I debated whether I should post this. I'm not sure I want to share some life details with everyone (anyone?) who reads our blog. But for some odd reason, I feel like I need to. Maybe consider it free online therapy. I don't know. But I've got a stew of Father's Day, my parent's anniversary, Dan in Real Life, and Tim Russert suddenly dying all percolating in my brain. And I feel like sharing that bowl of stew with someone.
Sunday will be the seventh Father's Day without my dad. And also my parent's wedding anniversary (I'm ashamed to admit I don't know how many.) Eight years this July 2nd that he died, along with my sister Jodi.
I thought it would get better after eight years. I'm not sure it has. That's just eight more years of life that I didn't get to share with him. He never got to see where I work. We were always going to do it "tomorrow." But tomorrow wasn't what we expected. For some reason, that still bothers me to this day... him not seeing where I work. He didn't get to walk Gina down the aisle, and Gina didn't have her dad to give her away. He never got to meet his wonderful grandkids. He would have been a good grandpa. And his grandkids... they miss out on ever knowing their grandpa. I know this is all in God's plan. I remember wanting to hit people who told me that right after he died. I knew it was true then too, I just didn't want to hear it. But eight years later, knowing that it is His plan, I still have no idea what that plan is, or how my dad dying fits into it.
I've got pieces of him around me. His pocketknife is in our desk drawer. His books are on my shelf. He loved pens, and always had a nice one that would switch between a mechanical pencil and a pen. I used to carry one with me. I lost it at the IMAX theater... remember it like it was yesterday. Now the other one sits on our computer desk, and I use it every time I balance the checkbook. His calculators are in our desk, his workbench in our garage, his guns in our closet. I wore his wedding ring for about four months after he died. Until I almost lost it on a camping trip. That is burned into my memory, the same feeling you get when you suddenly loose sight of your child in a crowd. I never would have forgiven myself. I wore it to walk Gina down the aisle, and I will wear it for Angie too. Otherwise it hides, tucked among Paige's other jewelry.
I've got pieces of him in me too. He always fell asleep when reading, and then would wake up and keep reading where he left off. I do the same. He always watched the political talk shows at night, and I remember we hated them as kids. Now I love the same shows. He loved to debate politics, and read boring political magazines with lots of words and no pictures. Guess what my favorite magazine subscription is? He always drove with his right hand on the column shifter of the car, like he was ready to throw it in reverse at any moment. I remember this because it always drove me nuts. I have no idea why, it just bugged me. One day I was driving, and noticed that I was doing the exact same thing. Silly little things, I know... but they remind me of him.
Sometimes though, I feel like I can hardly remember him. I worry that my kids will ask what grandpa was like, and I won't really know what to tell them. And I hate that feeling. Lately I find myself typing "Donald Addink" into Google. I'm not sure what I expect to find... some evidence that he was once here. A story I never knew. A picture, a message... anything but an obituary.
So here is my Father's Day request... a gift for me, if you will. Leave a comment. Or several. Refresh my memory. Tell me a story about my dad that I have heard a hundred times, or better yet, one that I have never heard before. Stories from his childhood, or his adulthood. The stories he might have told me someday, but never got a chance to.
Then go find your dad, if he is still here, and do today what you had been putting off for tomorrow...
"The thing I miss the most is not ever having been man-to-man with my father. I'd like to be able to go for a drink with him or go to a ball game as a couple of adults... I don't really need anything from him anymore. I just wish he could know me now." -Fatherloss
Saturday, June 14, 2008
For my dad...
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12 comments:
I only met your dad once - when you and Paige were getting married. I however do know what kind of father you are to your children. I have seen you hug them, read to them, discipline them, play with them, pray with them and love them. I have seen how they adore you. I didn't know your dad, but I am sure he would be so proud of the dad you are.
I'm not much of a writer, but I'll try my best.
I remember sitting going over to your house between Sunday services and having lunch all together with your family. Don usually led prayer, often time the Lord's Prayer, with us kids joining in. Once, you and I didn't want to eat our vegetables and your dad was getting pretty firm, but he told me I was the guest and didn't have to eat them. We both ended up eating all our vegetables.
I remember building a model boat in the garage, using power tools that my mom still doesn't want me to use. We dipped into your dad's hardwood stock for a part and he was upset, but you could tell he was pleased with the boat we built anyway. We drilled a hole in the chimney stack. I don't remeber whose idea it was, but Don had some fireworks from Mexico and we lit them one at a time in the chimney. Your Grandpa was over from Iowa that day, and all four of us were playing with fireworks in the backyard.
