My year of marriage to you has been the most beautiful of my entire life.  It has, for me, been a year of growing up in understanding, compassion, knowledge and love for you.  I know I have a lot more growing up to do-- but with you by my side, I hope, I know, I will always try to be a better wife and friend in the many years ahead.

Lynnie

(6/26/71)

Unfortunately, no poet or philosopher has ever lived who was able to articulate the love I feel for you on our 1^st anniversary.  In other words, this card can never come close Linda, to stating the feelings and thoughts I have for and about you as my friend and wife.  I sincerely hope that our conversations with and our trust for one another will never cease.

Love—

David

(6/26/71)

In the five year period that we have known each other many beautiful and exciting experiences have come to us.  The trust and patience that you have shown to me are feelings I will always treasure.  We have broken down walls of misunderstanding and ironed out differences with compassion for each other and tears of love.  Hundreds of moments whirl through my mind as I sit here picturing your birthday and they culminate in a very pleasant story of our first few years together.

Always trust and love the way you do now, Linda, and your birthdays will continue to be memorable events.

As always my thoughts are of you,

 David

(2/9/73)

Two years of marriage to you, David, have been filled with moments not soon forgotten.  Many of which were happy; and a few not so… but most of all I look back on these two years as growing times… times when the two of us grew so close in our love and friendship for each other, that I was sure that nothing or no one was essential but you and I.  

Times of watching you ache with the pain of losing a loved one, of wanting to help you, of failing at it, of talking, and of finally understanding a deep, inner part of you never before known to me.  

Times of seeing you reach out for others, new experiences and new sites; fearing within myself that I was losing a part of our love, talking with you, balking at your thoughts, but with time and tears trying again to understand and know a side of you previously unseen. 

Two years of marriage to you, David, a time for me of joy and sadness, understanding and confusion, jealousy and love.

All growing feelings which I hope will continue, as long as we are together, to bring me closer to your mind and heart.

Your Linda

Linda—

To recount all of the outstanding experiences of the last two years is a pleasure I relish often but at this moment I can only think of Monday, June 26^th, 1972--- and think of what an incredibly beautiful day it is.

Thank you Linda for being right here and for trying so hard to understand and love me.

As always,

David

As I scavenged further for more memories & evidence of their passionate love of one another, it struck me as violently as a lightning rod the other reason why it pained my dad so overwhelmingly to be called David in the years following my mom’s awful, tragic death-- she referred to him almost exclusively as David throughout all of their correspondence.  Now I know… now I see with pristine clarity… there were in fact two women for whom he felt boundless love, respect, and adoration who called him David:  my mom and my Grandma Zeigen.  ‘David’ was reserved for them and them alone.  To the rest of the world he was dad or Dave, but never David.  The night my mom was killed must have been the most hideously unimaginable, earth-shattering, horrifying, and torturous night of my dad’s existence.  As hard as I have tried all of my life, I can never fathom the insanity or terror of how she died.  They both knew long before that wretched night that my dad had Multiple Sclerosis.  For better or worse they were committed & resolutely determined to proceed through the peaks and valleys of life together, hand in hand.  But everything was cut short in a matter of seconds, moments, minutes.  They were holding hands when she was killed.  My dad would later recall to me how his shoulder was smashed by the car as it flew by, stealing her life away upon impact.  How did he survive it?  How did he ever make sense of the world after she was gone?  How did the anger, sorrow, grief and despair not swallow him up entirely?  Quite simply, he was a parent.  He knew that my mom was counting on him to go home and be the best dad possible regardless of having just witnessed such a monstrous, inexplicable loss.  She knew he could & would make it… that he’d carry her always and serve as the bridge to her memory. 

June 19^th, 2005 Father’s Day

I’m so incredibly proud of you that I’m virtually without words to truly articulate how amazing you are!  You’ve worked tirelessly and utterly blow me away each and every single day.  I love you so much; I could never love anyone as much as I love you.  You’ve dedicated your life to me and for that I will always be the luckiest daughter on the planet.  Our relationship is my touchstone in this life.  I know no matter what you’ll always be there for me just like you have been for the past 23 years.  I couldn’t, in a billion years, ask or hope or wish for a more impressive father than you.  You inspire me every day and I love you with all of my heart.  I am who I am because of you.  I love you!  Thank you for being my dad!  Thank you for being my guide, my friend, my cheerleader, the keeper of mom’s memory.  Thank you for always reminding me that I can be whomever & whatever I want regardless of circumstance.  Happy Father’s Day!

