The_Animal

Thanks, Marty, it's been a while since I poked my nose in here. Been busy... And recovering. I'm taking joy in the days...rather than remembering the pain of those days just after his passing. But there are still times when the old hurt comes back and that's usually on Dad's birthday and the anniversary of his passing.

Well, a 45th birthday rolled around today. I spent it with my wife and daughter out at Bear Creek Park and took some photographs (the one below). The sons decided to go to Grandma's (she lives a block and a half away). My daughter is the grandchild my dad never got to see... And she's growing up to be a beautiful young girl. Hard to believe that she's almost five (She was born July 21, 2010 - eight months after my Dad passed away - he'd always said that he wanted a grand-daughter).

Storm is almost five (next month). And my oldest son (*gasp* a teenager) plays hockey. Thinking back to how my Dad started off my son's love of skating by taking him to the rink, and now that task transferred to me. My Dad got to spend a lot of time with Chris in his early years and Chris still remembers Grandpa fondly. (Chris #20 (middle) scores a goal against Abbotsford). I take pictures of Chris playing hockey nowadays and fondly wish that my dad could be there to see how much Chris has progressed (He's now going for rep tryouts this fall). It's hard to believe that it's been five years (going on 6 this December) already since Dad (Chris', Cameron's and Storm's Grandpa) passed away. I still work from home as photographer, but I now do a lot of "hockey" photography. I guess life does go on...but it took a good long while to get back on an even keel and a lot of soul-searching, but I feel like I've gotten past the log-jam of grief and am starting to remember the good-times without the lump in the throat choking up my ability to talk. Although I still find myself wishing that I could confide in him one more time...

I still think that Sam was taken because his death would prepare me for the loss of my father not more than two weeks later. Sam passed away on November 28th, 2009, my father passed away December 16, 2009. I keep thinking that maybe there was a reason. http://maniacwcamera.blogspot.com/2009/11/celebration-of-sams-life.html Sam was my beloved cat.

It doesn't seem like the loss of my father will ever heal. Every day there are reminders of how important he was to me. Every day, there seems to be triggers that initiate a paroxysm of grief (not really outwardly seen, but an inner earthquake of grief), whether it be a memory of things that we did together, that we no longer have the chance to do. Or whether it is sadness at things that he no longer has the chance to do, like hold his only granddaughter; one that he said that he wanted. Storm will never have the opportunity to know her Grandfather except by word of mouth from her two oldest brothers and myself. Even Jamie never really got the chance to know his grandpa either since he was only 8 1/2 months old when my father passed away. The two oldest were actually the only two who got a chance to really spend some quality time with their grandpa. For me, all the times that I spent with my dad during my younger years; the weekends where he and I would go gardening together (he had a contract gardening business on the side where he'd go around to different customers and do the lawns and gardens (trimming, fertilizing, edging...and other things)). It may have been laborious work, but it was also meaningful in that he and I were able to spend time together. I remember when I went into college music and he joined the community chorus just so we could share the opportunity of actually being able to do something together in our shared passion of music. My father sung with the Vancouver Bach Choir, the professional chorus during the 60s (before I was born) and he loved and cherished the opportunity to sing with me in the Douglas College Choral Society and Community Chorus. We did some wonderful pieces that year and the most fun times that my father and I had were driving home from rehearsals (Monday nights), singing all the way home from New Westminster to Maple Ridge. I remember that he used to take me to the Abbotsford International Airshow, many times during the 80s. No matter how much he protested saying that "Hmmmph...all these things just warplanes...not good..." he would never fail to take me, because he knew that brought me enjoyment and that's what counted to him. I think the first time I drive to the Abbotsford Airshow since his passing with my sons and daughter (when the youngest are old enough to appreciate the airshow for what it is and not get frightened by the noise) and my wife, I probably am going to have a lump in my throat from the memories of the times that my father and I spent at the Airshow. Above all, I remember the pride that my father had in me when I started showing promise (late in life) in photography. For the longest time, he never knew what it was that I was good at. In music, I felt like a square peg in a round hole. There was always someone with perfect pitch or with a more innate understanding of music. There was a sense of inadequacy. Sure I could sing well, but there really was nothing more to it. I can understand the frustration of my teachers: John Glofcheskie, Dr. Kevin Barrington-Foote, and Tatsuo Hoshina, because I just would not take music seriously and part of it was my failure to understand the basic tenets of music. It was not something that came naturally to me. Photography on the other hand, I seem to be able to pick up concepts and I study it with the fervor that was missing to me in the study of music. I only have memories now of my father and how good he really was to me. I see the love for me in his eyes in the images of him holding me as an infant. What is sad is that there are no other pictures of me with him alone, other than those infant pictures and then me alone with him on the ferry as a man, during the time when we both took our wives to Victoria and our mutual friend Worapol Taksinrote took a picture of me alone with my Dad. There never were really a whole bunch of pictures taken of me with my dad, so all I have is memories. I just wish that there comes a time when those memories won't cause tears but will bring in their place, smiles. But for now, even 7 and a half months down the road, the pain of losing him is just too raw.

