In a different state of mind today

Father's day came and went. No one mentioned it. My wife is away with her friend in Nantucket, enjoying one of her favorite places. I miss her.  I miss our talks and just sitting together without talking. I miss holding her at night, spooning and touching. But I am happy she is having a good time.

Tomorrow will be the one-year anniversary of Pop's death. When my mind goes back to last year and all the death that happened, I see now that no one could have helped me to move through it.  I simply needed to have grief run its course.

A Jewish friend mentioned that probably what I longed for was something like shiva.  I needed to have a supportive community around me. And since that didn't occur with visitors at the house,  I did what I needed to do which was to feel miserable without a time limit. To allow the feelings to be there and to not shut them off. To crawl back into bed and curl up into a ball.

I am in a different place now.  I miss those that aren't here, but I am not grieving. I am glad to know that for this day, so far, all is okay. I have stayed busy with the garden, picking blueberries, getting a new tire on the car, taking care of the animals, and working out.  At night, I am tired in a good way. A deep-boned kind of tired that let's me know that I have done a lot of things that needed to be done.

On Father's Day, I took the boat out and sailed for five hours.  It was a bright, summer day with good wind.  There were little sailboats in a regatta and a lot of other large sailboats on the water.  The time was peaceful.  I wish my own dad had been there.  He would have liked the sail.  But I was simply glad for the opportunity to be where I was, enjoying the "whump" of the genoa as I backwinded it and came about.  Simple pleasures. Summer in one of the most beautiful places.  A different state of mind from last year---thankfully.

No coincidence

Friday was the anniversary of my father's death.  I didn't realize it until yesterday, thinking erroneously that he died on March 12.  For some reason I didn't sleep well Friday night.  I tossed and turned. Coincidence? Probably not.  Thinking about his death today reminded me of how restless I was on the right before he died.  Even though it has been a number of years since he died, my memory of those events are still so strong. 

I had been out of town at a meeting for the weekend.  On Sunday evening, I was tired from the drive back and the time spent at the meeting.  I knew that he had been operated on for prostate cancer.  But that seemed to be in remission following the operation.  I thought that he seemed in relatively good health, although he did suffer from COPD after years of smoking a pipe.

As I was lying in bed, I had a restlessness that persisted. I was thinking of my father and had this urge to go to see him.  My wife said that it wasn’t necessary and tried to discourage me from going, saying that I could see him tomorrow.  But I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to go see him right then. So  I put on my clothes and called my parents and went over to see them. 

I talked with my father that evening,  and he told me that he wasn’t feeling too bad, a bit nauseous and aching some.  He talked about his mother whose picture was up on the wall.  She had died in her sleep, and he said that he would like to go like that as well--quickly and without any illness. He seemed okay, but there was still this feeling of dread that I had.  I couldn't understand why he was talking about the death of his mother.  As he sat in the old rocking chair, talking to me, he seemed sad.

Eventually, he told me to go home and get some sleep.  He also told me to be good to my wife and treat her well.  Those were his parting words. That was the last time that I saw him alive. I received a call at work the next morning from my mother saying that he had taken a nap after breakfast and died in his sleep. It was a devastating time for me.  And the feeling kept coming back that I was somehow meant to be there the night before--that it was not a coincidence. I also had a feeling that he perhaps knew that death was imminent.

I have heard that a coincidence is God remaining anonymous.  I believe that with the death of my father I was guided to be there with him the night before he died.  For me, it brought a sense of relief that I was there and had a good conversation with him.  It brought a type of closure that I came to understand many years later. It didn't lessen my grief, but it did make me realize that there is such a strong bond that connects us with those we love. And there is much that is unexplainable in the process of how we pass out of this life. 

Remembering my father on his birthday

Today is my father's birthday.  He died in 1985 but every year I think about him on his special day.  In fact, I think of him often.  There are times when it's hard for me to reconcile that my father was ever a child, a new born.  He was always so adult to me.

