The Fear of Forgetting

So there have been days now when I forget about my Dad completely; I forget he lived, I forget how he was sick, and I forget that he passed away. He's a memory, and memories can easily be forgotten. But how morbid and scary is that? The man who helped raise me, the man I called my best friend for 20 years... now just a memory.

Then all of sudden I remember, and all of the grief and sadness that I once experienced creeps back into my life. What sucks is that I can't plan these "visits," or "dreams." He literally re-enters my thoughts and I have no control over when, where, or how he gets there.

Since I've been in California I've talked about him a lot, but again I feel detached. It's like he is a childhood friend, or a main character in the book that is my life, not the kind soul that I know he was. People respond with grief and looks of remorse, which all in all just makes me feel uncomfortable because they seem more effected by it than me.

Like I said before, my Dad visits at the most random of times. His last visit was Wednesday, January 20. It was 7:40 in the morning and I was in my first class of the day. All of a sudden I felt his presence and my brain instantly turned to mush. I stepped out of the room and tears started pouring down my face, I felt all sorts of emotions, the most powerful being guilt.

It had been weeks since I had felt my father with me, not even over the holidays had I sensed any sort of presence. This particular instance is what reassured me that he is not just a memory, he is a part of me. We all have parts of ourselves that we suppress at times whether we are aware of it or not. You can't lose a part of who you are, because without that part you wouldn't be you (does that even make sense)?

There are many different experiences, interactions, and people that helped shape me into the woman that I am today... and Andy Bloomingdale is one big part of that.

Happy 23rd

Let me take a minute to talk about my brother. For those of you that do not know, he is a Halloween baby meaning that this holiday has always been associated with his birthday. How could I not be jealous? Candy AND birthday cake...Lucky!

So what do I get the guy that has everything? His passions are watches and cars but something tells me if I got him a watch he would laugh because it wouldn't be up to his standards, and I'm not about to buy him a car. Then it hit me, instead of getting him a tangible gift, I'll just get all sappy and brag about him to the world!

When people think of Aj they think of someone who is successful, put together, confident, and a gentleman. While yes all of these characteristics are true, he is so much more than that. Aj is the kind of guy that would take a bullet for anybody, and I use the term 'anybody' because he really would. He genuinely cares about people and getting to know them. Not everyone sees this side of him though because he tends to spend most of his time with a close-knit group of people as opposed to a large crowd. 

Aj is also one of the hardest working people I know. This wasn't always the case, in fact I remember when we were little my mom and him would have a constant battle at getting him to do homework. Now though, he's a beast. He takes a challenge head on and will work his ass off until it's done perfectly. He's also a people-person, he makes an impression on every single person he meets. His ability to spark a conversation with anybody and with such ease is actually amazing to watch. He never gets awkward and weird like me. 

He is also one of my best friends, probably my best friend for that matter. He knows how to talk me down when I get emotional, be goofy with me when I'm feeling goofy, and be my voice of reason when I'm acting ridiculous. Yes, we are two completely different people and sometimes I wonder how we came from the same set of parents, but somehow it works. Our family has been through a lot of ups and downs, but Aj has always been that constant support through it all. Even when we were little and my dad would have a seizure when we were home alone, he always took control and made sure I was okay. Even though the role of who was in charge of the medical stuff changed over the years, he would always ask how I was doing after I would change one of my dads bandages or after I gave him his medicine through his IV. He was supportive, and he still is. 

Aj, you are one amazing man who is going to accomplish some big things in your life, I can't wait to see what the future holds for you. Even though you changed your mind and stole my dream of having a lake house in Vermont, I'm not upset because that means that we don't have to live on opposite sides of the country anymore. I can see it now... Mippington and Aje Bear... Neighbors? 

So I hope this post will suffice for your birthday and I promise, I'll try to think of something better for Christmas!

What a guy!

So my dad had a pretty messed up childhood, filled with both abuse and neglect. His biological and step father were sadistic men with their own twisted sense of parenthood. Although their styles of "parenting" were different from one another, it is the combination of both of them together that fucked him up. 

His mother was pretty helpless. Obviously, she was dreadful when it came to choosing men. She also took much of this abuse from them which left her without a voice to defend my dad. In fact, he was the one that protected her. He had to grow up at a very young age, while still trying to act his own age; this lead to the sneaky, lying, manipulative, and angry side of my father that my family often dealt with. 

Growing up he was in and out of numerous boarding schools, getting kicked out for a number of things. But at one very small prep school in Maine he met someone, a very special woman. Although he was expelled from Hebron and he always complained about how horrible it was I know he wouldn't have traded it for anything. When he left Hebron he also cut ties with all of the people that he met there.

But then a miracle happened and my dad reconnected with that special woman I mentioned before, that lady is my mom. Even though they only dated for a few months and had a quick four day engagement, their marriage was based on love, and that's the most important thing. I can honestly say that without my mom, my dad might have never moved on from his past. She made him find a new purpose in life and allowed him to become the father that he never had. 

He had a career. He was a chef that worked at restaurants all around the world, and studied at some of the best culinary institutes. My dad was involved in our lives, and he worked hard to provide for us. I personally never would have expected him to have lived such a shitty life, because the Andy Bloomingdale that I knew was one giant teddy bear that cared for his family.