Your dad used to be the leader for the entire church cadet group. He used to plan the campouts, and calculate the number of pounds and ounces of food to buy so we'd have enough. I remember that because your dad was the leader, you had to do all kinds of extra work like clean up the camp stoves and pack the camper trailer. Your dad really enjoyed the camraderie of cadets, and all the mischeif we got into. In retrospect, I think he really enjoyed being involved in a program that you were a part of.
Your dad fell asleep reading, watching TV, talking, sitting, driving, and playing video games - just like you. One night, you had both fallen asleep in the den, but your dad woke up and helped me put a drop of tabasco in your mouth. Too bad you woke up at the wrong time, and the tabasco ended up in your eye... After recovering the next morning, you got it again when you hadn't cleaned your contacts well enough... That was pretty funny.
Remember Mexico when I got to come? Your poor dad had been at work since early, had to work late, came home exhausted and had to drive us all down to Mexico. He fell dozed off behind the wheel south of the border, where there's no road shoulder, and the asphalt sticks up off the ground by about 8 inches. He woke up in time to get "My Limo" back on the pavement, but that poor camper trailer hung up on the edge for about 25 yards before it bounced back onto the road. Mary was pissed, but we were having a ball.
One Saturday we took the catamaran up to bartlet lake. On the way you dad tried to stop for a red light and ended up in the center of the intersection, and instead of finishing the turn, he decided to throw it in reverse (good thing he had his hand on the shifter, ready for action). We tried to scream at him to stop, but it was too late, the butt end of the catamaran mast had gouged a huge canyon into the hood of some lady's car. We met up with her in the McDonald's parking lot to exchange information. Your dad ws wearing his flamingo pink and neon green straw hat from Puerto Vallerta - I'm sure she thought he was a wacko.
Maybe that same trip to the lake we had beached the catamaran because the wind was dead. I don't remember whose it was, but we were on a power boat in the middle of the lake when the wind picked up. Ahead of us, we saw some other nice people who had brought their catamaran to the lake, one exactly like ours, only there were no passengers. The cat had kicked off in a gust of wind, and had been rigged perfectly that it cut straight across the lake. Was your dad there, or were we with Keen?
Your dad used to make you listen to the church service, instead of letting you draw on the bulletin.
Whenever we were in trouble at your house, your dad admonished us, but you could tell he was highly amused at the same time.
I remember Sunday mornings, your folk's alarm clock sounded like an atomic siren. I'm not sure which one, but one of your parents hit the snooze button a million times, until we had to hustle to get ready on time.
I remember your dad was more excited and giddy about getting your bronco than you were. "Really somthing?" he said with a huge grin in the church parking lot after cadets, while we stood their watching you set off every car alarm for miles.
It's uncanny sometimes how much of your dad I see in you. I didn't realize it as a child, but now I see how important family was to your dad. He bent over backwards to try and be a good dad, and involved in your lives. I think it was easy though, because he really loved all of you, and genuinely enjoyed being around. I think he reveled in the chaos of having 4 kids, and all their friends over all the time. It's almost like it didn't matter what was going on, as long as he had his family and friends around, as often as possible.
It was always clear your dad loved you guys, because of his actions.
Your father taught you well.
Jason, that was beautiful - you brought tears to my eyes and I've already done a lot of crying this week. I've never met your dad, so I don't have any stories, but I've had a lot of the same thoughts over the last week as I watched my friends bury their 1 year old who died from a brain tumor and the horrible battle they've had over the last 4 months dealing with cancer and wondering why and how could this be in God's plan. I know that it is and we may never know the answer to that question, but God knows and He will use this for his kingdom. Someone said to me in answer to my question of "Why?" was, "Why not?" And that is totally true - "Why not me, why should it be someone that I don't know?" Over the last while, I have continually been reminded that I need to live my life to the fullest and to be thankful for each moment that I have. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings with us and for encouraging us to things now! Remember that your dad can see and does know where you work and who and what your kids are like and that someday you all will be reunited again and will spend eternity together in heaven. What a blessing it is to know this.
Jen
To my dear husband,
I know your heart aches and that there is a hole that can never be filled by any person or thing. Someday it will all be made right again. Someday we will all be together the way it was supposed to be. Someday.