Yet, I know that he was born on a snowy morning in Virginia.  He was the youngest child and had three sisters. One of the sisters ran across the farm field to tell a neighbor that she had a baby brother born that morning.  I try to imagine what it must have been like to be in that big old house.  I would have liked to know my father as a young man.  I wish many times that I had asked his sisters what he was like and what he liked to do. 

I really only know about him as a young man from my mother. My mother told me a story about how they first met.  My dad sent a friend of his to ask my mother if she would go out with him.  My mother retorted, "Tell him to ask me himself".  Good answer, I thought.  So they went on that date to a floating theater.  My father was so nervous that he dropped his wallet.  I suppose that he was already smitten by my mother even before that first date.

I have looked at pictures from that time of him and see a handsome man who towers above my petite mother.  I have my mother's diary and have read about the parties they would have before I was born.  There would be oyster roasts and card games.  I have nothing that was written by my father, other than a few signatures that I cherish and a letter that he wrote to my mother that professed great love for her.  I never received a letter from him.  My father was a man of few words and didn't talk about feelings to me. We didn't have those fatherly chats that I've read about.  I wish that we had.  

But he left me a lot of other things that I am grateful for.  

He taught me how to care for a large vegetable garden growing in the backyard. He loved to grow vegetables. He would till up the soil, plant tomatoes, beans, corn, and strawberries. I would help him put the seeds in the ground. It was my job thereafter to weed and water the plants. From doing this I learned responsibility.

My father taught me how to fish and feel at home on the water. He was quite a fisherman. He always had a boat, and we would get up early to be able to hit the water on the last of ebb tide. He showed me how to bait my hook, wait for the fish to bite and then set the hook. My father taught me how to run the boat and to read the water.  From watching and waiting for fish and tide I learned patience.

My father taught me about monetary values. I was given a weekly allowance but was not allowed to spend it freely. I was told to put some of it aside so that it would accumulate into a larger sum. I was taught to think about what I spent money on and to not buy things that wouldn't last. My father would not loan money to others, but he would loan tools and give away fish and vegetables to neighbors and friends. From this, I learned appreciation of what I had, and about charity.

My father taught me to tell the truth. He had a suspicion that I was taking his cigarettes and smoking them with my cousin when I was around 7 years old. He asked me if I had stolen them and was smoking. I told him that I had. He lectured me but told me that I did right by telling the truth because my punishment would have been worse had I not. He told me that he couldn't stand a liar. From him, I learned about honesty.

My father taught me that actions speak louder than words. He wasn't a "windbag" or "blowhard".  He would listen to what others had to say and then make his own decisions. He said that there were a lot of people who could talk their way out of anything but it was their deeds that were important. I learned the importance of doing from him.

My father taught me to care for animals and to love them. The few times I saw him cry were when an animal died or was hurt. He once took my cat to the medical doctor to get a fish hook out of her mouth. There was no vet in town at the time. "Mama cat" became a star and was written up in the local paper. From him, I learned about empathy.

My father taught me to stand up for myself. He never let people walk all over him. And he wasn't afraid to speak his mind if provoked. He didn't like injustice to people or animals. He didn't look down on people but treated everyone he met fairly, unless they proved to be unfair. From him, I learned about fairness.

And I know that there were many other life lessons that I learned from my father. All of these things he taught me have shaped me.  And somewhere along the line he also learned those things as he was growing up.  Perhaps his father taught them to him.  Like each of us, he had his own demons, and often I would wish that he were different.  Yet, as an adult, I realize that he did a good job in teaching me to think and do for myself. 

Although I won't get to ask him all the things that I wish I had asked him when he was alive, I realize that by understanding myself better, perhaps I have also reached an understanding of who he was. 

Something of Value

I read Robert Ruark's book Something of Value when I was a kid. It was the first book that I read by him and told a tale of the Mau-Mau uprising and terror in Africa.  He included a Basuto Proverb that states:
"If a man does away with his traditional way of living and throws away his good customs, he had better first make certain that he has something of value to replace them."