Love,

Kailin

I just called to say I love you, I just called to say how much I care…  That’s the song, I used to call, uh, from work and sing to your mom.  My (giggle) voice isn’t so good anymore, but my voice wasn’t very good back then… but I just called to say I love you.  I hope your day is going fine, sweetheart.  I love you.

Dear Dad—

Roughly this time last year I had just reached the extremely difficult decision to resign from my job.  In the aftermath of that choice I have struggled & stumbled considerably through both lightness & darkness.  Irrefutably, this time of year triggers an unstoppable, all-consuming hunger for comfort and consistency from my surroundings.  A yearning to be seen, heard, held, understood and nurtured.  When left alone my mind automatically replays the final hours of your life. Poisonous memories pump through my veins. In a matter of seconds my body finds itself back on one end of a seesaw being violently thrown up and down for thirty-six hours of uncertainty until the point of no return.  I was told, “He’s doing better.”  They reassured me that, “His fever is down.”  But then doubt and defeat reared their ugly heads, “He needs help breathing, but not in a manner which would be against his wishes.  We’re not sure he’s going to recover.  The fever is not responding to treatment.” And then my worst fear finally found me, “It’s time to discuss how to make him most comfortable.  The blood is too toxic and he has a DNR, which you co-signed… as his durable power of attorney, the remaining decisions are yours to make.”  Those words still provoke episodes of cold, nightmarish sweats to occur in the middle of the night.  Out of an inexhaustible need for you to go in peace I consciously chose to save all of my crazy, angry, shocked, devastated emotions for a later time.  You needed me to peacefully & lovingly hold your hand… which I did for hours while leaning onto the bed, staring deeply into the teeny tiny slivers of your eyes which managed to stay open despite the powerful morphine dripping steadily into your system.  I prayed & pleaded in hopes that you could see my eyes, feel the squeeze of my hand, or at the very least detect my presence.  What came next?  Playing as many of your favorite Rolling Stones songs as possible before switching over to Neil Young’s poignant and arresting lullaby, Harvest Moon.  Shortly after the conclusion of that song you took your final breaths.  Within seconds your skin shifted in tone; pale and lifeless.  The tips of your fingers turned blue.  Sobs of utter disbelief ambushed me while my insides screamed with horror.  Will helped to clip off a lock of your hair.  There were papers to be signed.  After all of that… I wasn’t aware of what to do or say, or even how to exit the room.  In time I begrudgingly accepted that I had to leave you… leave your body, alone in the hospital.  Historically I’d gone home from the hospital without you many times but on this night the universe had betrayed me.  You departed from this life so as to reunite your heart & spirit with mom’s… “Kailin, I miss your mom every day and night.  I talk to her, dream of her and can’t wait to get back to her someday.”

With time comes perspective.  When I go on walks now, or visit any variety of sacred places the two of us shared as a source of peace over the years I try to pay immaculate attention to absolutely everything.  All of the smells, sights and sounds somehow feel brand new & unquestionably intoxicating.  The warmth of the sun, a refreshing breeze, birds singing, flowers waving ‘hello’, trees swaying, water glistening, mesmerizing cloud formations, cool raindrops.  I breathe it all in, stop briefly to close my eyes, smile and/or cry, think of you, then move forward.  Baby-steps.  As you eventually became more physically confined to a wheelchair you seemingly burst wide open in awareness of life’s hidden treasures.  My focus was always sharply fixed on you because to me you were the magic, the beauty, the miracle of my life.  In your absence it’s almost as though you’re now literally realigning my essence towards a new light… your light… making it possible to look through the ‘Dad/Dave’ lens of life.  A heart wrenching truth which plays over and over in my mind is this:  perhaps your death is meant to encourage a rebirth of my own existence.  Writing those words brings painful, stinging tears to my eyes because how can that be possible?  How can losing you, losing mom, be a part of my destiny, my road to travel?  I dunno.  What I do know is that I miss you.  I miss your laugh, your hugs, your advice, your routines, picking up your iced tall quad shot latte, your shaky singing voice which always kind of sounded a little like Bob Dylan, your humor, your stories & memories.  I miss the way you’d have these mammoth sneezing fits which lasted for a solid twenty or more sneezes in a row and how you’d end up swearing like a pirate in between or mid sneeze.  Those were hysterical!  I miss how gracefully you declared your faith and pride in me.  I miss your confidence, your patience, your calming nature.  I miss brushing your hair, laughing at each other’s jokes, watching you win at physical therapy… I miss going to the movies together… I miss the way your face would light up and beam each time Will & I stopped over for a visit.  I miss our house.  I miss our furniture.  I miss being your caregiver.  I miss being your daughter.  I miss the infinite details of you… because quite sneakily time picks, peels and forces memories to grow hazier and hazier.  I really miss saying the word ‘dad’ because I always felt so privileged that I had a dad, especially since I didn’t have a mom.  I miss you.  Surviving your death is what makes or breaks me.   

