I think of Jamie pretty much any time I watch a show or movie I know he'd be gushing about. Particularly when the cinematography is beautiful, or there's a clever one-liner that would have him guffawing.
There are, of course, tons of things that remind me of my Dad. Sierra Nevada beer; Neil Young; USC Trojan football; trucker hats; Santa Claus. The list goes on and on. Every so often, though, there will be unexpected things that make me think of him. Yesterday, I found myself reminded of my Dad as I shopped the men's occupational/workwear section at Walmart. That's where a lot of his clothes came from since he spent a lot of time on construction sites for his job. So, I didn't expect to be emotional while looking at Dickies in a Walmart at 7:30 a.m. on a weekday, but there I was.
YES to the shows and movies. It always hits me right in the gut when I watch something that Jamie would love. (Which, as you know, happens often!)
And I love that list of things that reminds you of your dad. For me, it's cable-knit sweaters and Old Spice. My dad didn't wear sweaters that much, but the combination of the Old Spice smell, the softness of the sweater, and his big frame made for the best bear hugs ever. I miss those hugs so much.
Katie! This one made me cry. I can feel your heart and your pains on so many levels. The idea that negative self-talk is necessary for improvement is so deeply engrained in the American capitalist ethos that we don't even realize how untrue it is. Kudos for you for coming to that realization, and even more kudos to you for taking an important lesson about self-love out of such a tremendous loss. Thinking of you and your family this week <3
"The idea that negative self-talk is necessary for improvement is so deeply engrained in the American capitalist ethos that we don't even realize how untrue it is."
My dad passed exactly six months ago today. He was a helicopter pilot in Vietnam, so whenever I hear or see a helicopter, I think of him. I wrote about it in this piece I published the week of his passing: https://lyle.substack.com/p/how-to-write-better-stories-in-4. It’s one of my pieces I’m most proud of.
Lyle, this is great. The last rule made me laugh! You have certainly been through a lot! I hope you have been gentle with yourself on the six-month anniversary. It's one of those grief dates that sometimes sneaks up on you without warning.
I had to lighten the mood a bit with the last rule. Thanks for giving it a read.
It's funny you mention the six-month anniversary since it was just yesterday. I'm writing a piece for this week about that and how it's close to my birthday, which is on Saturday when I publish my weekly pieces.
KHG's birthday is at the end of April; my Dad died May 3.
My birthday is November 14; her Dad passed on November 15.
So, weirdly (perhaps fittingly?) the two of us have complicated relationships with each other's birthdays, since they're so close to big grief dates. I oddly kind of love that we share this, though, especially considering how we work on this newsletter together that talks about the many dimensions to grief! Particularly how celebrations of life and death just coexist, sometimes literally from one day to the very next. If that isn't what this newsletter is about, I don't know what is!
I hope you were able to do something to feel close to your father's memory this past week...And I hope that you'll enjoy your upcoming birthday weekend, but knowing that it's okay to feel weird with this first milestone without your Dad. Sending lots of love!
What a beautiful piece, Lyle. Brought tears to my eyes, especially as you recounted the initial aftermath of his passing. My own dad passed away in May 2020 (I shared a piece I wrote about it here on My Sweet Dumb Brain around the one-year anniversary of his death: https://mysweetdumbbrain.substack.com/p/searching-for-pockets-of-air)
Katie - I’m so glad you’ve been able to have so many sides now to misquote Joni Mitchell. I’m sure that wasn’t easy to write and you said it so beautifully. My memory is a song. When I was young a very good friend of our families died in his 40’s of Huntington’s disease. His decline was painful. But he loved UB40 the ska band. He expressly had put in his will that ‘Rat in the Kitchen’ be played at his funeral. Whenever I hear that song, his wit, his joy for life, his generosity, his love of the arts and his gallows humour comes rushing back. I miss you, T.
Hearing the Brahms Clarinet Quintet reminds me of my friend who died last October. A few friends and I played it for her Zoom memorial. Also, fall leaves now remind me of her. It's interesting how associations like those can be both beautiful and poignant, as well as a little bit painful. But as time goes on, I learn more and more to experience these moments as joyful celebrations of her. :)
The small thing of chewing gum reminds me of my grandmother. She used to always keep a bunch of juicy fruit, big red and spearmint gum in a drawer that us kids could raid whenever we wanted to. Now any of those flavors - hell any of those smells - instantly transports me back to her house, watching Golden Girls with her.
I think of Jamie pretty much any time I watch a show or movie I know he'd be gushing about. Particularly when the cinematography is beautiful, or there's a clever one-liner that would have him guffawing.