But it was Ruark's The Old Man and the Boy that I have read and re-read.  It reminds me of the days that I spent with my father fishing.  The Old Man was Ruark's grandfather.  Robert Ruark was from a small town in North Carolina.  He was a Southerner so I identified with his writings about the estuaries and marshes and fishes in the book. There are stories here that will break your heart clean in two with their aching beauty, their crystal clear images, the smells and tastes of a life spent in rural North Carolina before television.  It is also a story of a South which is, so very unfortunately, very nearly gone. It's not a story just of jasmine, polite living and fireflies, but of guns and men and the explosion of a covey of quail, glittering in the early morning sun.  Thankfully, it is not politically correct. It's a story of a deep love of nature and a deep love of the people who respect it.

The Old Man became a solace and source of wisdom for young Robert.  Ruark writes of an idyllic time which no doubt he had with his grandfather.  But in other writings, Ruark tells of having to fight with other school children on a regular basis because he was "fat" and his middle name was Chester, "and Chester is hilarious in the South". Ruark also speaks of being a "bookish brat (who) didn't give a damn for ordinary sports, possibly because I am clumsy and slow". 

As he writes in the book: "When you are as old as the Old Man, you know a lot of things that you forgot you ever knew, because they've been a part of you so long".  I think that many of us get to a point where there is so much experience that we just do things, forgetting how we ever knew them.

But the tragedy of Robert Ruark is that he forgot what his Old Man taught him.  He became caught up in trying to emulate Ernest Hemingway--hard living and hard drinking.  He forgot about North Carolina and the marshes and fishes in his journey.  And when he went back to the coast there, not many people cared for the Robert who showed up. 

There was a self-destructive flaw in Ruark that seemed to hate success or at least disbelieve that he was successful.  His idea of success was to be a two fisted hard drinking "man's man".  His drinking became out of control.  The Boy despite the Old Man's example, was an alcoholic. Periodically told that his drinking was killing him, Ruark would stop or cut down for a brief time, but he could never make it stick and he could never hold his intemperance to moderation. Both his writing and his personal life suffered.

He died at age 50 most likely as a result of alcoholism.  I wish that he could have remembered the words of the Old Man and the Basuto Proverb.

For fathers

I'm not sure what those of you who are dads are doing today, but I hope that it is a good day. Funny that I don't remember much about how I honored my father. I know that I made cards for him, just as I did for my mother. I also gave him presents when I was older. Things like slippers, a tie, or a shirt. I just don't remember anything else that was special about those father's day activities.

I think that my father would relax on Father's Day.  Maybe he thought about his father, although he never talked about him.  He was a man who didn't speak of things in an emotional way.  

In spite of the painful times that I had around his drinking and his criticism, I loved him. He was a good provider and he taught me a love for the water and living things. He grew up on a farm and went to sea as a young man out of high school. He decided that the mariner's life wasn't for him though after he fell in love with my mother. My father liked poetry and had this soft compassionate inside that he didn't project on the outside. It was there though when he would cry over the loss of his sister who died an alcoholic or when an animal that he loved would die. He just didn't let that side of him out very often. Maybe it was his generation or maybe it was the fear that blocked him. I know now that it wasn't about me.

Regret has a way of sneaking up on you. The Big Book says that you won't regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. And I know that I can't relive anything from the past now. But I have those moments when I wish that I could have told my father that I loved him more. All the gifts and cards don't really amount to much when it's the words that really convey the meaning.

So hopefully the father that you are or those in your life know love and will find joy in the day. It's never too late to tell your dad something special or to be something special for your child.

What a dream I had

I had another of the anxiety dreams about alcohol last night.  It was about my father.  He has now been dead for over 25 years.  And yet, there are times that he comes back to visit me.  Seldom are these dreams happy.  That makes me sad because I know that he was such a good person.  It seems unfair that he only comes to me through these dreams that are unsettling. 

The dream last night was one in which he had stayed away for days.  My mother and I presumed that he was drinking.  He never did this in reality.  He would simply sip his bourbon on his days off, starting about 10 AM and be fairly drunk by dinner.  Then he would go to bed.  He was not a binge black out drunk.  Yet, in this dream, he is gone, and we are dreading his return. 