But in March of 2001 his mom passed away in a plane crash off the coast of Iceland. She was the pilot alongside her partner (she came out of the closet later on in my dad's life, sorry I forgot to mention that). Soon after that he got diagnosed with both Hepatitis C and Type 2 Diabetes, this is not a pair of diseases that should be combined. Over time these illnesses were no longer a characteristic of my father, it became who he was. He allowed the diseases to define him, he gave up.

My mom, brother, and myself all took this in a different way. Since I do not feel like I can speak for my family about this topic I'll just mention my take on the whole thing:

I hated that he gave up, but I also get it. He had a horrible upbringing that he somehow managed to break free from. He turned his life around into something to be proud of, he became the father that he never had. I was a daddy's girl, and I'll admit it. I know he spoiled me, I was his little Mippington, and he was my buddy. I know that he was not the most responsible of parents out there, in fact he was more like one big kid, but I loved that about him. He also had the biggest heart, he was genuine and cared for everyone. He was passionate, and when he found something that interested him he would become fully devoted. What a guy!

Andy Butter Bloomingdale Sr. was a man who could have allowed his childhood to define him, but he didn't, and that's kinda cool.

Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

So much has happened that I want to tell you. It has been 389 days since you left this world which is one giant mind boggle because some days I feel like you are still here. I call you sometimes, expecting that you will be there to pick up and it's not until I get sent to voicemail that reality kicks in, and I know you are not there to answer. That's one of the hardest adjustments to the whole dead dad thing. So many of our conversations and memories that I look back at took place on the phone at random hours of the day. You were the person I would call when anything happened to me, whether it be positive or not. Not having that anymore makes me cringe. Sometimes, when I'm not in public, I do pretend to call you though. I talk to you, and I really hope you are out there listening because if not I would just feel like a crazy person!

And then there are times when I feel like you're doing the same to me. You've been in some of my dreams and I can't help but feel you are trying to tell me something. A wise woman once told me "If you are aware that they are passed in the dream then it is a visit, if you are unaware however, it is just a memory." When I wake up in the morning I feel whole again, like the part of me that was missing is finally back in place. You and mom made me who I am today; you accepted all of my weirdness and loved me for who I was. I was not only myself with you, I was my best self with you. You taught me so many things that I'm grateful for; cooking, humor, and generosity are just some examples.

There is one memory I always look back on. We were driving around Vermont for my parents weekend freshman year in the G Wagon. The leaves were changing, Jimmy Buffet was on the radio, and the weather was perfect. You wouldn't let me put on the GPS because "you're always right and never get lost." We ended up in Stowe for brunch (our favorite meal) at McCarthy's Diner, you had your Eggs Benedict and I had my omelet. I didn't know it at the time, but that was our last brunch together. As we hit the road again we drove past a random ski lift that was running. You pulled over, got out of the car, and started walking over to it. I thought you were crazy but I followed you anyways... (This was usually the case whenever we would go out in public). We rode up the mountain in silence, sitting side by side admiring the view. I didn't want to go to school in Vermont, but you made me look at schools here anyway, and I'm so glad you did. Because if it weren't for you pushing me,  we never would have shared this moment. When I meditate and try to find my happy place I always end up back on that chair lift, except this time it's not only with my dad, it's with my guardian angel.

I miss you like crazy Dad, but I'm doing okay. Aj is taking over as the protective man in my life and I must say, he's doing a very good job! Mom's trudging through life being the superstar that she is. Seriously though, I don't know how she does it. Even though none of us are the same as we were when you were here, I can promise you this... You will never be forgotten. You have changed all of us. You came so far in your life, from your shitty childhood to the chef, car enthusiast, watch collector, goof-ball, friend, husband, and father that we all love so much. I look at your strength and know that no matter how hard my day may seem, knowing the journey you went through to where you ended up inspires me to push through it. Thank you for continuing to be my rock, and for always being there when I need a shoulder squeeze.

Love you,
Your Daughter
Mippington

8.30.15

Let me start off by saying that this is officially my tenth attempt at writing this post, and even now I don't know if it's perfect, or if it will even make sense for that matter.

Last Sunday, August 30, was officially the one year mark of my father's death. It was also the day I turned 21, as well as the day I moved into my Junior year of college. All of these would be emotional mile markers in one way or another, but when you combine them they all change meaning. In fact, I had no emotion the whole day. I couldn't push myself to be happy, it felt forced and inappropriate. But I also wasn't sad, I didn't cry once. I cry all the time at the littlest of things, so how come on what should have been the most emotional day of my life I couldn't get myself to cry? It felt like the right thing to do, but I couldn't even do that right.

I also realize that to all of you as readers, I sound kind of annoying and like I'm complaining; that is not the purpose of this post at all. In all honesty, I asked my dad to die on my birthday. As I've mentioned before, I think the most important days on the souls journey is the day that we enter this life and the day that we move onto the next one, and I am so grateful to share that with my dad. I just figured after a year I would have figured out what I would have wanted to do to commemorate that. Then the day arrives and my mind went blank. 