She was born July 21, 2010, thus making her my father's first grand-daughter and the one he'll never be able to hold. So there was a bit of bittersweetness in that day. We (my wife, Storm and I)stopped by my father's grave to introduce her to my father (it was a cloudy afternoon and the sun was obscured for most of the day of her release from the hospital) and lo and behold, the sun came out to shine over us as I placed the car-seat beside my father's final resting place. So in some respects, I think he knew. This was the photo I took of Storm (her first pro-portrait sitting) just minutes after she was born, weighed and bundled up to be handed over to her adoring Mommy.

When I got married in 2000, my parents weren't there. The reason behind this was the fact that my mother and my wife just could not get along. Certainly there were other things behind that, but in order to heal, I've had to put them in the past. My father and I were stuck in the middle of two warring factions, each one thinking that they were in the right. And my father and I had to choose sides. And choose we did. My father chose my mother's side; as she was his life. They had been married for over 40 years and one would expect him to choose his wife's side. Likewise, I chose the side that I felt understood me and what I had gone through. Years of being subordinated by my mother to college students that had no familial relationships; (they were placed on a pedestal; I was the son that could do no right); a feeling of self-worthlessness, and that made up for a bitter cocktail that set me up against my blood-family. In anger and in bitterness against my blood family, I chose to stand by my wife. When I was in my 20s and single, I couldn't relate to my father as I wasn't a married man and I didn't feel like I was completely grown up. When I had gotten married in my 30s, he and I would have been on equal footing, a meeting of equal minds. I had hoped that in my marriage that my father and I could look upon our wives as our loving spouses and be "one happy family". But it wasn't to be. Put it plainly and simply, I feel robbed. I feel robbed of my time with my father. I feel robbed that I couldn't spend time with my father in any shape or form as married men; that we (the two of us couldn't go out to a coffee-shop, grab a coffee and sit down and talk to each other as men; not as father and son, but as men). We should have been able to have that time together; to see each other as grownups, not as my father viewing me as the child who in his eyes never was able to grow up. As men, our roles are to take control of the family; to guide the family in a direction meant to bring prosperity and a secure home. Our goal is to bring family harmony to the hearth. And if that means telling your spouse that in no way shape or form that you are going to condone family disunity, then that is something that we should have done in the first place. As men, it was our role to step in and say to our wives. "That's enough...this stops NOW!" We both failed to do so and in that regards, we were robbed of our (my father's and mine) time together. And now my father isn't here anymore for us to be able to have that time together. So think on this. Is petty family squabbling worth squandering precious moments together? Is a few moments of satisfaction of "one-upman-ship" worth a lifetime of pain. Think of that the next time that you feel that your mother or daughter-in-law is the face of evil. I'd give anything to have that time with my dad; the rapport that he and I would have as married men; as equals, but I know that I never will now. And I feel robbed.

niamh, I'd like to think the song was a beautiful moment of rapport with your dad. Sometimes when I wanted to be cheeky, I referred to my dad as "my Old Man". Being old-world Japanese, he always thought I was a smart-@$$. Let me tell you what my dad does. When I'm not shooting portraiture photography for other people. I like to go birding. And in the past 6 months after his death, I've seen more bald eagles than I ever have in all the years that I spent with him. I like to think that he keeps sending me those birds as a sign that he's saying "Hey, I'm still around. I'll always be watching over you." And I think that's what your dad's doing with the song...playing at just that moment.