My depression, while disturbingly oppressive, chilling and deflating was likely a lesson in disguise.  Now I know not only how to cope while in the midst of it but also, and more importantly, how to recover from it… that I can recover from it.  Moving through depression has proven to be a pivotal part of my growth.  I needed to come undone in order to discover that I can push through.  I can persevere just like you-- my dad.  I am stronger than I ever willingly acknowledge.  Of course we all need some help and guidance along the way.  Luckily, in addition to my phenomenally unshakable husband as well as my therapist, some friends from the past & present emerged just in the nick of time.  Literally.  One former childhood friend in particular gently presented an opportunity to begin exploring Nichiren Buddhism, a practice which has made a profound impact on her life in recent years.  As a result I’ve started attending gatherings, meeting new people, reading all sorts of literature and, rather unexpectedly, discovered both the meditative & healing benefits of chanting.  This same individual even lured me out of the house by suggesting I participate in a fun, playful, challenging weekly hula hoop exercise class with which I have since fallen deeply in love.  The physical exertion reminds my body how disjointed it still is from grief and forces me to actually move outward, stretch, expand and explore the space around me.  I find that there are scarcely words hearty enough to express thanks for such selfless tenderness and humanity….  These welcome additions to my schedule inspired to go one step further.  I sought out a weekly Spanish class for Will and me to tackle with one another at a nearby community college.  We recently concluded level one and happily enrolled for level two which begins this upcoming October.  Minuscule pieces of myself are attempting to ignite in ways that are unfamiliar, scary but at the same time wonderfully exciting.  It’s in me… the ability to keep going is there just below the surface.  I’ve been musing over the reality of how you never ever soured or became bitter even though there were more than enough reasons to legitimately feel downright cranky and petulant.  “I can’t change the cards I’ve been dealt, Kailin.  So what good would it do me to be mad or testy all of the time… it wouldn’t.  You always have to remember that things could be much worse.  The most important thing I’ve learned since losing your mom and in dealing with the MS is to always feel grateful for what I still have.  I’m a pretty lucky guy, my dear.”

Change scares the life out of me.  Fear constantly tries to beat me down & bully me into thinking I am not ready or capable of whatever lies ahead.  Ironically, as your caregiver I excelled at change.  Nothing remained the same for very long with regards to your health.  The MS demanded from us both that immediate adjustments be made all of the time.  A decent number of which were even life threatening.  For whatever reason, those I could handle.  Was is stressful and alarming?  Absolutely.  However, there was a bizarre level of comfort and certainty in the unpredictable nature of your condition.  My instincts, over the course of more than two decades, had intertwined themselves with your needs and well-being.  Amidst the chaos and due to your influence, I found logic and survival skills to help keep us afloat.  Since you’ve been gone my wiring has gotten totally waterlogged.  Parts of me feel like a child all over again.  Back in the summer of 1995 when you first began falling down I recall us sitting on the ground together preparing for how to get back up again.  Typically we would chit chat, laugh, try to lighten the mood, and then you would say to me, “OK Kailin, slow and steady.  Slow and steady my dear.”  Miraculously, between the two of us, we would manage to get you up off of the ground and back in forward motion.  There were a jillion moments, hours, days, weeks, months and years that happened in just that fashion-- insanely bumpy, then slow and steady.  Over the past eleven months, since leaving work, it has been outrageously challenging to generate enough patience with myself as I work at healing, recovering, learning, playing, exploring, grieving, etc.  My caregiver instincts want the world to makes sense again now.  But nothing can or ever will be exactly as it was before.  Seldom if ever does life change or repair with the speed we would prefer.  In fact, change generally insists on more time than humans want to offer or accept.  Immediacy is an unreal expectation.  A tremendous amount has evolved over the past two years since you died.  It feels as though time has actually sped up in your absence, which I find alarming to no end.  What are my plans for the future?  "Slow and steady… slow and steady my dear."  Breathe in and out, look ahead, be optimistic, stay present and embrace limitless compassion towards my healing heart.