that the park we chose to visit was a having a HUGE birthday party!  But in moments like these remembering that life goes on is more than important, it's healing.  And that's what I kept thinking to myself as I watched my kids play. My daughter made friends with a little girl immediately and went running off to play soccer in the field, leaving me to watch the two boys...one named after my Dad and the other with a middle name that was chosen by him.

I saw them and the sense of adventure and play they had running through their blood and I remembered how beautiful this life is.  And that's something to treasure each day, no matter how hard that day might be.  Especially on hard days.  Even if you just lost someone.  Because they aren't really gone.  Part of them lingers...

I saw my Dad in my own little Michael, as he did all sorts of silly "tricks" on the swing and wanted me to watch each one. "Look Mom!  No hands!"

I felt alive when I saw his toothy smile!  He is a dreamer and adventurer like his Grandpa!

He even stuck out his tongue like Daddy used to when he was concentrating!

I loved how he continued to show off for the camera... I loved the clouds, the green, all the beauty and life I could take in...

And then I watched my Sammy.  Always busy. Ever moving.  Always reaching higher.

His feet are so little, but still capable in their own way.  Getting up the ladders and through the hoops.

It gave me hope that little by little, step by step, I would be able to get through this too.

So many smiles and leaps and life!  I had to smile as I thought about my future surrounded by little people like these.

They are excited over the littlest things and keep going.  They aren't phased by anything for too long.  And for their sake, I need to be that way too.  I remembered that no matter my sadness I need to keep going, and I CAN be excited.  That is what my Daddy would want.  My Dad is SUPER.  He's raised me to be super too.  And I want to be, as a person, mother and wife because I CAN be.

Driving home from the park, just like on the way there, every song felt like it was from my Dad.  The song lyrics were uplifting, hopeful and comforting.  And really, those words are immense understatements.  But there are no words for moments that fill your heart with the comfort you are desperately seeking.  When love pierces you in a way only heavenly help can achieve you feel immensely blessed.  Those car rides with sweet songs strengthened me and allowed me to tell my kids truthfully that I was crying "happy tears." 

When we got home my Daddy was gone.  But then again, he wasn't.  The sky looked like it was on fire.  It was amazing.  And I couldn't help but think "He's painting the sky for me."

What a humbling blessing it was to have these experiences that day.  I felt cradled and carried.  I felt my Dad so close, so near.  I am very thankful for this special day in my life.  I do still remember it like it was yesterday.  And I don't mind.  If it was painful, it was equally inspiring and strengthening.  I know without a doubt that life goes on.  The spirit continues to exist.  And I know my Dad is literally smiling over me.  And I am smiling too.  I am so very, very lucky.  Love, Eva