Marty, I made a memorial blog for my father...recently...as I have a tough time expressing my thoughts verbally. So since I have four other blogs (one for scale modeling, 2 for photography and 1 for just every day musings; my dad's memorial blog makes blog #5 - so I guess you could call me a prolific blogger). http://www.yasutsuguchikamori.blogspot.com It contains some of the memorial photography that I did; since I'm a photographer, I also like photos along with my text.

Chai, Understandable... I seemed to be locked into a cycle of anger. When I hear people whining about petty things like they lost their job...and are having to find another one or they didn't get the raise they wanted; I just seem to see red and have to nearly staple my mouth shut to keep from saying "Look, things could be worse for you...YOU COULD BE DEAD! So SHUT YOUR MOUTH, QUIT WHINING...and go find yourself another job or work harder for that raise!!!" Maybe I'm not too sympathetic, but that's the way my father's death has affected me.

I hate to say this but Kubler-Ross was full of brown smelly organic matter in terms of stages of grief. I just hit the six month marker and I still have to say the pain is still as fresh as it was the day my dad died. Sure, I get up in the morning, do my chores, get my kids to school...go out and earn the bacon...or try to (I'm a photographer; photographing happy families...who still have their dad or granddad...etc etc...) and function on what most people would say would be a normal level. Inside, I'm still torn up emotionally. Some people start using comparisons of how much the death of their spouse means more than the death of one's parents (Guest_Guest_Vivian's thread - which was the first thread that I saw when I came here after a search on Google - AND it made me SEE RED!) When I was 8 years old, my mother went off the rails emotionally (due to emotional scarring during her internment during the Second World War). My dad and I had to pick up the pieces. He was my emotional rock, because as a child, I couldn't understand what was going on. He became my one stable point in a sea of emotional chaos; he protected me. He tried to do that; all while carrying a job and making sure that our financial needs were met as well. No, I wasn't entirely protected...I still got the fall-out from it when my father was at work though. I had to protect myself then. My mother was suicidal most of the time. She either tried to throw herself down a well or tried to OD on medication. Yet through all of that I somehow managed to try to maintain good grades in school and get through. Yet every day in the back of my mind even after she seemed to get better. "Is this the day she's going to flip her lid?" If there was one constant, it was my dad. He tried to make a life for me. He, above all, tried to hold himself as an example for me. Though the world may crumble around you, you stand strong and do what you have to do to hold back the tide. That's what a man has to do. So as you can see, my dad meant the world to me. And I'm still deeply mired in grief. I prefer to say that the roller coaster metaphor seems to work the most for grief resolution (it is never resolved...it just keeps going around and around...some days are better than others, other days seem like the bottom fell out of your rollercoaster of life...) I'm married to a wonderful spouse...but still, my father was the center of my universe for a long time and his death just ended up sending a 8.0 tremor on the Richter scale through my life. To make a long answer short. NO...six months doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot in a lifetime of grief and remembrance of a loss.

niamh, my dad died at roughly about 6 months ago too. I miss him every day. Some days will always be worse than others. Time "doesn't heal". It's just a pat answer that society has made up to try to assuage the feelings and make those of us who "hurt" go away so that the rest of society can be happy. Nobody understands just how special a bond you had with your father; like you do. And when that bond is severed through death, the pain is excruciating. I had that kind of bond with my own father as well. I said it at my own father's funeral. "A part of me left this earth with you, Dad. Nothing will ever be the same again."

