Messages From Dad

I miss both of my parents every day. My dad died 25 years ago; my mom has been gone 8 years. Twenty-five years is a long time. I was able to make 17 more years of memories with my mom. Memories with my dad haven’t faded so much as they are farther back. More effort is required to revisit them.

I have hit the age where more people in my age group have lost a parent. We share our hurt. I also know people who have both parents still living and they don’t see or talk to them very often. I don’t wish them ill will. I’m thrilled they are still alive. It’s wonderful these friends and acquaintances don’t know the searing pain of losing a parent. They don’t live with grief that runs deep and long. But still, I feel it’s unfair that I’ve lost both. My parents were older. They developed health problems. They died. We all know life isn’t fair.

A while back, I was wishing for something from my dad. My mom pops up often in dreams and waking memories. I don’t get a lot of that from my dad. Time passed factors into it. I put it out there that I wanted to hear from him. In dreams, or signs, or messages, or something. Anything. I miss him a great deal. I don’t think it’s said enough how much adults still need parental love.

One of my routines before crawling into bed is to read for a few minutes. I settled one night into an oak rocker in my bedroom that I picked up at an estate sale. It’s solidly made and has a simple patterned upholstered seat and back. Soft lighting provided by a Tiffany like lamp with shades of blues and greens lit the corner of my bedroom. I rocked gently and read.

At one point, I turned my head to the left toward the table where the lamp sat.

And there he was.

.

.

.

Not as a ghost, hallucination, or in any human form. I saw his handwriting poking out from a small stack of treasures that has sat there between five to ten years.

It had been there every night. His handwriting jumped out this night when I needed a sign.

It was a 3 x 5 notecard that had completely browned over time. My father served in WWII. This could have fit in his wallet but I’m not sure it did because it wasn’t bent. If not in his wallet, it was likely in a desk drawer or the top drawer in the chest where a lot of papers and some jewelry were kept. I’m not sure where I discovered it. I felt it was important and I took it. Clearly, I also forgot about it, but here it was to remind me when I needed it. It was one of those moments mixed with smiles and a slow but steady flow of tears. He had copied a quote from Winston Churchill about wartime living on the notecard.

I pulled the notecard out with my thumb and index finger like one would in a magic trick where you picked any card from cards splayed in front of you like a fan. I read it slowly as if it were a riddle, for that was what it felt to me. The word defiance hit me stronger than the others. I don’t want to dwell in the battle imagery that many who live with cancer use and just as many find cringeworthy. But hey, there it was staring at me in the face. These words were about war, not cancer. Exceptions must be made. If anyone has applied them to cancer, it’s me.

Allow me to say I don’t feel I am in defeat. I feel beat up. I feel constantly up against some stupid cancer or noncancer thing. I feel like I can’t get through to the very people working to keep me alive. I feel exhausted and that I never can catch a break. I feel defiant though and unwilling to give an inch more to cancer.

As far as the other words are concerned, I’m always searching for resolution. Mainly, I search at my oncology appointments through time with my oncologist and all the tests and treatments I do. But I look for answers in so many places. I read articles. I follow leads on the internet. I make note of studies others are in that may be of some benefit to me. There are group chats. I talk to and message friends. Virtual conferences are attended such as the SABCS (San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium) and LBBC (Living Beyond Breast Cancer). Occasionally, I’ll listen to a podcast. To be honest, it all overwhelms me. My days can’t be only about metastatic breast cancer.

Magnanimity and good will are always good guiding words. Generosity and compassion should never be overlooked. We need both in our world now more than ever.

I set the card back on the side table and shuffled through what else was in the small stack. There was a prayer book with a daily reflection I’d given my mom one year for her birthday. I found some of my dad’s business cards and his resumé. There is a grief journal I started after my mom died. The journal deserves a separate post of its own.

I also found the last birthday card I gave my dad along with more of those smiles and loving tears.

The middle section jumped out to me where it read he knew in his heart that I’d find a way. I realize I chose the card, but it was chosen based on who he was. I always knew my dad’s belief in me was present and constant whether whatever I did was big or small. I’m sure it’s why I chose this particular card. He knew I’d do well on tests. He thought it was great I played tennis. He supported all my band activities. He happily shuttled me back and forth from college to home on weekends. My dad knew I’d find a way. As evidenced on this card, even as a young adult the idea of finding a way was developing, perhaps just a seed of the oak tree pictured on the card. I would have to find my way a lot sooner without him.

A few weeks later he came to me again, this time in a dream. I was at my grandma’s farmhouse in the kitchen, milling around where the cookie jar was kept. Ah, that cookie jar. My grandma, mom, and dad were all in the dining room. Dad called for me to come into the living room. As I got closer to the adjoining doorway, everything went bright white and I couldn’t see. I knew my dad was going to hug me. I kept inching forward into the blinding light. Eventually, I shuffled into him and we hugged. I felt warm all over and felt a tight squeeze of his arms around me. I couldn’t see anything. Then I was jolted awake. I always wake up too soon. I am convinced it was a real hug from him. Make of that what you will.

I got my sign, my message, my something. I received several. Thanks, Dad.

You are there for me.

Always.

Author: Kristie Konsoer

I've been living well with metastatic breast cancer since 2012. This blog is a place where I can share thoughts and ideas on cancer, how I feel perceptions of cancer must change, and how I am finding a way to live with strength, hope, meaning, resiliency, humor, and hopefully a little wisdom.

9 thoughts on “Messages From Dad”

  1. Kristie, I read your blog entries without fail. Your words uplift me and keep me thinking. Today your words on Father’s Day brought tears to my eyes. Thank you. ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hi Kristie,

    I’m moved by your post. These words really speak to me: “I don’t think it’s said enough how much adults still need parental love.” As someone who no longer has living parents that’s so meaningful to me.

    I love how you found that hand-written notecard. And your dad’s words on it. So profound. So meaningful. And that dream – powerful. Both your stories exemplify that though our physical relationship with our deceased parents might be over, our relationship with them is not.

    Thank you for writing this. I look forward to that post about that grief journal you started after your mom died.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Having lost our parents is another sucky thing you and I both share. But like you said, our relationship with them is not. Enjoy some quiet time with your favorite memories today.❤️

      Like

  3. This was a heart-rendering read, Kristie. I’m very fortunate to have both of my parents. My Dad is nearing his 90th birthday. I’m also extremely close to my Dad and seeing him fail physically each time we visit, hurts my soul.

    Like

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