You know who I felt sorry for? My friends. They had no idea how to react towards the day. I could tell that they were all looking at me funny, and trying to filter everything, afraid that they might say something to upset me. And then, on top of that, my twisted humor started to kick in. For instance I would say, "Will one of you grab my phone charger, my dad is dead and it's my birthday." or "Hey mom, please don't die today, I already lost one parent on my birthday." I know, I know, it's really messed up but it was the only way I could acknowledge what was really going on. 

And then, 8:30pm rolls around. I am in my friends apartment listening to music when the one and only Wildflowers, by Tom Petty starts playing. For those of you that don't know, my dad and I decided my freshman year when we were on one of our drives that this was the song we were going to dance to at my wedding one day. I teared up a little bit, not because I was sad or anything, but because I think it was exactly what I had been waiting for all day. I didn't know if this was some sign that he was there with me, or if it was just a song that would trigger my emotions. But, sitting around the living room with my friends in silence, listening to the lyrics, and remembering a certain car ride I had with my dad was the best way I could have imagined to spend my birthday.  

Ink.

Tattoos are a touchy subject for my family; not only were they the reason my Dad got sick in the first place, but they also caused some heated arguments between my parents. 

When my dad was 17 he got his first tattoo, it was a Tasmanian Devil on his right calf muscle. It sounds weird I know, but for some reason he loved the Looney Tunes so much that he proceeded to get all of them tattooed on his bum later on in life. He also had a tiger on his back, a sleeve with a variety of symbolic meanings, various car logos, and of course, the Buddha on his stomach. 

That tattoo he got when he was seventeen was the reason Hepatitis C came into my family. Even though he never could have predicted the disease, I would like to think that getting that ink etched into his skin was his biggest mistake. The thing with Hep C is that it doesn't fully come into effect until years after you have been infected, therefore doctors didn't discover his illness until after my brother and I had grown up. 

He tried to rid his mistake by getting the Tazmanian Devil removed and covered with something he loved, a cheeseburger. Again, it's weird but it made sense to him. Although the scar was covered, the disease was very much alive, and as time went on, the effect of it started to get worse and worse. 

He loved tattoos, but my mom hated them. I understand both sides though. He loved the self expression aspect, she hated the look of them. He loved the meaning behind them, and she hated what they put my family through. It's easy to blame a patch of ink on the skin for everything, but when it comes down to it, knowing what I know now, I wouldn't change a thing. 

I don't hate tattoos, I just hate what they put my family through. He got his years ago prior to sanitation regulations being enforced. 

The Hep C taught my mom and patience, and how to care for someone no matter the circumstances. It taught my brother hard work and never allowing an illness to slow you down. And it taught me that wherever I am in life, family comes first. Together we can make it through any situation, no matter how horrible it may seem at the time.

Rotary, oh Rotary.

What a difference a year can make. At this time last year I had finished up Staff Training week at camp. I was feeling torn not just on where I should spend my summer, but also on what my priorities should be. Should I stay at camp, not knowing if I could push my own issues aside in order to be the role model I am supposed to be as a camp counselor, or should I stay at home and take care of my Dad?

I decided to stay at camp because I thought it would be the perfect distraction. It did prove to be the distraction I needed at the beginning, but summer would soon come to an end and so would my father's life. I was able to leave camp when I needed to visit him in the hospital, or just be home with my mom for emotional support. It sucked though, never feeling like I was completely settled in one place. When I was home I wanted to be at camp, and when I was at camp I wanted to be home.

The hardest part of being away from home were the phone calls. My dad would call me in the middle of the night; tears, regret, and disappointment in his voice made for long nights without very much sleep, and days filled with exhaustion. He would make me feel guilty for being at camp as opposed to being home with him, and that guilt ate away at me every day. My mom and I made a promise when I was younger that no matter where I was, or what time of the day it was, that she would call me if anything went wrong, and a lot went wrong. Therefore, lots of calls were filled with medical talk, anger, and fatigue, and not very many were  joyful.

It wasn't all bad though, I had some great people supporting me. My co-counselor was fabulous and was able to read my emotions before I could even comprehend what they were. My campers always put a smile on my face no matter how depressing my days were. And my family was there to talk to when I needed someone that could understand the pressure that I was feeling. Camp Rotary isn't just a place, it is a home, and what a big family I have there.

This past week we had a training exercise where we went around and said what camp meant to us, and one of my co workers put it perfectly; "Camp is a place where you can go to spend time with 250 of your best friends, and no matter how old that friend may be, whether they are 7 or 27, they will impact your life and teach you life long lessons that will better you as a person." I learned more last summer than I had ever learned in any class I have ever taken. I learned that it is okay to show my emotions no matter what they may be, it is okay to ask for help, and no matter what, it is okay to fail. There were some situations where I wasn't in the right emotional state to handle them, and I couldn't reach every camper, but I everyday I gave it my best and I think in the end I did a darn good job.

My dad died exactly one week after camp ended. That week was weird, uncomfortable, and overall a blur. But the last words he said to me, even though they were slurred they were powerful as he said, "I love you."

I love you too, dad.