I tell my mother that it is time that she left him.  I suggest that she sell the house and move someplace else.  These dreams are so unsettling because my parents were married for over 50 years at the time of his death.  I don't think my mother ever thought about leaving my father who eventually quit drinking altogether as he got into his 60's.  But in this dream, she thinks that it is the best idea. She will sell everything and move away.

I know that these dreams are my anxieties surfacing.  They leave me feeling unsettled and disoriented when I awake.  But then I can reach over and hug my love who is lying next to me.  She drowsily asks me how I slept.  I tell her about the dream, and she says that it was just a dream.  I look at the slumbering dogs lying on the floor.  One is chasing something imaginary in her sleep.  Just like me.

I have had dreams and I have had nightmares, but I have conquered my nightmares because of my dreams. Jonas Salk

Thinking of my dad on his birthday

Today is my father's birthday. I thought that I would share some of my memories of him on this day of his birth.

My father enjoyed his birthday. When I was a kid, my mother and I would surprise him with presents and a home made card. I wanted to make sure that I had a nice present for him. I can remember a set of cuff links that we bought. He wore them many times and they seemed to accent his starched white shirt. I still have those cuff links as well as many other things that belonged to my dad.

After I was out of the home and married, my wife and I would take him presents. He was always appreciative of our thinking of him. I could tell that he still had that little bit of child within him on this day.

He was born in the big farm house on a snowy morning in Virginia. I talked to a very elderly lady many years ago who remembered how my father's elder sister ran across the fields to tell the neighbors of his birth. It was a happy occasion that a son was born. After he died, it gave me a lot of pleasure to hear about his birth from someone who had been there and seen him when he was a baby. It made him seem alive in their memory of him.

My father would share a lot of stories about growing up on the farm. He told me about getting up on cold mornings and running down the stairs to stand in front of the fire in the dining room to get dressed. He told me about mornings that he and his father would ride on horseback for several miles to meet up with other riders for fox hunting. He told me about hog killing time and curing of meat in the smoke house.

One of the more poignant things that he told me was that for Christmas there would be candy and an orange or apple in his stocking. This would make me cry because of guilt that I got so much. I think now that my father might have been doing a bit of manipulating as his parents weren't poor. Maybe it was his way of making me feel grateful for those things that I received.

He lived in another time. He never forgot the community though and would go to visit old neighbors whenever he could. At Christmas, he would take gifts to those old timers that lived near his birthplace. He enjoyed sitting around a fire and talking to them about the old times. I believe that he was a romantic at heart.

The farm was sold and the old farmhouse fell into disrepair. At least I have photos of it. And I did an oil painting of it when I was a teenager. I remember going in the farm house and seeing my father's room upstairs. The house was empty then, with only the echoes from his past still present. I always thought that was sad and developed a feeling at that time that houses have souls too. I still believe that.

Many of the people that he grew up with have died. All of his siblings are dead. One died from alcoholism. I don't know what happened along the way in life for her or my father to have decided that drinking was a source of solace. It's a question that everyone asks who has an alcoholic relative. How did the child born in innocence become tainted by life?

Anyway, I guess all this rambling is to tell you that I still miss my dad. I would like for him to know that I'm thinking about him on his birthday. I like to think that his spirit lives on in me.

Heard in a meeting and a message to my dad

We're here because we weren't all there.

You can be a survivor or a victim. Being a survivor means that you work through things. Being a victim brings a lot of pain.

There are times when I think that there will be no more good times. But being in here, I can dare to hope and not let disappointment wreck me.

Nothing wastes more energy than worrying.....The longer one carries a problem, the heavier it gets.

Don't take things too seriously...... Live a life of serenity, not a life of regrets.

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I wrote this letter to my father when I did my ninth step. It seems appropriate to post it here today as I did several years ago:

Dear Dad:

I think about you often and over the past year have come to love you more than I believe I ever did. I have thought and spoken of all the things that you taught me. I wouldn’t have learned to love the water as I do if it hadn’t been for you. And because of what you taught me about boats, I’ve made a career of not only doing my work from boats but seeing many things in the ocean that few have ever seen. I am grateful for what I learned from you.

