Daddy

It's a weird mix of emotions now... on father's day. 

It's Henry & Rob's first father's day so it's a cause for celebration. As Henry's not old enough to appreciate his daddy with gifts just yet, it's been up to mommy to find a suitable present 'from Smushy' for daddy to open (I think I've done alright and I'm glad I'm a forward planner, because it's been tough getting out and getting something lately). As well as it being Rob's first father's day as a father, and getting to spend time lavishing in the thought that 'oh crap.... I'm someone's dad now' Rob also gets to celebrate the day with his dad, while I'm not so lucky.

This will be my 2nd father's day without my dad. Last year was worst (obviously) but not just cause it was the first year after losing my dad to Cancer. Last year, while trying to maintain my cool at work all week, I also had a very unfortunate conversation with an ex-work colleague of mine - She thought it prevalent to tell me to cut her some slack because she was having a bad day (she had a leaky roof or something); meanwhile, I'm trying not to have a visible mental breakdown as I cried silently at my desk nearly every day the week leading up to Father's day. (The fun bit was when she interrupted me trying to explain that to her, as if she was trying to say 'yeah yeah yeah but my thing is more important'. Rude.)

Last year was definitely a harder year to manage, especially around fathers day and Dad's birthday in November. My mom was visiting us then, so on daddy's birthday mom took me (and Henry in his Pushchair) out to a local restaurant to have SUSHI in honor of my dad. My dad loved to go to All-you-can-eat sushi bars. Many times we had family meals at Kyoto Sushi in my hometown and I had quite a few daddy daughter lunch dates with him there. He was the one who taught me all I know about ordering sushi at a sushi bar. :) 

My dad loved to water ski. Often times I was rousted out of my bed to leave the house at 5am! in order to be on the lake when it 'opened'. We had to go early for 'glass' (the term used to describe the yet undisturbed, not choppy water in the lake) and I was always needed to be flag girl- a coveted position on daddy's Sanger. 

He loved Woodworking, basketball and photography. There would hardly be a time he was without his Canon Camera, taking pictures at family get together, work events, vacations...He loved taking candid shots of people and often times, I was the only one paying attention to when he was pointing his camera at them. He was a proud member of the Carrie Underwood fan club and even got a picture with her that's framed in the living room. He could speak a little Spanish; although, this came more out of necessity to understand my brothers Greg and Steven who spoke fluent Spanish to each other in front of my parents to wind them up. He quoted movie lines so much that I hardly know if it was a frequent catch phrase of his he said, or a line from somewhere that he'd used over and over again.  

My dad was a handy man, like most dads...but I didn't know one thing that my dad couldn't do. He tried his hand at everything. I remember taking frequent trips with him to home depot on the weekends to get supplies for various projects he had around the house. I don't think I can pass through a Garden Centre/DIY store without thinking of those trips to Home Depot with him.

There's lots more I could say about my dad's hobbies and passions... things that make me think of him whenever I come across them. There's loads. As much as they do make me sad to be reminded that he's no longer with us, they also make me happy to be able to reminisce about him. I love my dad and every time a memory or thought of him pops up, it makes me simultaneously smile and turn melancholy.  It's that weird dichotomy of feeling sad for losing a loved one, but happy at the memories you got to share with them.

I have some great memories of my dad to hold on to. I remember during my teenage years my dad once mused that he wished I wore more 'bright' or girly colors. I was in my punk/gothy/grunge phase where I dressed nearly in all black...and when I wasn't, I dressed like a boy. I remember coming home from shopping with my mom when I was a teenager and putting on a mini fashion show for him of the outfits that I'd gotten. I wanted him to be proud of me for dressing in more girly fashion, or at least in colors... not just black. 

I'm glad I was able to make 1 last trip home before he died so that I could see him. That week felt like the longest and the shortest week I've spent at home, there was lots of crying and plenty of 'comfort cups of tea'. Although it was horrible to see my dad the way he was on hospice, I've been told that the week I and my brother Jason visited home was dad's last 'good' week. I can't imagine it. 

When I visited him, he was still sharp, although his speech was slow. I cried as I told him that I didn't want him to go before meeting any of my children -- he had 7 grandchildren already, plus I wasn't even pregnant at the time -- and I ended with, "Is that selfish?" He point blank said, "Yes." ... He didn't need to say anything else; I could tell the humor behind his deadpan response, but also the fact that he was 100% serious. Of course that was a selfish thing to say. I laughed it off. 

One of the sweetest things that happened that week that I'll never forget... Dad asked me to get a blanket, lay it on his lap, then bring in the cat for him to pet. My dad didn't particularly like my cat Twister (he would shed fur all over the place, jump up on/destroy the window screens, and meow incessantly for no reason), but he had his moments of  letting the cat in, petting Twister and calling him 'bitter'. It was his term of endearment for my annoying cat. So when he asked to 'hold' the kitty, although it felt really suspiciously wrong, it was sweet that Twister became his comfort cat in the end. This picture is really hard for me to look at because it reminds me of how frail he got. But I can't bring myself to get rid of it because of the memory of him asking for the cat...and the fact that he looks better in this picture than when I remember sitting and talking with him that last week.

Dad left us in December, I got pregnant shortly after (we had been trying, but I'm pretty sure when we conceived it was during 'grief sex') and Henry was born the following October. My mom has this nice religious notion that in heaven my son and my dad got to meet each other in passing. So by that logic, at least somewhere, Henry knows his papa McClellan whom he's named after. 

Henry Scott McClellan. 

It was always the plan to name one of our children Henry (we had baby names picked out for 2 boys and 2 girls, and just decided when the time came), but when he was born I knew. It had to be Henry Scott. Something my mom said as well linked the date of Henry's birth to my dad, so it was a sure sign to me that he had to be Henry Scott. 

My little man will always be a reminder of my dad, but at least he's one of those happy reminders.