I am writing to everyone and no one. I want to write this for myself. On the other hand, I want to shout my story of Bud to everyone. On the anniversary of his death, it would be easy for me to write all about my pain as I have done in previous posts. But it is not the intensity of my loss that I want the world to know today. I want everyone to know him. Yet, I want to be the keeper of his memories. It was just the two of us for the majority of my childhood. However, for those who came in contact with him, caught a glimpse of what a truly amazing person and father he was.
As I write this, my dad would be appalled. His humility often got in the way. He would want me to write about his granddaughters, abused animals, intolerance, or the paranormal. But, I will save those topics for another time. Today it is about him. I must repeat myself and tell you about Burl Glen Thompson. He was brilliant. A genius. He was curious. He had an extraordinary gentleness. He never said one hurtful word to me. Every time I told him what I wanted to be when I grew up, he would say “you can be whatever you want.”
He was quiet and others may have thought he was stoic, but he felt deeply. He had the compassion of a saint. In my book, he is. As a friend described him “he was as solid as an oak tree. He sat still and took the world in.” He appreciated nature and nature loved him.
He was a stay at home dad. My world was his world. He had physical limitations. Instead, he relied on his mental capabilities. He was slow, but when he had to he moved fast. He never said one bad thing about my mother in front of me. He could have, but he didn’t want to destroy any chance that we could have a relationship. He gave up dreams so that I might get a shot at them.
So today for everyone, I hope I captured some of his life and the legacy he has left behind. I hope you know him now. But for no one but me, I am the blessed keeper of those father daughter memories. He is my dad and that is how it was meant to be.
My family had recently taken a trip to California. I was reveling in a quiet house and having the bed all to myself. It was a bit chilly that night so I had turned on my electric blanket a little to high. I was tossing and turning because I was too hot. I threw off the blanket and sat up to turn the heat down. I looked up and couldn’t believe what I saw. I thought to my self “Am I hallucinating?” “Have I gone completely mad?” I then wondered whether or not I was dreaming. There he was standing at the foot of my bed. He was wearing his faded jeans and plaid shirt with the blue and yellow stripes. He wasn’t wearing his oxygen or as my daughter called it, his tail. It was one thing to see him standing at the foot of my bed but it was another thing to hear him talk. He said to me “Kim, I know you are having a hard time sleeping because you are uncomfortable. I am going to open a window for you to let some cool air in.” He smiled at me and had a genuine concerned look on his face. I have seen that look on his face a million times. When I had any kind of ailment, even a headache, he would have this worried look on his face. I specifically remember that look when I was in labor with my oldest. He always was on a mission to fix whatever problem afflicted me. From my car, to my worries, to broken windows in my house. Even in his death, he is trying to fix things for me. So after he smiled at me, I watched him walk to my window and then he disappeared. I cried outloud “dad, please don’t go.” I sat there and the tears began to roll down my cheek not because I was frightened, but because I had spent a few precious seconds with my dad. After the tears dried up, I went to turn down my electric blanket and well….it had been turned off. I am not going to go as far as saying my father’s ghost came to visit me and adjusted my electric blanket. But regardless of what it was or wasn’t, he still watches over me.
My dad always managed to keep the monsters away. Some of them real and others imagined. I won’t bore you with my fears of vampires and Freddy Krueger. Obviously they don’t exist. Rather I will write of one dark creature that did exist.
This monster’s name was Richard.
He was my mom’s boyfriend for ten plus years. He has other nicknames but they are too vulgar for me to post. He was terribly abusive to my mother and his own children.
The scary thing about him was his tirades were never instigated by an outside source, such as drugs or alcohol. His cruelty existed naturally.
So after spending months living in his hell along with his other captives (my mom and his children), I managed to escape. I was only 8 years old. I had found freedom and had moved in with my dad.
Clyfford Still, "Untitled (Fear)" (1945)
Years went by and my mom would leave Monster every now and then. She would eventually return, and his venom continued to spew.* He made it a point to threaten all of those who he felt were attempting to usurp his power over my mom. He made threatening phone calls to my dad and other family members. Some threats were to beat us all up and other threats were to kill us. He had also threatened to kidnap me and had actually made a physical attempt to do so. I don’t recall the specific details of what really went on. I do, however, remember watching my sweet grandmother cry after speaking to Monster on the phone. God knows what he said to her that day.
