One Year

8.3.2011

Dear Dadoo,

Where do I even begin?  This past year has felt like the longest of my life, but at the same time, I

can't believe it is already over.

I remember towards the beginning of the year I dreamed about you almost every night.  My

subconscious seemed to be confused about whether or not you actually died - you would be in

my dreams but I knew something was off, like you weren't supposed to be there.  Sometimes,

something specific would trigger my memory - a song from your funeral would play, or I would

remember the date August 3rd, and I would know that you had died.  In each of my dreams, once

I realized that you weren't supposed to be there or that I was in fact dreaming, I would rush to tell

you certain things as fast as I could, before you faded away.

The main things were always: first, that I missed you, so incredibly much, more than I could

have ever explained to you before you died.  One of my favorite quotes that I've read since your

passing is from Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking: "Nor can we know ahead of the

fact (and here lies the heart of the difference between grief as we imagine it and grief as it is) the

unending absence that follows, the void, the very opposite of meaning, the relentless succession

of moments during which we will confront the experience of meaninglessness itself."  Before

you died, I knew that I would miss you, but I did not understand the nature of the feeling that I

would have.  So after the fact, I wanted to tell you so badly how all-encompassing and relentless

the feeling was - not necessarily in a sad way, but more in a desperate and helpless way.

Second, I wish I could've told you about your funeral.  It was one of the most amazing days of

my life, and so many people said it was the best service they've ever been to - even the funeral

director asked for a DVD! SO many people came - it was standing room only!  Everyone loved

what you wrote, and Gina read some of your letters, which everyone also loved - of course.

People were laughing and crying.  Jason flew in from LA to sing Frank Sinatra's "My Way"

which I know you would've thought was so cool, and Stephanie Holcombe sang "What I Did for

Love" and was amazing.  The whole thing was perfect and I wish you could've been there since it

was all for you.

Last, I wanted to tell you about PurpleStride - how there were almost 100 members on our team

and how we won top fundraising team with over $23,000 raised.  So many people traveled near

and far to be there, and I wish you could've seen the shirts - you would've LOVED them - the

logo looks so much like you!  It was such a beautiful tribute to you and to our family.

After August 3rd, I worked for the Apollo 20 program for a couple of months but ended up

quitting (although I continued to volunteer for a while).  Everyone - my therapist, mom, Bess,

etc - was saying that all of the feelings I was having - anger, depression, lack of motivation, not

being able to function, etc - were normal.  But if those are normal, than how could being the

exact opposite - motivated, functional, "on" in general - be expected from 7am to 5pm 5 days a

week?  Those things are incompatible, and I think most people who are grieving only continue

working because they either have to or because they want a distraction.  Luckily I don't have to

work (at least in the short term) and work didn't serve as a distraction for me because I couldn't

make myself care about it enough for distraction to even be a possibility.

After quitting I went to Spain with Adam for 3 weeks which was wonderful.  We got to see

Phoebe and overall had a perfect trip.  In general, Adam has kept me so happy over the past year.

 He makes me laugh and he does everything in his power to make me happy or make sure I have

good days.  I love living with him and he is such a strong support for me.

I spent much of the next few months taking a photography class, doing art projects and planning

a trip with Mom - pretty much just indulging and spoiling myself.

Oh, and I also got a tattoo and a puppy - within the same week!!  I joked that if pancreatic cancer

hadn't killed you, that surely would have.  The tattoo is a purple ribbon in your honor, which

of course is ironic and is one of the reasons I like it.  For some reason I felt compelled to get it

- like I didn't feel complete without it.  I'm not sure if it was because I felt so strongly affected

on the inside and wanted some reflection of that on the outside or what.  My puppy is Pico and

is adorable and makes me so happy.  Bess also has a puppy, so now all 3 of your kids are dog

owners, ha!

Back to my trip with Mom.  One of the main things I was most sad about for Mom's sake was the

fact that she wouldn't have you to travel with anymore.  So I figured we should take advantage

of the break I was taking from work and go on a trip.  We went to Southeast Asia for six weeks

and had an incredible time.  It was so nice to travel with Mom, especially since most of the

time we had spent together over the past 8ish months had revolved around housework or other

administrative business.  You did so much to help with everything she'd have to do after you

were gone, but it is still a completely different life for her.  On our trip, Mom was able to relax

and take a break from everything back home.  She was so fun and adventurous and I gained so

much appreciation for her (which I didn't know was possible - with everything she has done over

the past year, I thought I appreciated her as much as I possibly could).  I thought numerous times

about what you said at Jessica's wedding - how the day you met Mom was the luckiest of your

life.  I totally agree, although I think she was very lucky too :)

You would love Mom more than ever.  She has been so strong over the past year and has been so

helpful to me, Jessica and Carrie throughout the grieving process.  She also looks so incredibly

cute all the time.

After our trip, I took a much shorter trip to DC with Bess to meet with members of Congress

and ask them to cosponsor the Pancreatic Cancer Research and Education Act.  It was such a

neat, empowering experience and it is comforting to be around other volunteers.  As someone

described it, it's an exclusive club to which you don't want an invitation!  I am so thankful for

PanCAN - it has given me an outlet to channel all of my sadness, anger and other emotions into

something positive.

