cathartic writing

I've been so angry at dad today. Today is the first day I've felt like I've really suffered with this. On one hand it feels childish and stupid and on the other I keep hearing in my head "you need to feel your emotions, not stuff them." So I'm angry. Is it possible to be angry and still feel so grateful for all the tender mercies, etc.? I think with grief, anything's possible.

I'm angry that he didn't keep his promise. Even though that promise was an impossible promise and not within his power to keep. After mom died he promised me he wasn't going anywhere. And logically I know he didn't CHOOSE to go anywhere. I'm angry that I have to go through this again, especially so close together. When I let my emotions get the best of me, there are times that I'm still angry at mom too.

But there are so many positives too. There's the promises in the priesthood blessing I received. Mom and dad have the chance to work out their ridiculous crap (if you guys are reading this... it was ridiculous crap). Heavenly Father obviously needs them for something. I have witnessed so many tender mercies. All those are positives.

When mom passed away I remember wishing that I had siblings that grieved (more or less) the same I did. That I wasn't alone in what I felt. That someone who had a similar relationship with her grieved for her too. But, although many people grieved her, no one grieved her like I did. Although I technically have siblings this time around, we aren't close (in relationship or locale), so once again I find myself grieving alone. And it's awful.

I wouldn't wish this particular trial on anyone. Even my worst enemy. Losing a parent is gut-wrenching in a way I can't describe, even when you know it's right. Even when you have indications beforehand. Even when you know that you'll see them again. Even when tender mercies are all around you.

People have told me lately how strong they think I am. While I appreciate the sentiment and what I think it means they think of me, they're wrong. So wrong. It's not strength. Not really. It's just being faced with a trial and having no other way through it. Until you break down and have to do some cathartic writing.

Dad

"I love you too. I'll talk to you the same time tomorrow." 

I am so grateful that those were the last words I heard him speak. Less than 8 hours later my wonderful Auntie was at the library to tell me he had passed away and to drive me home. 

Having experienced this twice now, I can say that there's no easy way to confront the loss of a parent. It's just awful and gut-wrenching. However, it's also a time of tender mercies and miracles and an awareness of God's never-ending love. 

I haven't spent much time wondering whether he and mom were reunited. I turned that over to Heavenly Father a long time ago. However, I do hope that they have reconciled and have a better understanding of each other.

It may sound cliche, but show your loved ones you love them while you have the chance. Life changes in an instant and you don't want to have regrets, I promise.

Love you daddy.

(a special "thank you" to all those near and far who have shown me their love and support in countless ways this past week. I love you all.)

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It’s almost impossible to summarize the life of someone as big – in stature, in life and in laughs – as Jon Davenport. Born on May 28, 1956 in Gilroy, California to Howard and Carrie Davenport, he was the oldest and shortest of three boys. His life’s travels and work took him to nearly every corner of the country, where he charmed everyone from grocery store clerks and bank tellers to corporate higher ups and the most staid and stodgiest of men.

In high school he played basketball, not because he was good at it, but because he was tall. Weighing 125 lbs. at 6’7” and sporting an afro, he always said he looked like an “olive on a toothpick” during his high school years. He then went on to attend Washington State University in Pullman before beginning a long career in the restaurant business that included Burger Country, Taco Time, Kings Table, Golden Corral, Lone Star Steakhouse and others. After over 25 years in the industry, he decided to switch gears and became a mortgage broker before finally finding his stride again with Aflac, where his successes were far too numerous to list.

Somewhere in the midst of all this he found time for family. With his first wife, Pat, he was blessed with Megan and Eric, who both share his crazy sense of humor and way with people. When he married Claudia in 1985 he gained Lexie, who was guaranteed to laugh at his jokes – even the unfunny ones. He loved to brag about his kids and always made sure they knew how special and important they were. When he married Marcie in 2006, he put the charm and wit to good use and soon found a whole slew of new “victims” for his humor in Marcie’s family. They soon loved him just as much as the rest of his immediate and extended family always had and they soon knew just how special and important they were too.

Jon was a fixer of things – from lackluster restaurants and business markets, to delicious meals, and just an all-around handyman. He could fix anything and build anything. He was great with numbers and was particularly fond of an ugly and complicated scientific calculator that no one else could figure out how to operate. He spent countless hours helping with homework assignments and never once became frustrated. That same positive attitude afforded him many successes in life and in work.

Jon was an active member of the LDS Church and served faithfully and with a smile for nearly 30 years after being caught by a pair of innocent sister missionaries and one very determined mother-in-law. His many callings included young men’s president five times, ward and stake missionary, the bishopric, high priest group leader and the stake high council, among others.

In his nearly 59 years he called many places home and many people friends, but most recently he had come to think of Virginia as home. He loved to drive, hated to fly and was always “in a hurry to get things done” (to quote the Alabama song). He was never idle. He knew the words to every song, or at least pretended he did, and was a big fan of jazz and James Taylor. He made the best of every situation and could take someone from tears to laughter quicker than anyone else. He was the person you most wanted by your side in a crisis and the person you wanted to pack the trunk for a road trip.

He was a beloved son, brother, uncle, papa, friend, father and husband. His death has left a void in the lives of so many and he will be sorely missed, but his sense of humor and kindness will live on in all those who knew and loved him. We know we will one day be reunited and anxiously await the opportunity to see his smile and hear his laughter in person once again. 

Ode to an ugly rocking chair

Growing up we had this blue velvet-like rocking chair in our living/family room. I'm not sure how long we had it, but it seems like forever. It was a treasure trove of lost change from my dad's pockets - I remember once I found a $20 bill and thought I was so rich. :) And I think he let me keep it too.

But my favorite memory of that ugly blue rocking chair is a story that my mom used to tell me. When I was a baby, she used to rock me in that chair while listening to music. Not lullabies - that wasn't her style. No, she'd listen to REO Speedwagon and Bruce Springsteen while she rocked me in that chair.

To this day, whenever I hear "Born in the USA" and a host of other '70s and '80s songs, I immediately think of my dear sweet mama and that chair. Recently, I started listening to a lot of '80s music on Pandora (my poor roommate!) and I realized how happy I've felt the past few weeks. The memories are sweet. And, yes, I really do like some of the music. :)

(no, this isn't the chair... just a close approximation courtesy of Google; via)