Garbage Disposals and Good Chocolate

The one year anniversary of my dad's passing was earlier this month. In many ways, I feel like a lot of my feelings over the past year have been stifled or overlooked with all the other changes and decisions in my life. Maybe his absence doesn't feel quite so heavy most days because so much of my existence is wrapped up in him, so much of my day-to-day had him as an active part that I know how he would respond to the various things happening here without him. I loved this human so much that even before he died, I had numerous entries in my writer's notebooks that included him or centered around him.

Obviously, there are so many things I learned from my dad, and I thought it would be nice to reflect on some of those lessons.

My dad loved words and learning new things. When we had questions as kids, he'd often tell us to "look it up." Of course that didn't mean googling things and finding answers immediately like it does now. We had to run downstairs and search in the dictionaries or encyclopedias shelved there. Maybe he did that because he didn't have the answer for us, but I also think he wanted us to 1) be able to find answers on our own and 2) use information to make sense of things, without the bias of others.

Until recently, I had forgotten all about how my dad had an impeccable garbage disposal impersonation. All good dads have one, right? My dad was hilarious, but he wasn't often goofy. Wit was more his style. However, for whatever reason and with enough begging, he would do the occasional impression of the garbage disposal. Humor and joy can be found in literally everything, apparently.

Both my parents had expensive taste. While they were frugal in some areas, they were unafraid of spending money in others. For as long as my mom was alive, my sisters and I were convinced she was the reason we stayed in hotel suites and always had fancy chocolate in the cupboards. But after she died, somehow those things continued. It turns out, my dad was a bit of a snob about hotels. Having daughters especially, he didn't want to share a bathroom with us, so he always booked suites. He also liked particular things, like being able to watch TV on a couch rather than a bed. Learning to grocery shop for himself after my mom died was quite an adventure. He experimented with all kinds of grocery stores and stopped buying a lot of the things she bought routinely. After growing up in a house always full of homecooked meals, ample fruits and vegetables, and regular baked goods, it was an adjustment to come home to a kitchen that only had the essentials, like pickles, chips, and bread. One thing remained though, the fancy chocolate. I think he bought more of it than my mom ever did. Losing both my parents before I turned 30 has given me a unique perspective on a lot of things, one of which being money. My parents worked hard their entire lives but they also did a fantastic job of spending money on the things they wanted. It's a good thing they did because they didn't get to retire, they didn't get to the "someday" when people plan to take the trips, buy the chocolate, etc. Many people don't have a very good relationship with money, feeling guilty when they spend it, overspending it, etc. I think it's important to change that, to see money as a tool, and work toward finding a balance that suits us. Even though it might mean working extra or skipping certain things in order to have the things that bring us joy, we should do it.

I don't know if this was always a priority or if it became one as he got older, but my dad made a point of telling and showing people he cared about them. He was the king of birthday texts, checking in, big smiles and hugs, and honest conversations. So often people think of others but never tell them. My dad wasn't one of those people. When I moved to college, I swear he texted me every Saturday morning, thinking I'd be recovering from a big party the night before, just to check in. Whenever my sisters, friends, or I were driving anywhere, he expected a prompt text to update him that we made it to our destination safely. If I ever forgot, he'd call around the time I should've made it, just to be sure I was okay. That's been one of the toughest reminders of his absence; no one making sure I made it where I'm going. It really is special to know someone cares deeply enough to check in.

Like any good parent, my dad was someone I turned to a lot when it came to decision-making. In the past year, I decided on a new car, a new house, and a new job without him. It's easy to get caught up in all that he's missed, especially meeting his first grandchild, who looks so much like him. But I'm working on trusting not only that he approves of the choices I've made but also that he's with me as I make them, guiding me in the right directions. He was always so loving and supportive when giving big life advice. I hope I can be like him towards loved ones who come to me seeking the same guidance.

It's really easy to feel like our words, actions, or general existence don't mean very much to anyone. I'm sure my dad felt insignificant at times. But here I am, one year later, and still I haven't pinpointed all the ways he's impacted me or all the things I miss about him. And I never will. After my mom died, I heard the phrase, "All that lives forever is love." It's so true. We spend our entire lives trying to articulate what we love about people and whether or not we're loving them well enough. And the beauty is that even after they're gone, we still get to love them and feel the impacts of their love for us.

So even though my dad is gone, I'm going to continue to seek information, find and create joy (although I kind of hope my jokes don't depend on weird impressions of household appliances), align my spending with my priorities (and buy all the dark chocolate sea salt caramels I can), check in on my loved ones, lean into his guidance, and love my people well.

-J