I’ve often wished that you were here so that we could talk about how things are now in my life. I’m not the same person that I was in 1985 which was the last time that I talked with you. And I’m not the same person that I was a year ago when I decided to change my life for the better. I’m in a program that has helped me to learn more about myself and to take responsibility for how I live my life. I always thought that I was responsible in my life but the difference is that I’m living a spiritual life now. And it’s a wonderful feeling because it means that I can look inward at myself and my faults in an effort to be a better person. And I can do this without being afraid. I no longer am angry at myself or feel empty.

I know that when I was young, I was strong willed, independent and proud. I loved you, but I also feared you. I wanted your approval and thought that I could get that by changing who I was. Yet in doing so, I built up resentment and anger. There were times when I wished that you would die. I know now that I can change but it’s to be the person that my Higher Power wants me to be. I no longer want to shape myself to be what another person wants me to be. I don’t need to do that anymore.

I have learned from this spiritual program that we all make mistakes in living and that we all need improvement. I know that you did the best that you could do for me. I realize that you always loved me and wanted what was best for me. You taught me many good traits of character. These are lessons that I will carry with me and that will hold me in good stead for the rest of my life.

What I need to tell you is that I also always loved you. For those times when I was filled with resentment and anger, I am truly sorry. I have learned that resentment and fear are human emotions but that they keep me from being truly free in my mind and heart. I am working every day to recognize when resentment and fear occur and take steps to not be consumed by them.

Finally, I want you to know that if I could physically be with you today, I would take you out on my boat, show you the beauty of the water here, and enjoy your company.

Your loving son,

Syd

My father's friend Jimmy

Jimmy was a good friend of my dad's. He was his main fishing buddy. And he was a relapsing alcoholic.

Jimmy worked as a butcher in the local A & P. He would chop up meat into various cuts on the well worn butcher's block while standing on a saw dust floor.

He was from a community of watermen who lived near New Point Light in Virginia. And he had retained the accent of the watermen. He talked fast and laughed a lot. Jimmy had a number of funny sayings. If he got a big fish on the line and landed it, he would say "Whew, boy, that made me nervous as a whore in church." And if someone was especially talkative, he would say, "That ole fella could talk the legs off an iron pot."

Jimmy would wear an old plaid shirt with a tie when he fished. He would also wear hip boots with the tops turned down, in the style of the Virginia waterman. And he topped it all off with an old brown fedora. He and my father were gentlemanly rakish in their appearance, I thought.

My father cared about his friend. But he was also serious about fishing. A couple of times my dad would come back home after he had gone to pick up Jimmy. Jimmy would be drunk early in the morning and that was something that my father didn't want to deal with. He would go visit Jimmy after he got out of being "dried out". He would have hopes that Jimmy would kick the sauce and be okay.

Instead, Jimmy would be sober for a while and things would go well, but eventually, he would go back to drinking again. He was still drinking when he died. His wife stuck with him for the duration, although at what a cost to her I now wonder.

I also wonder whether my father was in denial about his own drinking. Maybe he thought that because he never lost a job, missed work, or went to detox that he didn't have a problem. For some reason, thinking about Jimmy, his quick humor and smiling eyes, makes me sad.

Saturdays of yesterday

Ahhhh....Saturday. I slept in until 7:30 AM, had some coffee, made breakfast, and looked out at the greening woods.

It's supposed to rain today and be blustery, but so far, it's just still and overcast. I really like these Saturday mornings. I've said before that they remind me so much of being a kid, waking up to all the great possibilities of the day, and knowing that there isn't any hurry to get anywhere. I really loved those Saturdays when it was warm enough to go outside and play.

On spring Saturdays, my dad would be tilling up the garden and getting ready for his spring planting. Some Saturdays, he would take me fishing for the first run of speckled trout. Those were ritual Saturdays when he would get up at 4 AM, fix a breakfast of Smithfield ham, eggs, biscuits with red-eye gravy. I felt important to be included in those adventures on the water.

