Moving Forward
After Your Father's Death
Nita Gilger
It seems there is a National Day for almost everything these days. National Sibling Day. National Pancake Day. National Girl Scout Day. National Plant a Flower Day. National Scallop Day. National Margarita Day and countless others. One of my personal favorites is National Relaxation Day which happens on August 15th. Check your calendar! Do you have that date for relaxation marked? Recently, after a heavy work day at the ranch, I waited for it to cool off and then I migrated to our front porch for a little relaxation. You know, in honor of National Relaxation Day and all. It was obligatory. I was immediately surrounded by at least 8 hummingbirds who were busily chirping and dive bombing each other while making a large circle around me to enjoy the feeders and all the flowers. They probably did not get the memo about relaxing. They did not appear to be resting or relaxing except for brief rest atop the feeder pole.
I am not driven too much by all these National days. But as I work this week, I am going to try to follow the wise life of the hummingbird. I will be busy. I will be flying from task to task, but along the way, I am going to try to have fun and take moments to rest in-between all my buzzing.
When I sit and enjoy these amazing little birds, I always think of my dad. He was a professor of History and English. But he was also an accomplished outdoorsman. He always had big gardens, water fountains, and bird feeders. Wherever we lived, dad found a way to set up birdbaths and plant beautiful flowers. He created beauty all around us. Not only did he enjoy the process, he loved the results of his labor. Dad worked hard. He never seemed to be in too much of a rush, yet there were so many things completed at day’s end. He was a list person to be sure and was organized and methodical, but he did not seem hurried or harried to me. He just went about his days quietly checking off the items on his list. At the end of the day, he did not depend on a stiff drink to relax. He just embraced the beauty around him wherever he was. I can still picture him sitting with a big glass of iced tea in his funky overall jumpsuit just taking in all the fruits of his labor. Later, when he became ill with cancer and could not take long walks or plant big gardens, his tiny little patio at the condo in Fort Worth, TX became full of flowers in pots. Friends and family came and planted some Tyler roses right outside his window by his special chair. Amaryllis were planted in pots inside. When he became too weak to go out to water everything, we all pitched in. I can remember him hauling his oxygen tank around with him so that he could help tend to all his flowers and feathered friends. No matter what, he just HAD to have his hummingbird feeders full of juice. He LOVED the little hummingbirds. They brought him joy and enjoyment. The beauty he created around himself and others did not take away the cancer or the pain, but it made his days and ours better.
As dad's last months of life became apparent in that long ago fall, dad insisted that he and I plant tulip and crocus bulbs in his little flower bed and in the large flowerbed at my house. Dad and I had a very honest and open relationship, especially in his later years of health challenges. Because of his absolute determination in planting these bulbs, I finally asked him why he was so insistent. I said, "Dad, the doctor and Hospice people do not think there is any way you will make it to Spring. Why is this so important to plant these bulbs? You will not be here to enjoy them." He replied, "I know honey, but YOU will be. And when you look at the new flowers emerging from the ground in early spring, you will know that life carries on and so does beauty. I will leave beauty behind for you and others to remember that gift of life. I hope these flowers will bring you joy."
I still drive by that condo that my parents rented when dad was diagnosed with colon cancer. Even now, 14 years later, the rose bushes are still there, and other flowers still sprout in spring. The hummingbird feeders are not there. The hummingbird feeders are with me now. I fill them all of the spring and summer months. I fill them and enjoy these funny little birds, not because it is National Relaxation Day. My father taught me well to create and enjoy beauty. He taught me to relax into the gifts of nature and never take them for granted. As I walk around the ranch or our Possum Kingdom home, I know dad is with me. He is still saying, "Pay attention. Create beauty. Take time to let the hummingbirds teach you about joy and life." Dad understood that we are co-creators with God.
Dad did not see the crocus and tulips that he and I and others struggled to plant that long ago fall. I simply did not have time to "mess" with that task. I was working so hard. Time was precious. I was being pulled many different directions. But, take time I did. I am so grateful that I did take that time with my dad. Winter came and on February 25th, 2005 dad passed on. He did not make it to spring. The cancer had invaded his lungs, his ribcage and other organs. Chemo, radiation, and even experimental drugs did not win. But, the flowers came at the first opportunity in early spring. Dad had insisted that I take him to the Memorial Garden at University Christian Church in Fort Worth where his ashes would be put upon his death. I wheeled him in his wheelchair with oxygen tank in tow to the Garden. He chose the spot outside the Chapel wall where he wanted his ashes interred and his plaque put on the wall. He said, "Just tell everyone that I am pushing up daisies." I go to that Memorial Garden when I go to Fort Worth. I find peace there as I look at the flowerbed and the plaques on the wall that say my parents were here. I think of beauty. I know that it is important to take time for one another. I know that it is worth it to always mend, forgive, heal, and find a way forward. Life and relationships are precious gifts. It is important to take time for one another even when we don't seem to have any time at all.