My father had a massive stroke and heart-attack on December 16, 2009. He was gone before he hit the floor. He was taken to St. Paul's Hospital in Vancouver just across Burrard Bridge from where my father lived with my mother in Kitsilano. He was unresponsive to attempts to bring him back and he was put on a ventilator until I could be contacted. I'm not a sociable person at the best of times and some jerk was calling repeatedly (I presume it was some telemarketer and therefore I had turned the ringer off. So my mother went through hell trying to contact me. They finally had to notify Surrey RCMP who came to my door. The doctors tried everything that they could, but they couldn't save him. His body was kept around by the respirator only. I did manage to get there in enough time. I believe that my dad's spirit lingered long enough for me to say good-bye. I could see that he was pretty much gone when I got there. There was I think a little involuntary reflex when I walked in the room but other than that, nothing else. I took the time to tell the doctors who worked on him "Thank you for taking such good care of him." That was the least I could do after they tirelessly worked on him in the emergency room trying to bring him back. I'm not sure he could hear me, but I held his hand and told him "Go...don't be in pain...be at peace..." and "I love you, Dad." On the way to the hospital it was pouring rain. On our way home the sky broke and we had some sun. And on top of it all, we saw an absolutely gorgeous rainbow. I took it to mean that my dad was saying good-bye. I have this feeling in my heart that he probably heard my last words. ------------- 6 months hence and the pain of losing him still seems as raw as it was the day he died. I get up in the morning, I deal with what I have to do (take care of my kids...) but the pain of his loss still lingers. Every thing seems to irritate me. The social mores that go along with grieving; the whole so-called "heirarchy of grief". Half the time, I feel like telling society to "GO TO HELL". When my dad died in December of 2009, there were people who genuinely mourned his passing along with me and then there were others who strove to try to minimize my loss by saying "Well, he had a long life; at least he wasn't murdered or had a long, drawn-out illness or what not...etc, etc. etc..." To the former, I say "Thank you for your concern and patience"; to the latter, I say. "Look, I don't give a **** about the what-ifs and the barbed-platitudes. I just wish I still had my Dad around." I'm tired of seeing a "grief competition" or grief ownership. Why does every loss have to be a competition of who had the greater loss? Why do the victims of violence get to "lord it over those of us who have lost their loved ones by natural causes"? To me it doesn't make a ******* bit of difference. They're ALL dead, they ALL leave behind people who miss them deeply and will never, ever be the same again. "I'm sorry that you hurt but don't minimize my pain either regardless of the circumstances!" I think Pamela Cytrynbaum got it right in her Psychology Today Article: The Heirarchy of Grief - Who Is The Biggest Loser Society has created a "step-ladder" of entitlement to sympathy. In society there seems to be a heirarchy of grief and loss, where those who stand at the pinnacle are the ones who've had loved ones murdered with there being a heirarchy even there. Mothers who have lost children to violent crime stand at the very pinnacle of that heirarchy. Everybody has to bow down to those who have lost their children to a murder as if that epitomizes the very essence of loss and grief. Those who mourn their parents are at the very bottom of the heap. Does that mean we ache less than the mother who lost her child through murder? I don't think so. Why should we be made to feel guilty for our own grief just because the loss of our loved one didn't meet society's criteria for grief...by getting themselves murdered by a criminal? "Well, think of what your mother is going through." Yes, I can and I'm sure she hurts just as much as I do. We lost someone who was very important in our lives. It doesn't matter how, it doesn't matter when. It doesn't matter WHAT AGE...he was. "Be strong for your family and help your mother through this time." Well, buddy, do you not think that having lost my father, that I shouldn't take time to grieve myself. That I should just squelch down my grief and turn around and help someone else because..."my, oh my, her grief is much more than yours..." And people say this without thinking how their words affect other people. It's annoying at least; enraging at worst. So I ask society in general. Why should I minimize my own loss; why should I bow to someone else's loss and forget my own because society says that I should pay more heed to the grief of a widow of a veteran or the surviving families of a murder victim? I feel that everyones' loss is personal and important to their respective families regardless of the circumstances, and telling me to subordinate the loss of my father because so and so's son or daughter was murdered is an insult to my father's memory.