My father was a gentleman fisherman. He wore a tie when he fished. We would set out for some of his favorite spots. He taught me about reading the water, looking for shoals, understanding aids to navigation, tying knots, and a host of other things that have served me well in my career.

He never drank on the boat. He was a serious fisherman. There were protocols to maintain. I was always glad to be there because he was happiest on the water. I suppose that was his sanctuary, just as it has become mine.

I don't do much fishing these days. For some reason, I can't stand to see the fish struggle. I don't want to kill anything. Instead, I just like to be on the water, sailing and exploring. Instead of a fishing rod, I take my camera with me wherever I go and try to capture what I see.

And today with the overcast skies seems to be the perfect day to capture some of the beauty of this place that I love.

Have a happy Saturday everyone.

December 10

Today is my father's birthday. When I was a kid, my mother and I would surprise him with presents and a home made card. After I was out of the home and married, my wife and I would take him presents. He seemed to always enjoy this special day.

He was born in the big farm house on a snowy morning in Virginia. I talked to a very elderly lady many years ago who remembered how my father's elder sister ran across the fields to tell the neighbors of his birth. It was a happy occasion that a son was born. It gave me a lot of pleasure to hear about his birth from someone who had been there and seen him when he was a baby.

My father would share a lot of stories about growing up on the farm. He told me about getting up on cold mornings and running down the stairs to stand in front of the fire in the dining room to get dressed. He told me about mornings that he and his father would ride on horseback for several miles to meet up with other riders for fox hunting. He told me about hog killing time and curing of meat in the smoke house.

He lived in another time. He never forgot the community though and would go to visit old neighbors whenever he can. At Christmas, he would take gifts to those old timers that lived near his birthplace.

The farm was sold and the old farmhouse fell into disrepair. At least I have photos of it. And I did an oil painting of it when I was a teenager. I remember going in the farm house and seeing my father's room upstairs. The house was empty then, with only the echoes from his past still present. I always thought that was sad and developed a feeling at that time that houses have souls too. I still believe that.

Many of the people that he grew up with have died. All of his siblings are dead. One died from alcoholism. I don't know what happened along the way in life for her or my father to have decided that drinking was a source of solace. It's a question that everyone asks who has an alcoholic relative. How did the child born in innocence become tainted by life?

Anyway, I guess all this rambling is to tell you that I still miss my dad. I would like for him to know that I'm thinking about him on his birthday. I like to think that his spirit lives on in me.

Things my father taught me

"It is a wise father that knows his own child." -- William Shakespeare

It's Father's Day today. My father died in 1985. I think of him often, but there's something about Father's Day that was special when he was alive and is still special today. For me, it was always a way to say "Thank you" to a man that I both loved and feared. I would make him a card with my crayons when I was a kid and later would give him a card and a present.

My father was a man of few words and didn't talk about feelings. We didn't have those fatherly chats that I've read about. But I learned a number of things from him that I am thankful for. I want to share some of those with you on this Father's Day.

My father taught me how to care for a large vegetable garden growing in the backyard. He loved to grow vegetables. He would till up the soil, plant tomatoes, beans, corn, and strawberries. I would help him put the seeds in the ground. It was my job thereafter to weed and water the plants. From doing this I learned responsibility.

My father taught me how to fish and feel at home on the water. He was quite a fisherman. He always had a boat, and we would get up early to be able to hit the water on the last of ebb tide. He showed me how to bait my hook, wait for the fish to bite and then set the hook. My father taught me how to run the boat and to watch the signs that the water gave that shoals were ahead. From watching and waiting for fish and tide I learned patience.

My father taught me about monetary values. I was given a weekly allowance but was not allowed to spend it freely. I was told to put some of it aside so that it would accumulate into a larger sum. I was taught to think about what I spent money on and to not buy things that wouldn't last. My father would not loan money to others, but he would loan tools and give away fish and vegetables to neighbors and friends. From this, I learned appreciation of what I had, and about charity.