The week after DC, I went back to work for Towers Watson.  They were gracious enough to

give me my job back, and even gave me a raise - ha!  I've been back for 6 weeks now and

have really loved it.  It is so nice to come back with a renewed perspective and appreciation for

the job (I did not expect to miss the corporate world, but have found that I need the intellectual

stimulation it provides, and I enjoy the level of professionalism).

I have been feeling consistently happy now for about 7 months.  I definitely have sad days, but

not to the point of feeling overwhelmed or unable to function.  I have mixed emotions about the

situation.  I know that I cannot feel the full impact of your death every day - thinking of you as

my dad and realizing what I've lost - because my mind and body simply could not handle that.

 It wouldn't be healthy and I wouldn't be able to move on. Instead, I must let it become more

naturally distant - in effect, thinking about it from a more logical and less emotional standpoint -

every day, I think about the fact that you have died and the fact that it has changed my life.  This

somewhat numb perspective allows me to function and even look to the future with excitement

and optimism.  However, it means that you become my dad in the photographs, the motivation

behind my advocacy for pancreatic cancer research - a big part of my life, of course, but not

Dadoo, the person who I talked to nearly every day about taxes or insurance and poker and life.

Approaching the one year mark, I have been thinking a lot about another passage from The Year

of Magical Thinking.  Didion did not want to finish the year after her husband died because it

meant that his death would become less immediate and raw, and her sense of him alive would

become more remote.  For the past year she had been keeping time by last year's calendar (which

I have also done to an extent), and she realized that if she continued to do so, her memories

from one year ago would no longer involve her husband.  In many ways, I have thought and felt

similarly about you (as I was just trying to explain), and have dreaded today.  But today also

calls for celebration - it marks one year that I have survived without you (which at one point

seemed impossible) and I am moving forward with my life, which I know would make you very

happy and proud.

Before you died, I felt similarly to you about afterlife - in general I believed that we could not

know what happened to us afterwards, but I guessed that it was most likely how we were before

we were born - nonexistence, or dreamless sleep.  I still feel the same way, but I have much more

hope that this is NOT the case.  I like to think that you already know everything I wrote in this

letter.  That you are present in some form when I am making life decisions and are supporting

me along the way.  It is hard not knowing, but I can rest assured that there IS a piece of you that

lives on in me, guiding me to make those decisions in the first place, that will never go away.

Dadoo, I miss you so incredibly much, every single day.  I am moving on with my life but you

will always be a large part of it.  I cannot thank you enough for being the dad, husband and

brother that you were - our family's grief is a reflection of what an amazing person you were and

how greatly you impacted our lives.  I will love you forever.

Love your favorite daughter (spelled D-O-T-R),

Claire

Why?

Why write letters to my dead dad?  Valid question - and he'd be the first to ask.  

I decided to do this after the one year anniversary of his death.  My mom, sisters and I all wrote letters to my dad and read them at an inurnment service on August 3, 2011 (the anniversary).  I wasn't sure what to say or where to start, so I just told him about the past year - the big things that I did, what led me to do them, how I felt, etc.  After reading the letter and really feeling like I was telling him, it felt as if a huge weight had just been lifted off my shoulders.

To say my dad was a huge part of my life would be an understatement.  He retired when I was in elementary school and was a stay-at-home dad ever since.  He coached my little league teams, was at every one of my high school swim meets, helped me with my homework, taught me to play poker - 100% hands on, all the time.  

But it wasn't just that he was always around.  I had an immeasurable amount of respect for him, and for those of you who knew him, you probably understand why.  He was incredibly brilliant and had an amazing perspective on life - he lived it to the fullest and treated others with unparalleled respect.  (I realize that my use of superlatives for every adjective may come off as exaggerating, but it is intentional, as in this case it is the absolute truth!).  I could go on and on and give example after example, but I will leave it at my work for now.

So, because of his great influence on my life (both from being uber-involved and from being the person to whom I've always looked up to most in my life), losing him and living life without him has been difficult.  I definitely consider myself self-sufficient and capable of making decisions and living life on my own, but I always valued his input and support tremendously, so at times I can feel somewhat lost or incomplete without it.

Which brings me back to writing letters.  From August 3, 2010 to August 3, 2011, I probably went through more changes than I ever had in my life, and I definitely experienced emotions that I didn't know existed.  The hardship of dealing with all of that was compounded by the fact that my dad wasn't there to help (which of course was the reason for this in the first place - it's like a perpetuating cycle).  After writing about my year and "catching him up to speed," I felt like I had had a long conversation with my dad about everything and that now he was somehow included in all of my doings over the past year.  

I anticipate that other changes in my life will come - job, living, marriage?, kids??? - and that they will feel "off" without him.  Not that I won't feel confident making the changes without him or that the outcomes won't be joyous, exciting and wonderful, but that he won't be here amid everything in the capacity I always hoped/expected.  The goal of writing these letters is for my life to feel the least "off" possible.  I hope that each one gives me the same feeling I had after reading the first one at his grave...I could now take a big, long, deep breath.  My mind was clear.