Wanting to protect my grandmother and fearing for my safety, my dad and I left grandma’s sanctuary, homeless. That whole summer we lived in either a hotel or in our brown and green station wagon. When the threats died down, we headed north. We pitched our tent in the little town of Yreka, far away from L.A. and from bad memories. He wanted a fresh start for us. He told me he could easily lose me in a big city and preferred a small town so he could keep an eye on me.
Looking back on the events of that summer, I don’t recall one time being afraid of Monster or any other ones for that matter. I always felt safe with my dad. To me he was the strongest man alive. He fought battles that I never knew about until I was much older. He had a way of keeping the scary things of this world at bay.
I wasn’t sheltered but I never lived in fear.
Since that summer, I have come into contact with other types of monsters (luckily, none like Richard (aka “Asshole”)). But it hasn’t been until now that they have found their way in my closet or under my bed. Some are real and some have only been conjured up in my head. My warrior is no longer here to chase them away.
——————————————-
*My mom did eventually escape Monster for good in 1989.
My grief and I have been residing in dark, dark places. I often have wondered whether I will succumb to this abyss or find my way out.
I have lost my faith these past 10 months. Everything I believed has been rattled and tossed about. I have been on a search for answers. My dad always teased me because I was incessant about “why?” I could never just settle for the simple answer. He would say “because” and that just wasn’t good enough for me. It would force us into long discussions that he was never prepared for. But he always gave me an answer that would satisfy me, or at least for a little bit.
Well, I am at it again. Why? Why? Why? Why? He is not here to say, “because, because, because, because.” He cannot give me the answers. I must find them for myself.
I have grown tired of being alone in these dark places. I know that the only thing that is going to help me find my way out will be my faith. There is no human being, alcoholic beverage, sleeping pill, or memory that is going to reach down and bring me back out. For me, it must be God. I want it to be God.
Just in realizing this, I am finding myself looking at a glimmer of light. I am comforted by it. I am seeing what my father saw in me. I am seeing the kind of faith he had. Just a little.
Maybe with my faith, I will not just crawl out of the abyss, but walk out. Finally, with my head held high and my grief at my side rather than on my back, I will become more of the person I was meant to be. Maybe, I will finally be at peace with the simple answer of “because.”
It was a perfect day to take the dogs for a walk. So my parents had Bogie, Lassie, Daphne, and Sally. By the way, those are the names of their greyhounds. Except Daphne. Se is a whippit who wears pajamas.
But me, no! I was walking a cow.
It was brown with a white face. It walked along quietly as we headed down a busy street in hopes to find a grassy area with some shade. My cow was docile. No need to pull on the leash or yell commands such as sit, stay, or lay down. It didn’t leave my side. I observed the stares from passers by, but it didn’t bother me none. I was content with the cow by my side.
Our nice afternoon stroll then takes a turn for the worst. My mother is sitting on the grass with the dogs, and I am sitting next to my cow. I ask my mom, “Hey, where is dad?” I walk up a small hill to look for him. The dogs, the cow, and my mom are in the distance. I cannot see them, but I know they are there. I look for my dad. I am frantic now because he is gone.
My eye catches a police car. I think, “No. That can’t be him.” But my eyes have not deceived me. My dad is being handcuffed by the police. He glances over at me. His expression speaks words that he cannot. He tells me he doesn’t want to leave me. I begin to cry.
The scene then shifts to my parents’ house. I am relieved to see that my dad is home. I am following him from one room to the next. I ask him about his time in jail. He assures me that they ended up taking him to the hospital and fixing him. He tells me that he needed some readjustments and that everything is okay now. I believe him, as I always do.
I know it is so boring to hear other people’s dreams. But this is probably the most significant dream since my father’s death. I could spend pages writing about the many interpretations my husband and I have come up with. But rather than give you the long version, I will give you the short one. In this dream, I was able to be present when he disappeared, he communicated that he didn’t want to leave me, and then he came back readjusted. He reminded me that he was not gone.