My father taught me to tell the truth. He had a suspicion that I was taking his cigarettes and smoking them with my cousin when I was around 7 years old. He asked me if I had stolen them and was smoking. I told him that I had. He lectured me but told me that I did right by telling the truth because my punishment would have been worse had I not. He told me that he couldnt' stand a liar. From him, I learned about honesty.

My father taught me that actions speak louder than words. He wasn't a "windbag". He would listen to what others had to say and then make his own decisions. He said that there were a lot of people who could talk their way out of anything but it was their deeds that were important. I learned the importance of doing.

My father taught me to care for animals and to love them. The few times I saw him cry were when an animal died or was hurt. He once took my cat to the medical doctor to get a fish hook out of her mouth. There was no vet in town at the time. "Mama cat" became a star and was written up in the local paper. From him, I learned about empathy.

My father taught me to stand up for myself. He never let people walk all over him. And he wasn't afraid to speak his mind if provoked. He didn't like injustice to people or animals. He didn't look down on people but treated everyone he met fairly, unless they proved to be unfair. From him, I learned about fairness.

And I know that there were many other life lessons that I learned from my father. All of these things he taught me have shaped me. The lessons that we learn as children color our life. I hope that the fathers out there realize the importance of that.

To err is human.....

"To err is human; to forgive is divine." Alexander Pope

Last night's meeting topic was forgiveness. It was a topic that a lot of people had different views about. Some didn't want to forgive but get even. Several people including me talked about how working Steps 4, 5 and 9 made it easier to learn forgiveness of ourselves. And by doing that, we are able to be more accepting of the difficulties of others.

For me, I knew that the effects of my father's drinking and my wife's alcoholism had caused a lot of pain. But through the program, I learned that it was important for me to forgive them. As I worked the steps, I realized that the anger I carried was hurting me, making me feel sick inside with resentment.

I know now that forgiveness helps me, not the person that I resent. We are all children of God, and some of us are sick and don't realize how our actions have affected others.

And this brings me to the dream that I had last night. In it, I was back at the home place. I came into the house and there were several people standing around. Someone told me that my father had died. My mother was crying. I was stunned and bereft. I went into the dining room and saw a coffin up on the big table. It was a simple box and my father was inside. I kept saying "He can't be dead" over and over again. Finally, I went over and leaned down to touch him. His skin was warm. And just as I grasped him, he opened his eyes and looked into mine and said,"I'm not dead. I love you and am here with you." I had this feeling of relief and joy. And started yelling, "See, he's not dead!" After that I tried to hold onto the dream because it was so good but gradually woke up.

I'm not sure what to make of this dream. What I think it means is that my father's spirit is still with me, telling me that in spite of the troubles that happened between us, he loves me. I have made my amends to him and maybe his spirit is now filled with love and can be at peace.

Dear Dad

Dear Dad:

I think about you often and over the past year have come to love you more than I believe I ever did. I have thought and spoken of all the things that you taught me. I wouldn’t have learned to love the water as I do if it hadn’t been for you. And because of what you taught me about boats, I’ve made a career of not only doing my work from boats but seeing many things in the ocean that few have ever seen. I am grateful for what I learned from you.

I’ve often wished that you were here so that we could talk about how things are now in my life. I’m not the same person that I was in 1985 which was the last time that I talked with you. And I’m not the same person that I was a year ago when I decided to change my life for the better. I’m in a program that has helped me to learn more about myself and to take responsibility for how I live my life. I always thought that I was responsible in my life but the difference is that I’m living a spiritual life now. And it’s a wonderful feeling because it means that I can look inward at myself and my faults in an effort to be a better person. And I can do this without being afraid. I no longer am angry at myself or feel empty.

I know that when I was young, I was strong willed, independent and proud. I loved you, but I also feared you. I wanted your approval and thought that I could get that by changing who I was. Yet in doing so, I built up resentment and anger. There were times when I wished that you would die. I know now that I can change but it’s to be the person that my Higher Power wants me to be. I no longer want to shape myself to be what another person wants me to be. I don’t need to do that anymore.

I have learned from this spiritual program that we all make mistakes in living and that we all need improvement. I know that you did the best that you could do for me. I realize that you always loved me and wanted what was best for me. You taught me many good traits of character. These are lessons that I will carry with me and that will hold me in good stead for the rest of my life.