There are, of course, tons of things that remind me of my Dad. Sierra Nevada beer; Neil Young; USC Trojan football; trucker hats; Santa Claus. The list goes on and on. Every so often, though, there will be unexpected things that make me think of him. Yesterday, I found myself reminded of my Dad as I shopped the men's occupational/workwear section at Walmart. That's where a lot of his clothes came from since he spent a lot of time on construction sites for his job. So, I didn't expect to be emotional while looking at Dickies in a Walmart at 7:30 a.m. on a weekday, but there I was.
YES to the shows and movies. It always hits me right in the gut when I watch something that Jamie would love. (Which, as you know, happens often!)
And I love that list of things that reminds you of your dad. For me, it's cable-knit sweaters and Old Spice. My dad didn't wear sweaters that much, but the combination of the Old Spice smell, the softness of the sweater, and his big frame made for the best bear hugs ever. I miss those hugs so much.
Katie! This one made me cry. I can feel your heart and your pains on so many levels. The idea that negative self-talk is necessary for improvement is so deeply engrained in the American capitalist ethos that we don't even realize how untrue it is. Kudos for you for coming to that realization, and even more kudos to you for taking an important lesson about self-love out of such a tremendous loss. Thinking of you and your family this week <3
Thank you! ❤️❤️❤️
"The idea that negative self-talk is necessary for improvement is so deeply engrained in the American capitalist ethos that we don't even realize how untrue it is."
💯 💯 💯 💯 💯
Thank you.
Great piece, Katie!
My dad passed exactly six months ago today. He was a helicopter pilot in Vietnam, so whenever I hear or see a helicopter, I think of him. I wrote about it in this piece I published the week of his passing: https://lyle.substack.com/p/how-to-write-better-stories-in-4. It’s one of my pieces I’m most proud of.
Lyle, this is great. The last rule made me laugh! You have certainly been through a lot! I hope you have been gentle with yourself on the six-month anniversary. It's one of those grief dates that sometimes sneaks up on you without warning.
I had to lighten the mood a bit with the last rule. Thanks for giving it a read.
It's funny you mention the six-month anniversary since it was just yesterday. I'm writing a piece for this week about that and how it's close to my birthday, which is on Saturday when I publish my weekly pieces.
Here's another weird anniversary/birthday thing.
KHG's birthday is at the end of April; my Dad died May 3.
My birthday is November 14; her Dad passed on November 15.
So, weirdly (perhaps fittingly?) the two of us have complicated relationships with each other's birthdays, since they're so close to big grief dates. I oddly kind of love that we share this, though, especially considering how we work on this newsletter together that talks about the many dimensions to grief! Particularly how celebrations of life and death just coexist, sometimes literally from one day to the very next. If that isn't what this newsletter is about, I don't know what is!
I hope you were able to do something to feel close to your father's memory this past week...And I hope that you'll enjoy your upcoming birthday weekend, but knowing that it's okay to feel weird with this first milestone without your Dad. Sending lots of love!
LMAO, I also just realized my use of semicolons in my reply! Sorry if that makes you cringe ;)
Lol, that’s too funny! Don’t get me wrong, I love a well-placed semicolon. Most people use them wrong, though. You’re good 😊
I appreciate your comment. That’s so interesting how you both have that in common. Life seems to always throw these strange coincidences our way.
What a beautiful piece, Lyle. Brought tears to my eyes, especially as you recounted the initial aftermath of his passing. My own dad passed away in May 2020 (I shared a piece I wrote about it here on My Sweet Dumb Brain around the one-year anniversary of his death: https://mysweetdumbbrain.substack.com/p/searching-for-pockets-of-air)
What a beautifully written piece, Rebecca. Thank you for sharing!
Katie - I’m so glad you’ve been able to have so many sides now to misquote Joni Mitchell. I’m sure that wasn’t easy to write and you said it so beautifully. My memory is a song. When I was young a very good friend of our families died in his 40’s of Huntington’s disease. His decline was painful. But he loved UB40 the ska band. He expressly had put in his will that ‘Rat in the Kitchen’ be played at his funeral. Whenever I hear that song, his wit, his joy for life, his generosity, his love of the arts and his gallows humour comes rushing back. I miss you, T.
I *love* that he put that in his will! What a fun detail. Thank you for sharing.
Hearing the Brahms Clarinet Quintet reminds me of my friend who died last October. A few friends and I played it for her Zoom memorial. Also, fall leaves now remind me of her. It's interesting how associations like those can be both beautiful and poignant, as well as a little bit painful. But as time goes on, I learn more and more to experience these moments as joyful celebrations of her. :)
Yes! Just like once-happy memories can sometimes be sad, once-sad reminders can become happy ones. This is beautiful.
The small thing of chewing gum reminds me of my grandmother. She used to always keep a bunch of juicy fruit, big red and spearmint gum in a drawer that us kids could raid whenever we wanted to. Now any of those flavors - hell any of those smells - instantly transports me back to her house, watching Golden Girls with her.
That's so evocative! I feel like I can just smell those flavors as I read your comment.
I love that! What a lovely memory.