Happy Birthday, Dad

Today would've been my dad's 47th birthday. 

We went to the cemetery today and put flowers and balloons by his grave. I hope he liked my rendition of 祝你生日快乐 ("Happy Birthday" in Chinese), even though I was pretty much blubbering when I sang it.

You know, I'll never understand this, but the only thing my dad ever wanted for birthdays, Christmas, you name it — were socks. He even told me one time that I could get him "a rock with some mud on it" and he'd be happy. 
That's the kind of person he was.

I suspect, however, that he also spent some time in a super-secret organization learning the dark art of Gift Guessing, because he always made a big show of guessing his Christmas presents with 95% accuracy.

"Oh, I know what this is . . ."

Don't say socks, don't say socks!

From the Curious Depths of My Backpack #1

The Keeper of Secrets

When I found a treasure trove of old writing assignments in my backpack, I thought: "Why throw these away? Why not post them?" Thus, a new post-series was born! Some of these old assignments might be quite comical; others might be incredibly sad considering all that's happened in the past few months. But whether they're works of art or worthy of the waste bin, they represent my journey as a writer. 

And yes, I made that sound more dramatic than it actually is.

"Where I'm From"

Written September 16, 2010

I am from a refrigerator whiteboard graffitied with witticisms that weren’t there when I went to bed, left either by curious Keebler elves or a brother hunting for a midnight snack.

I am from a 72-degree home with a thermostat-happy father, the lingering effects of last night’s salmon, and the blare of an electric guitar in the background.

I am from the water drip, drip, dripping down into our lush lawn and coloring it green, the perfect backdrop to a quiet, contented, neighborly cul-de-sac.

I am from sitcom marathons, cookie-baking escapades, hilariously painful pun sessions, and Sunday morning “Mom-always-wins” bowling. From Darrin, and Dee Dee, and DeWayne, and Donna; a litany of D’s.

I am from breakfast for dinner when no one feels like cooking, and Power Naps on drizzly afternoons.

From “don’t pick your nose or your eyeballs will fall out,” “don’t make me turn you upside down and shake your socks off,” and other threats only grandmas can muster.

I am from parents who have allowed me to make my own choices: from secularism, to humanism, to Unitarianism, to feminism.

I am from the bustling metropolis of Parkland, Washington, with infinitesimal flecks of “Polish” buried deep. From homemade lasagna and salty, buttery pierogies. 

From instances we’ll never let the butt of our jokes forget: falling out of a truck at the gas station, falling into a yard waste bin, and then into Iron Creek (poor Mom).

I am from the box of pictures under my parents’ bed, saved for Christmastime, birthdays, and drizzly afternoons (after Power Naps). 

By the four-hundredth picture of my brother’s chubby, smiling baby-face I tease: “What? Did you get sick of taking pictures by the time I came around?” 

But deep down, I’m happy. 

Irrevocably happy.

When You Lose Someone (From One Teen to Another)

It's been a while since my last post. A day hasn't gone by that I haven't gotten some kind of inspiration for a new article - be it something I saw on TV or a pamphlet tacked up to the bulletin board in my school's office (oh yes, that one will be coming soon). I just haven't been in the right frame of mind to write lately.

Understandable, yes?

It's 10:06 AM on a random Tuesday morning (I'm not a skipper, folks, my school is on Mid-Winter Break), but I got a weird impulse to write this post.

I hate to keep saying "for those of you who don't know, my dad passed away last month," but it's a necessary evil because many of you are probably hearing it for the first time.

I've written an article about my dad and posted a video tribute to him, but what I haven't done is spoken to you directly. Those things - the article, the video - were for me and my own peace of mind, but chances are some of you have also lost a loved one in the past few months and, like myself, are struggling with how to get by.

When my dad was in the hospital and hooked up to what felt like a thousand different machines doing all of his bodily functions for him, it was really tough. I try to block those memories out, but I can still picture everything with perfect clarity: sitting by his bedside, holding a hand that at times felt too cold and at others too hot, and above all else, trying to reason with my dad that he "still owed me a game of chess."