Someday, my ashes will join mom and dad's. I, too, will be pushing up daisies. And I hope all those whose lives I have touched will remember me as a person who loved and created beauty, love, and laughter all around me.
I am not driven too much by all these National days. But as I work this week, I am going to try to follow the wise life of the hummingbird. I will be busy. I will be flying from task to task, but along the way, I am going to try to have fun and take moments to rest in-between all my buzzing.
When I sit and enjoy these amazing little birds, I always think of my dad. He was a professor of History and English. But he was also an accomplished outdoorsman. He always had big gardens, water fountains, and bird feeders. Wherever we lived, dad found a way to set up birdbaths and plant beautiful flowers. He created beauty all around us. Not only did he enjoy the process, he loved the results of his labor. Dad worked hard. He never seemed to be in too much of a rush, yet there were so many things completed at day’s end. He was a list person to be sure and was organized and methodical, but he did not seem hurried or harried to me. He just went about his days quietly checking off the items on his list. At the end of the day, he did not depend on a stiff drink to relax. He just embraced the beauty around him wherever he was. I can still picture him sitting with a big glass of iced tea in his funky overall jumpsuit just taking in all the fruits of his labor. Later, when he became ill with cancer and could not take long walks or plant big gardens, his tiny little patio at the condo in Fort Worth, TX became full of flowers in pots. Friends and family came and planted some Tyler roses right outside his window by his special chair. Amaryllis were planted in pots inside. When he became too weak to go out to water everything, we all pitched in. I can remember him hauling his oxygen tank around with him so that he could help tend to all his flowers and feathered friends. No matter what, he just HAD to have his hummingbird feeders full of juice. He LOVED the little hummingbirds. They brought him joy and enjoyment. The beauty he created around himself and others did not take away the cancer or the pain, but it made his days and ours better.
As dad's last months of life became apparent in that long ago fall, dad insisted that he and I plant tulip and crocus bulbs in his little flower bed and in the large flowerbed at my house. Dad and I had a very honest and open relationship, especially in his later years of health challenges. Because of his absolute determination in planting these bulbs, I finally asked him why he was so insistent. I said, "Dad, the doctor and Hospice people do not think there is any way you will make it to Spring. Why is this so important to plant these bulbs? You will not be here to enjoy them." He replied, "I know honey, but YOU will be. And when you look at the new flowers emerging from the ground in early spring, you will know that life carries on and so does beauty. I will leave beauty behind for you and others to remember that gift of life. I hope these flowers will bring you joy."
I still drive by that condo that my parents rented when dad was diagnosed with colon cancer. Even now, 14 years later, the rose bushes are still there, and other flowers still sprout in spring. The hummingbird feeders are not there. The hummingbird feeders are with me now. I fill them all of the spring and summer months. I fill them and enjoy these funny little birds, not because it is National Relaxation Day. My father taught me well to create and enjoy beauty. He taught me to relax into the gifts of nature and never take them for granted. As I walk around the ranch or our Possum Kingdom home, I know dad is with me. He is still saying, "Pay attention. Create beauty. Take time to let the hummingbirds teach you about joy and life." Dad understood that we are co-creators with God.
Dad did not see the crocus and tulips that he and I and others struggled to plant that long ago fall. I simply did not have time to "mess" with that task. I was working so hard. Time was precious. I was being pulled many different directions. But, take time I did. I am so grateful that I did take that time with my dad. Winter came and on February 25th, 2005 dad passed on. He did not make it to spring. The cancer had invaded his lungs, his ribcage and other organs. Chemo, radiation, and even experimental drugs did not win. But, the flowers came at the first opportunity in early spring. Dad had insisted that I take him to the Memorial Garden at University Christian Church in Fort Worth where his ashes would be put upon his death. I wheeled him in his wheelchair with oxygen tank in tow to the Garden. He chose the spot outside the Chapel wall where he wanted his ashes interred and his plaque put on the wall. He said, "Just tell everyone that I am pushing up daisies." I go to that Memorial Garden when I go to Fort Worth. I find peace there as I look at the flowerbed and the plaques on the wall that say my parents were here. I think of beauty. I know that it is important to take time for one another. I know that it is worth it to always mend, forgive, heal, and find a way forward. Life and relationships are precious gifts. It is important to take time for one another even when we don't seem to have any time at all.
Someday, my ashes will join mom and dad's. I, too, will be pushing up daisies. And I hope all those whose lives I have touched will remember me as a person who loved and created beauty, love, and laughter all around me.
By Nita Gilger:
Loving in the Shadow of Alzheimer's
Learning from Rock Owls in Bryce Canyon
A Call to Deeper Places: The Owl as My Teacher
You might also appreciate Blessed are the Caregivers
Loving in the Shadow of Alzheimer's
Learning from Rock Owls in Bryce Canyon
A Call to Deeper Places: The Owl as My Teacher
You might also appreciate Blessed are the Caregivers
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