What I need to tell you is that I also always loved you. For those times when I was filled with resentment and anger, I am truly sorry. I have learned that resentment and fear are human emotions but that they keep me from being truly free in my mind and heart. I am working every day to recognize when resentment and fear occur and take steps to not be consumed by them.

Finally, I want you to know that if I could physically be with you today, I would take you out on my boat, show you the beauty of the water here, and enjoy your company.

Your loving son,

Syd

Father's Day

I'm not sure what those of you who are dads are doing today but I hope that it is a good day. Funny that I don't remember much about how I honored my father. I know that I made cards for him, just as I did for my mother. I also gave him presents when I was older. Things like slippers, a tie, or a shirt. I just don't remember anything else that was special about those father's day activities.

Regret has a way of sneaking up on you. The Big Book says that you won't regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. And I know that I can't relive anything from the past now. But I have those moments when I wish that I could have told my father that I loved him more. All the gifts and cards don't really amount to much when it's the words that really convey the meaning.

In spite of the painful times that I had around his drinking and his criticism, I loved him. He was a good provider and he taught me a love for the water and living things. He grew up on a farm and went to sea as a young man out of high school. He decided that the mariner's life wasn't for him though after he fell in love with my mother. My father liked poetry and had this soft compassionate inside that he didn't project on the outside. It was there though when he would cry over the loss of his sister who died an alcoholic or when an animal that he loved would die. He just didn't let that side of him out very often. Maybe it was his generation or maybe it was the fear that blocked him. I know now that it wasn't about me.

So hopefully the father that you are or those in your life know love and will find joy in the day.

Anniversary of father's death

Today is the anniversary of my father's death. He died in 1985 at age 76 from cardiac failure largely due to emphysema. He was an old fashioned gentleman who loved being on the water. He taught me how to fish at an early age and to steer the boat and understand the channel markers. He always had a good job and worked every day for a large shipbuilding company that had a lot of defense contracts. For some reason though, on the weekends, he would go to a local bar and grill and have a few beers. One of those evenings resulted in his having a car accident in which he broke his shoulder. I remember that night well and it was one filled with fear for me. I can remember the sheriff coming to the door, my father coming in, and the doctor being summoned. Because my family was well known, there weren't any legal consequences. He had been driving his car too fast and it got away from him. His shoulder was broken and always had a different look to it for the rest of his life. I remember the smell of beer on him.

As time went on, he would sip bourbon on the weekends. He would often be drunk by dinner and I hated having to eat at the table with the slurred speech and criticism of me. He wasn't a mean drunk but he would be very critical of me and often express displeasure at whatever I did. I began to think that I annoyed him or was a source of irritation. When I was younger I would get the belt on my legs and butt. Although I would try to please him, as I got older, I rebelled. I was a teenager and as tall as he was, although he outweighed me. I can remember having arguments with him and he would try to hit me. I would storm out of the house and stay away until it was safe to come back. On the weekends, I would sometimes sleep until near noon and then head out with my friends or take my car and leave.

I was actually a good kid. I studied, made good grades, graduated at the top of my high school class and later was one of the top graduates in college. I never thought that he totally approved of me but probably that was in my own head. We made peace though as the years went by and thankfully his alcohol consumption went way down to near abstinence later in life.

I realize now that whatever was bothering him during those years of my youth was in his head. His anger was his to own and not mine. I loved him a lot and still think of him. He was a critical person but probably because he wanted so much for me. I gave all that I had to give and was by all outward signs a success. Inwardly though, I was unsure, felt unloved, and not very happy. That was especially prevalent during high school. When I went away to college, it was as if I were free. I was out of the house and on my own where no one knew anything about me. This "geographic" cure worked well until I came back home where all the same fears came back.

Anyway, I understand my father a lot better today than I ever did in those years. He did the best that he could and had his own fears to deal with. I think that he knew how much I loved him and hope that his spirit is peaceful and united with my mother whom he loved.