That chess set we got him for Christmas? We'd only managed to play once.

It was at the moment we knew my dad wasn't going to make it that my aunt told me something that changed my life. She said "You need to do something with this." She said that there was going to be another 17-year-old girl who was in my exact position:

She would be holding back tears with enough force to make her head pop,

she would be asking God (or whoever she believed to be "up there") why this had to happen,

and eventually, she would have to accept - no, cope with - fate.

Are you that 17-year-old girl?

Okay, maybe you're not 17. Maybe you didn't lose a parent, but a grandparent, a sibling, a friend. Maybe you're not even a girl.

But while I can't see or hear you, I feel like we're linked by an invisible thread. I know that sounds really, really, really corny, but it's true, isn't it? Whether it makes sense or not, we're connected, and we owe it to ourselves to support each other.

So, for any of you who might be trying to cope with the loss of a loved one, here are my tips, observations, snide remarks (heh), and advice:

"You're just grieving."

First off, I hate the term "grieving." It doesn't do our feelings justice, you know? But you're going to hear it about a thousand times from relatives, self-help books, and counselors (if you choose to see one), so I guess we just have to roll with it. The thing I want to say about this whole process is that it's going to be crazy, horrific, weird, sobering, sporadic, gut-wrenching, and life-changing all at the same time. At times you're probably going to feel like an ass for having certain thoughts, while other times you'll feel content in the fact that you tried to be a good daughter, son, sibling, friend, etc. to the person you lost. Grieving (there, I said it!) is one wild ride. Probably because we don't have control over it.

Caught in a Whirlwind

In the week or so after losing your loved one, your house is probably going to feel pretty chaotic. People are going to be checking in on you constantly, your mailbox is going to be stuffed to the brim with sympathy cards (some of which aren't even that sympathetic), and you're not going to have to cook for about 3 weeks because people will keep bringing you donuts and homemade chili (because they don't know how else to help). I like to call this the "whirlwind phase" because there's so much going on around you. Sometimes you won't even have a chance to be alone or cry. It'll feel like you're stuck in a bad dream, and any minute the person you lost will walk right through the front door - probably asking who brought the donuts.

For the millionth time, "Are you okay?"



WARNING: People are not going to know what to say to you after you lose somebody.

It's okay to not be okay.

You're going to hear "Are you okay?" about a million times and you're going to want to bash in somebody's skull every one of those times. You'll think: Am I 'okay'? Are you kidding me? No, I'm not okay, you idiot! I just lost somebody important to me! Do you honestly think I'm okay?!

That's completely normal.

People don't know what to say during times like these because they don't want to accidentally say something insensitive. They feel helpless, so instead of thinking about your loved one they'll think in the moment - they'll want to know if YOU are okay. Even if you think the answer is obvious, don't punch anybody out for asking The Question. Just come up with an answer beforehand that's quick and to-the-point. Obviously "Oh yeah, I'm doing great!" is out of the question, but things like "I'm just really tired lately" or "You know, I'm hanging in there" will spare you the pain of explaining things if you don't want to. Of course, you can't do that with everybody. The people who genuinely care about you - close friends and family members as opposed to casual acquaintances - will want to know the truth. If you're not okay, tell them. They will understand.

Then Comes the Quiet: Don't Cry Alone

The hardest part of this whole process comes after the whirlwind phase. You stop getting cards sent to your door every five seconds, people stop asking you if you're okay and go on with their lives, and sometimes they'll even forget about what happened and inadvertently say something that strikes a nerve. But worst of all, your house will be quieter and you'll be faced with a lot of alone time in your own head.

Let me tell you, crying alone is heartbreaking. Please don't torture yourself like that.

Find somebody you trust and pour your heart out to them. Tell them what you're worried about. Tell them what you're sad about. Reminisce about the "good old times" if that makes you feel better. But do not lock everything up inside because it's an incredibly sad, lonely feeling (even those words don't do it justice). 

