The Lonely Year (following by the year of shock and panic)

Sometimes, my grief still feels like fear.

The sound of an oxygen machine makes me want to look for him and then…..I cry.

I haven’t gone a day without thinking about my dad, my friend, and the other losses I experienced.

I still have mounds of regret.

I often experience an anger that I cannot label or describe.

It feels like a part of me is missing.

The shock and panic of his death is subsiding but now I am left with missing him so much that my heart sometimes hurt. I mean literally hurts.

I am seeing the impact it has had on my children. My eldest daughter called me from school saying “mommy, I feel like something bad is going to happen, like when grandpa died.”

Spiritually, I am a complete mess.

I still am way more vulnerable than I’d like to admit.

I have had to revisit my past and try to face things that have been frightening.

The lonely year had its share of struggles, but I can’t deny some of the amazing things that have been born from my grief. They say that sometimes death is an end but it can also represent a beginning. A rebirth.

I have comforting dreams of my dad. We hang out and talk. I wake up happy.

A year ago I found out I have a sister and a nephew. When I was convinced my roots were slowly being yanked from me, I was given back roots that are in my blood.

I was on CBS4 news and had the honor of telling the Mile High City about my dad Bud Thompson.

I ran a marathon. 26.2 miles and all the way (blisters, vomit, and head exhaustion) he ran right alone side of me. I proudly held his picture up as I crossed the finish line. My promise was fulfilled.

I have learned more about my dad in his death than I did in his life. I think he meant for it to be that way.

I have the most amazing job now. My co-workers inspire me and believe in me.

I have found myself: going to baseball games, camping, listening to jazz, and drinking coffee every morning. It is true….my dad is a part of me.

I have realized the depth of my mom’s beauty, my husbands love, and how I’d sacrifice anything for my daughters to be happy.

I have solid, loyal, and trustworthy friends. They have been with me in my darkest hours expecting nothing from me. They were just there. Thank God for them.

I am slowly becoming more at peace with myself.

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.

If this was all a dream, I would have never:

Charged after a woman in a hotel hallway

Lost weight and then gained then lost then gained and now lost

Had countless nights of insomnia

Experienced a hiatus in my running

Secretly wished my heart would just stop

Known what it was like to experience pure exhaustion

Lost relationships

Been like a leper to others

Fallen apart over and over again in front my children

Felt like a burden

Filed a lawsuit.

Been in financial distress

Acted like a lunatic

Had four jobs in one year.

Dreaded Christmas, Father’s Day, December 12^th, January 30^th, and April 2^nd

Been vulnerable

Felt such guilt and regret

Had to force myself out of bed

Had the police knocking on my door

Lost my dear friend Clem a week after my dad

Spread his ashes

Created this blog

Felt and often continue to feel so completely lost

As the anniversary of his death approaches, I am reminded with a crystal clear reality; it is not a dream.

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.

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*My mom did eventually escape Monster for good in 1989.

"?" by Robert Stadler

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.”

"Two Cows (Green on Green)" by Joe Veltkamp

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.

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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.

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

“Winter” by Tori Amos

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.