Now the cow…I haven’t the faintest idea. In the Hindu religion a cow is sacred for the life it gives through its milk. It is revered, not worshipped. Why was I walking a cow? Does it represent my grief? My faith? Myself? Maybe it means nothing. Sometimes a cow is just a cow.
————————————-
P.S. There’s a great song by Daniel Johnston called “Walking the Cow.” I’m not sure it relates to my dream, but I think it might. Here’s a video of Eddie Vedder singing it. You can hear the original version here.
I have had a few questions for grief.
Why is it that I once was capable, but now I am unable?
I once was independent, now I am smothering others?
I once felt beautiful, I now feel ugly?
I once persevered, I now want to give up?
I once was on the right path, I now feel as if I’ve strayed?
I once felt secure, now I don’t feel safe?
I once was strong, now I am weak?
I once was connected, now I am detached?
Grief did not answer my questions. Instead it shoved my face into a mirror and hollered “Who the hell are you?”
I said “Grief, I don’t know. I am lost. I am nowhere.”
The time has come to find my way back.
How will I ever love myself the way my dad loved me?
Snow can wait
I forgot my mittens
Wipe my nose
Get my new boots on
I get a little warm in my heart
When I think of winter
I put my hand in my father’s glove
I run off
Where the drifts get deeper
Sleeping beauty trips me with a frown
I hear a voice
“You must learn to stand up for yourself
Cause I can’t always be around”
He says
When you gonna make up your mind?
When you gonna love you as much as I do?
When you gonna make up your mind?
Cause things are gonna change so fast.
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I’ll always want you near
You say that things change my dear
Boys get discovered as winter melts
Flowers competing for the sun
Years go by and I’m here still waiting
Withering where some snowman was.
Mirror mirror where’s the crystal palace
But I only can see the myself
Skating around the truth who I am
But I know dad the ice is getting thin
He says
When you gonna make up your mind?
When you gonna love you as much as I do?
When you gonna make up your mind?
Cause things are gonna change so fast.
Hair is grey
And the fires are burning
So many dreams
On the shelf
You say I wanted you to be proud of me
I always wanted that myself
He says
When you gonna make up your mind?
When you gonna love you as much as I do?
When you gonna make up your mind?
Cause things are gonna change so fast.
All the white horses have gone ahead
I tell you that I’ll always want you near
You say that things change
My dear
He would have loved singing “Silent Night” by candlelight at the Christmas Eve service. He would have stood next to me. My mother told me that he liked hearing me sing.
He would have heard me read Twas The Night Before Christmas to his lovely granddaughters.
He would have watched me make a pie. His fears . . . well, he would have kept to himself. He would have told me it was really good even if it tasted like pumpkin flavored cardboard.
He would have sat on the big green recliner and listened to music with my husband. The two of them would have had long conversations about jazz.
My daughters would have brushed his hair, asked him questions, and said, “Grandpa, watch this!”
I would have heard my mom say, “BUUUD!” and then watched him roll his eyes. They would have teased each other like they always did.
I would have sat down with him and we would have talked for hours. We’d cover every topic from religion to politics to Bigfoot to ghosts to his childhood to my childhood.
We would have reminisced of Christmases past.
Christmas morning I would have seen him with a cup of coffee in his hand and heard him say, “Merry Christmas.”
We would have watched the Weather Channel and commented on the barometric pressure wondering what storm was looming over the pacific.
I would have seen the smile on his face as my daughters opened their gifts. He would be gleaming because of the joy written all over their little angelic faces. He would have watched them for hours playing with Barbies. It would have brought him back to a time when I was a young girl.
He would have tried to put together anything that needed assembling. He was a regular McGyver. He would have had so much patience with each little plastic gadget.
He would have reminded me of all the times he caught me red handed peaking under the tree.
He would have opened his box of chocolate covered cherries.
He would have thanked me for the socks and shirt I got him for Christmas.
He would have had the ham instead of the turkey.
He would have told me how sweet and smart his granddaughters are and how he is so proud of them.
I would have seen him physically tired and uncomfortable. He would not have complained.
I would have hugged him and told him all the things I should have said.
I would have had to say goodbye. I would tell him I love him, one more time.
Recent Comments