Last week on June 14th my blog hit a milestone – 16 years. Sixteen years of storytelling, photography, reflections and poetry.
The main reason that I started this blog so many years ago was to share what my world looked like – full of Labrador scenery, traditions and family. It is a way for me to document my life on a platform that’s easy to access. An open letter to the world, to show you what life is like living where I do. To show you what I value. To tell you that no matter how hard things might feel, you can still find bright spots – glimmers.
I lost my Dad June 1. It was and is impossibly hard to put to words the soul of man like my Dad, who touched so many people’s lives. It still doesn’t feel real to me that he’s gone. On my way back to Goose Bay from holding his visitation/scattering his ashes in St. Lewis, I saw two porcupines – his favorite animal. I also saw a young moose. Both species paused on the side of the road and locked eyes with me, as if to say: I see you Mandy. You’ll be ok. Glimmers.
I still wake up every day thinking about the task list of things I have to do to help Dad through his day at the hospital:
Wash his clothes, make him a Velveeta cheese sandwich, remember Boost. Tidy his room, pick the random gauze and needle caps off the floor (with gloves). Make his tea (1/2 sugar – no milk, add cold water. Find straw). Replace his blankets, bring 5 new ones from the cart in the hall. Wipe all the surfaces. Rub his feet, get him to push against my hands as hard as he can with five pushes. Repeat with foot two. Ask if he wants to FaceTime Mom – how about Art? What about Uncle Free? Rub his back. Scratch near the bandage, not too close. Turn on The Young and the Restless. Turn on the News. “Did that feller get charged yet?” Yes. Guilty. “Good.”
Show him old pictures and listen to the stories he has to share. Tell him I have to leave for the night, but I’ll be back in the morning. Get new cups of water. Take off his watch and glasses. Make sure the table is close enough to his bed, and at the right angle that he won’t tip his water when he reaches for it. Pull all five blankets up over his shoulder. Put a pillow behind his back, and one between his knees. Tuck all the blankets in. Kiss his forehead. Tell him I love you, goodnight. Pause in the doorway and look at him. Say a quiet wish that tomorrow will be better. Close the door with two inches to spare.
I had many of those days between December 30 and June 1. Never knowing which day might be the day they stop. Always hoping that, despite the visible changes, that he would get home. Back to the place where he spent all 74 years of his life, and most of mine.
Dad was with me for 14,750 days. Not one of those days did I take that for granted. I was so fortunate to be raised by such a gentle and kind human being – one who loved getting cards for his birthday, Father’s Day and Christmas. One who always told me, “you know just what to say.”
What do I say now, Dad? You were taken from me too soon. There is so much you had left to show me. There was so much I had to show you – to show you how strong you made your daughter. How much she could accomplish because YOU loved her, trusted her, and made her believe she was capable of anything.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. My first without you.
Love,
Mandy Joy
Colour of Outdoors by Mandy Ford 