I only had the pleasure and blessing of knowing your dad for one year. I moved to Phoenix in July of 1999 and by the July of 2000, he was gone. It wasnt enough time to have all the wonderful memories that you have accumulated during your life time. The ones I have are precious and other "memories" have been created by the stories I constantly hear about your dad. Here are some random thoughts of things I remember about Don.
Mostly I remember your dad as being funny. He was always telling goofy jokes. Most of which your mom never got unless he explained them and that made them even funnier.
I remember going to Ugly Duckling with him to pick out a car for me after I moved here and how he kept pronouncing Rodeo like Rodeo drive. We kept shaking our heads and chuckling at him the whole time and he never caught on.
I remember going to the World Wildlife Zoo and he almost fell into the porcupine cage to retrieve a quill for me (highly illegal I'm sure)to use in my classroom.
I remember that going anywhere, including church, required a stop at the ATM for cash.
I remember his goofy sneeze that was so contained one would think his head was going to blow up. I teased him a lot about that and he started working on sneezing outwardly instead of inwardly.
I remember our family trip to Rocky Point and that he spent the whole time reading or sleeping.
I remember him getting lost on the way to our wedding rehearsal and showing up late.
I remember him ALWAYS reading the Bible for devotions at every family meal.
I remember him embarrassing Jodi at Valle Luna on her birthday by making them sing her happy birthday.
I remember the celebration and surprise party that your mom had for him for his 50th birthday.
I remember he and my dad becoming quick friends at their first meeting at The Hatchery. They ordered fried gizzards and talked about their childhoods and played a lot of Dutch bingo.
I remember going to his office a few days prior to the accident. I don't know what we were doing but we were over on that side of town and I suggested we swing by his office and see him. It was a Sat, but since he was typically there on Sat too we tried to see him but he wasn't there. (He was in Dallas with Dale). I remember you asking me why I wanted to see him, and I told you because I liked your dad and you smiled.
I remember him teaching me what "A gator on the zipper" is.
I will always remember to "take the ten, around the bend."
I remember him sitting in his brown recliner drinking coffee and reading the newspaper and then falling asleep in the same position.
I remember watching the game show Who Wants to be a Millionare with him.
I loved your dad. In the short amount of time I had as his daughter in law. Your dad was a generous, gracious man. He liked to joke and laugh, and win the conversation. He was very smart, hardworking, loved God and his family. I can't wait to see him again!
Since I practically grew up at your house I have a lot of memories of your dad. The most memorable thing is something that most people have already commented on, but it is just so Don (or Mr. Addink, as I always called him). His yellow recliner was pretty much off-limits to family and friends when he was at home. He could always be found, sitting in his chair, simultaneously reading, watching TV, and sleeping. He would watch the most boring TV shows! We would see that he was sleeping and decide to change the channel. As soon as the channel was changed, he would yell out that he was watching that (even though his eyes were still closed when he said it, and he was snoring within a minute). We would then have to switch it back to its original channel and find something else to entertain ourselves.
I remember that Gina would always have to ask him for money when we wanted to go out to a movie. He would always pretend to make a big production of it, but would then relent with a smile as we begged.
I remember that we had a competition to see who would get the best time in minesweeper. I came over one day and he claimed to have beaten the level one in 1 second (which is impossible! I still don't know how he rigged that one!).
I remember playing cards with him. He would never go easy on us (he must've gotten that from his own father!). He relished crushing us, and then gloating about his win (but it would always make me laugh and want to play again...I beat him a fair amount too!).
I remember spending the night once and he walked out in his underwear to get a drink of water from the kitchen. I think Gina was mortified, but it didn't bother him one bit.
I remember driving Gina's car into a pole at the gas station and getting yellow paint on her door. I was so scared that your dad was going to be mad at me, but he was so laid back about it. His concern was that we were ok, not about material things, like a car. I remember that whenever Gina had car issues he would come to help out. He would just smile and shake his head like this was just a part of life, no use getting worked up about it.
I miss Don. I miss seeing him in his chair. I miss his dry sense of humor. He was truely an amazing person with such a passion for the Lord and for his family and friends. I don't know what God's plan is, but I know that He used Don in amazing ways in the time he was here. He touched so many lives and I'm honored to have been one of them.
Sara
Sara...
Minesweeper cheat
I think I found the program for him. Solves minesweeper automatically.
He got a kick out of beating you, even if it was cheating, and then not telling you how he did it. I can't believe you still didn't know how he did it.
