Dad,
“ Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes…
five hundred twenty five thousand moments so dear….
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes.
How do you measure, measure a year?”
Lyrics, from the musical RENT. It’s one of my favorites, but I think that’s because it was the first one I watched. Anyway I digress, stick with me here, I promise this is going somewhere. The song goes on to suggest the many ways one could measure a year.
“In daylights, in sunsets,
In midnights, or cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.”
Or in the second verse, it gets a bit more …. intense? Theoretical? Or perhaps realistic.
“In truths that she learned,
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned
Or the way that she died.”
It’s funny how in grief, things start to take a different meaning. I was always able to identify why the song was written that way, based on the story, but I’m not sure I ever really grasped just potent death is when marking time. Perhaps this first year most impressively, everything suddenly becoming a first again, I haven’t had a year so full of firsts since my first year on this earth.
I spent the year marking firsts and remembering lasts. So many lasts that I never knew would be. I never knew they would be lasts. I never thought the last time I hugged him, would be the last time. If I had, I might never have let go. If I’d known our last conversation would be our last, I might have never stopped asking questions. If I had known our last drink together would be our last, I would’ve ordered endless refills.
But that’s not really how this shit works. My dad is dead and all those lasts, were just that, lasts. And all these firsts, were likely the firsts of many. Today, was the last of a certain kind of first though. I find some relief in that. So this morning I woke up, took a deep breath, and told myself, that as important as this date will always be, as painful as this day will always be, it’s another day that I will get through.
Nick drove me to Cannon Beach. He took the day off work and everything. He bought me a mocha at our favorite cafe there and walked down to the beach with me. We sat together, watching dark clouds roll overhead and people playing fetch with dogs. When he finished his Chai, Nick started using his cup to make little sand towers. And we talked. About you, about dogs, about houses, about race, about social justice, and about what I needed today.
Finally, I was ready to walk down toward Haystack Rock… To breath alone and to sit with my grief. Naturally, it started pouring… the wind was blowing it all sideways. Not half a football field further and I was soaked clear through. I turned around. Nick met me at the top with the car, he just knew.
So we putzed around. He bought me new Birkenstocks and we had lunch. I left him at a picnic table and tried again. This time, I made it to that damn rock. I sat in front of it. I put headphones in and turned on a mix of all your favorites, Nickleback, Shinedown, Creed, and other 90’s rock ballads. It took a few minutes, but the pain and brokenness surfaced. I cried my way through 4 or 5 songs. And then, I felt okay.
I got to thinking about what you would think about the whole thing. Me sitting in Nick’s massive Carhart, still half soaked, face mask on just in case… crying, looking no doubt like a total lunatic. I wondered what you would say about the state of all the shit. The fucking pandemic, the racism, the complete lunacy of our president… the fear, sadness, and rage I can’t help but feel in response to it all.
Somehow, in this moment, it was the first time it really dawned on me that when you’re gone. You suddenly become a myriad of different people. You become the version of you each person who remembers you saw. I wondered who Q was remembering you as. I wondered if there is one of us who is more right… I’m not sure that it matters, but the whole thought was interesting.
I saw an old man with those same white New Balance tennis shoes you used to wear, back when I was a kid. I tried to imagine what you would’ve looked like as a grandpa to my kids. That thought brings tears to my eyes even now. I saw some young kid, wearing those reflective sun glasses you loved, he even had the baseball cap. I wish I knew more about you when you were young. I imagine you were a little like me, I had to get this shit from somewhere.
I walked back, past the rained out, trampled sand towers, and the stranded jellyfish. Past so many people. And when I got to the other end, Nick was on his way. And I guess that brings me to what I really want you to know…
Dad, I’m okay. I’m sad as hell and I’m a little broken, but I’m okay. I am stronger than I knew. I am capable and thoughtful. I’m still a little hippy dippy and I know I need to work on getting healthier physically, and I need to bring a rain jacket, this is Oregon after all. Things aren’t perfect, but life is going pretty okay. I’m starting a semester in week, I have friends, and Nick.
I think I especially want to tell you about Nick. We’re thinking about buying a house and talking about getting married. I know you didn’t get a chance to know him that well and I’m not sure that you had much in common. But he’s amazing and he loves me.
Which brings me to the end of today, the end of the song, this letter, and this year.
I’m going to chose to measure this year and every year, in love. I know that a heart that’s broken is one that’s felt love. Which makes the owner of that heart, one lucky son. I love you, Dad. Every sunrise and cup of coffee, it’ll never surpass that feeling. Thank you for everything you taught me.
Today and everyday.
Love,
Cassie
Coffee & Conundrums 