Grieving at a Distance

Who would have called first? I wondered last week, when we received about 4 inches of snow - a fair amount for us living in the Richmond, VA area. And I wondered again this morning, a week later, when I woke to more of the white stuff plopping down. Plopping is a much more apt word, than 'drifting' or 'sprinkling' or whatever word you might imagine is more poetic. Today's snow is just 'meh'. All details I would I have shared with the rapt audience of Dad, who, now that I think of it probably would have called first. 

He had a habit of watching the weather patterns of all his kids' whereabouts. Whether they be our permanent residents or our favorite vacation destinations. And if something interesting was in the mix in said locale, Dale would be in the know and ready to report. I also find it interesting that though I live not 20 minutes from one sister, he would make it a point to check in on both of us: maybe our weather experience would be different? In his defense, it often is. We have a river that divides us and I am a bit further West, so there are often enough differences to stir up a unique story. 

In these calls I would get a full report on whomever else he'd spoken to about their weather situation and we'd wonder aloud about who has yet to be heard from and what we predict he'll learn. In recent years when Dad's texting skills vastly improved, a day of a weather event would conclude with a round table of texted stories: who went sledding, how did shoveling come along, is school cancelled yet for tomorrow, etc. 

This is but one way Dad successfully navigated parenting adult children at a distance. He just knew how to find ways to not only stay connected himself but also connect us as well. 

Woah

Things you realize in a moment

I've been thinking a lot about grieving at a distance. What do I mean by that? Well, I'm here in Virginia. Mom is in Florida. Dad's "things" are in Florida: his truck, his garage, his beloved yard. So I don't have to drive by the house or physically see reminders of Dad on a daily basis. But for over 25 years, I haven't lived in Dad's physical orbit. We existed on different plains, yet stayed remarkably connected. 

When I was in college, Dad was a road warrior - traveling nonstop for his job at Volvo Finance. There was a time he had an extensive stint in Connecticut and stayed at a Courtyard Marriott or something similar. I could call toll free, so it was a great excuse to call home without fear of a long distance phone bill. I got to know the front desk staff via phone and they always knew Dad's whereabouts - "not back yet from the office", "out to dinner," "having a beer in the lobby - hold just a moment while we grab him for you!"

With the advent of the cell phone, a busy career and family life, calling "home" on my 30 minute commute home became a lifeline of connectivity over the years. 

And, of course, Mom and Dad have always been so generous with their travels - until Christmas 2020, never missing a Virginia Christmas trip, sending one or both them North for every Bridal or Baby Shower, Birth, Christening, First Communion and Confirmation. And then extending these trips to encompass related sporting events, band or choral concerts and as many birthdays as possible. Yes, we navigated a physically distanced relationship quite well, I'd say.

Grieving at a distance is just hard though. I'm struggling with it, quite frankly. Life is happening as it always does, but there's this dull ache, knowing that something has changed - even if, because as I've described my life has lived on a different plain than Dad for quite some time. 

Examples:

1) Like many of you, I'm working at home right now, so my commute is nonexistent and therefore those calls home to Mom and Dad in the car have largely fallen to the wayside. But last week, I found myself running a late afternoon errand - placing me on my usual commute path and at about the same time that I would usually call, so I instinctively went to dial almost immediately dropped my phone. What had I done? What was I expecting? I was expecting Dad to answer:

Dad: Hello?

Carrie: Hey Dad, it's Carrie! How're you?

Dad: Carrie? Carrie who? I have a daughter named Carrie but she doesn't check in nearly enough. This couldn't be her <chuckling at his own self>. Sue! Suuuuee! Carrie's on the phone!

Mom <in distance>: Oh! I'm Coming! Put it on speaker!

2) Mom and Dad switched cell phones while he was in the hospital. His was just too busy with church related calls all day that Mom wanted him to be able to rest. Through his stay and following his death, Mom began to use his phone primarily and decided to suspend her number and adopt his as her own. When I called her the other the day, I received Dad's voicemail box, his voice still echoing on the message to leave a message.

3) A snow falls in Virginia and our most curious weather man in Florida is not coordinating a full report amongst his girls.

4) The Super Bowl is tonight and I do not know whether Dad would pull for Kansas City to win a second in a row with their plucky and talented young quarterback or if he'd pull for Florida's Tampa Bay with Tom Brady at the helm. At the end of the day, I think he'd first and foremost just be excited for the big game and for a big pot of Mom's chili simmering on the stove. He loved the Super Bowl. But secondly, I think he'd for sure root for Tampa Bay. 

Dallas Cowboys notwithstanding (during his Dallas years) Dad has always been a sucker for a home team. And his grandson, Joe is living in Tampa so that familial draw would lead him to the Buccaneers. But that I don't know for sure? Well, that just makes me sad. I wish I could ask him. Oh! How I wish I could ask him. 

I don't know what I expected of myself in grieving Dad. Maybe part of me didn't realize just how engrained he was/is in my daily existence in spite of the distance between Virginia and Florida. But he was a real, active, omnipresent part of my life, so even at a distance, this grief is real and raw. My life with Dad was real and important. It was clearly nuanced, my not even realizing his Jedi parenting tricks of fostering togetherness at a distance until this moment. But for these reasons I find grieving at a distance particularly challenging. 

So now it's time to get used to new normals: calling Mom, not Mom and Dad. Cathy, Becky and I did a Zoom happy hour a couple weeks back - that was nice. Different, but nice. And soon, post-vaccine and as life post-pandemic returns to 'normal', there will be more visits with Mom and my siblings and their families and those will be hard without Dad, but I almost think that's when things might start to feel a little more 'real'. For now, at a distance, it's almost as if Dad just isn't returning my calls. 

And there it is. I just hit the proverbial nail on the head.