;)
san diego
sailboats
pringles
ridiculous hot pink hats
ridiculous hats in general
jack in the box jalapeño poppers
merging at the last second
snoring
shaking the chair for coins
skiing
spare me
newspapers
quicken
mother's day jewelry shopping
keys & ears
devotionals
business trip souvenirs
ugly duckling
certs
sneaking quarters from the jar
playing gin
playing chess
rarely winning
grandpa and he playing cards
motorcycle
moneyclips
elders meetings
listerine
brown leather cosmetics bag
black leather computer bag
leather
king of the road
oatmeal
debate
fresca
et al
Jason, that was so beautiful. I know what it is like to lose someone so instantly. It's awful! I feel for you and now have a better way to pray for you and your family. He was a blessed man for raising such a quick-witted, loving man who is a fantastic husband and wonderfully devoted dad! You would make him proud!
Jason,
Ah ha! The old minesweeper cheat! I figured it must have been something like that, but I did not have the computer skills then (or now for that matter ;)
to figure that out.
I thought of another story. Your dad pretty much taught me how to snow ski. Gina had already been skiing for years and begged me to go with your family. She stayed with me for a little while, but then got bored and wanted to go ski the bigger slopes. Don was so patient with me as I fell time after time after time. He would sit down with me on the snow packed hill while I struggled to put my boots back into the skis. After a while, I had had enough and my knees were killing me (I have knee problems). He waited with me for over an hour for the snow mobile to take me down the mountain to the first aid. I remember him being so nice about it too, like it was no big deal that he was wasting half of his vacation with his own kids to be sitting with a crying teenage friend of his kid.
And my favorite story is one that I have heard a million times, but wasn't a part of and that is the one when your dad made you and Gina hide in the back of your mom's van while she was at the grocery store. When she came out and got into her car, you guys started making animal noises. She freaked out and drove to the front of the store and leapt out screaming that there was something in her car. Then you guys popped up and she told the man, "Oh...it was just my kids!"
Sara
The little known "sequel" to that story is that my mom went a few weeks later to my dad's office during the daytime with his car keys and moved his car a few blocks down into another parking lot. She was so smug and proudly expected him to come home hacked but in a very typical fashion he came home from work the same as always and never said a peep. He wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of pulling any pranks on him. So to this day, none of us have a clue how he found his car.
Gina
Hi jason. Its been years since I have seen you and your family. I was just sitting here reading a case about tire blowouts and I searched for your family and found this blog. I often think about your sister. She was just so beautiful and capable and I always wished I was as smart as her in school. I remember your dad too. He was always reading or watching t.v. I can still picture your kitchen and living room. I remember one time - or actually a couple times- when we didn't have enough food at our house for our massive brood- and I would come over to your house and i would feel so embarrased. I remember your dad was always so kind- and acted like it was no big deal and accepted me as part of your family those nights. Although I was young- I always admired him. God Bless. you have a beautiful family. - Tyler Mae Pitrat
My long lost friend from high school (ok, so she was actually my sister's friend) sent this to me via Facebook, and said I could post it here. Thanks Julie U.
"Ok, I have been meaning to do this and I keep forgetting and God majorly reminded me tonight so before I can sleep I had to write this e-mail-Losing my parents sucked but it makes my heart happy to hear when people remember them...so in that fashion...
Your dad was so so funny. His dry sarcasm, wit and absolute brilliance is a memory that I hold of him so strongly. When we first met he was so stoic but would come up with these statements and I could never tell if he was serious or not...so I set out to get a reaction out of him...hence my calling him Mr. Addink-e-doo and he set out to continue to make me squirm...he would say something and we would stare at each other as I tried to figure out if he was serious or not.. After we got to know each other better I tried to have intelligent conversations with him which was impossible because he was so stinking smart and knew these ridiculous facts...which is how I came to know what an actuary actually did....and he would bring us right back to him making a statement and me trying to figure out if he was serious or not.
And I remember Jodi...she was the sister, in my mind, that was the most like your dad. She had this beautiful smile and seemed so focused and balanced. I didn't get much of a chance to know her because I graduated when I did but I think I would have liked her very much.
Words can't express how much it sucks to lose your family and I am so sorry you all had to go through that. There are no pat answers or phrases and I personally wanted to punch everyone who tried to give me one after my parents died. So I just want to say that I remember your dad and your sister and I was blessed to have known them..."
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