If you don't have anybody that will just listen to what you have to say, I'm begging you, find a counselor! A school counselor! A community counselor! Preferably somebody free-but-good!

The thing is, I don't think we're equipped to handle losses like these on our own. We need somebody to lean on during times like these. And that's okay!

Handling the Guilt

Depending on how you lost your loved one and the type of relationship you had before their passing, you're going to have to deal with what we in the biz call "mental crap." In my case, it was guilt. I wish I would've done this. I wish I would've done that. Those thoughts are inevitable, but if we focus too much on them we're going to dig ourselves into a deep, deep hole.

Losing somebody close to us is so, so hard. But we can never forget that there was nothing we could have done to change things. It's not like we can say "If I would've just worn my yellow shirt instead of my orange one Uncle Jimmy would still be here!"

It was not our fault.

Bang! Bang! Another Trigger

Triggers are going to happen without warning. A trigger is something that is completely unexpected and random that makes you think about your loved one in a positive or negative way. For example, if your grandma was a gardener, smelling fresh flowers might remind you of all the good times you spent together. Alternatively, if you lost someone in a car crash seeing a car zoom down your street at 80mph might make you angry and anxious.

Triggers are everywhere, and even if you tell yourself that you're not going to let them affect you (like I did in the beginning - what a dummy!), it is going to happen and you cannot beat yourself up about it.

My trigger came in the form of a poem in English class the other day. The poem my teacher read was about a man who committed suicide, and afterwards all she had to say was "I don't know how many of you have lost someone..." and BAM! I was a wreck. I cried on my textbook for about five minutes, trying to stifle my sobs. I'm sure everybody in class was watching me. About three of them knew why I was crying. The rest were confused: "Are you having a bad day?" "Did something happen in your 2nd period?" "We all have days like that."

And here I was thinking: If you only knew.

But of course, they never know. 

Keeping Memories Alive

I've found that finding ways to honor my dad is really therapeutic. I wrote that article about him, I made that video, I have pictures of him up in my room . . . I even wrote a song for him in Chinese (for those of you who don't know, I'm a Chinese-learning-maniac) and sing it whenever I'm feeling sad or lonely. Maybe it's too soon for you to do anything like this; maybe you don't want to. All I'm saying is, it might not hurt to try.

They Never Leave Us

I don't know about you, but I totally believe in "life after death." I hate saying afterlife, spirits, ghosts, or anything like that because the media has made a mockery of that stuff (except for shows like Medium and Ghost Whisperer which are actually pretty good!), but I am a firm believer that when we die, we don't just disappear. Our loved ones never leave us.

It has been so freaking frustrating for me ever since my dad passed away because, as dumb as this sounds, I've been waiting for some kind of "sign" from him. You see it in the movies - lights flicker, TVs turn on and off, you feel chills, etc. I've been waiting anxiously for my sign.

What I've realized is, your "sign" isn't always going to come when you want it. BUT you can't lose faith in the fact that your loved one is looking out for you. I talk to my dad whenever I need to because there's not a doubt in my mind that he's listening.

If you're on the same wavelength with me about this stuff, I'd suggest reading James Van Praagh's book Ghosts Among Us. It gave me so much reassurance . . .

What the Future Holds

Most of the time it hurts too much to think about the future. To think that my dad will never get to see me graduate, get married, or have a book on the National Bestsellers List (hehe) . . .  really kills me. But I've also learned something through this.

I've learned not to take people for granted. When we expect someone to always be there for us, it's so easy to justify petty arguments or think "Eh, I'll hug 'em some other time." But experiencing death head-on has made me realize and appreciate that (corny) line that says life is fragile and precious.

We need to be so grateful for the people we have in our lives. We need to treasure every laugh, every funny conversation, every hug, every "I love you." We need to take things less seriously. I mean, does it really matter if we get a B on a test? In the grand scheme of things, hell no. We need to be more open to spontaneity, more willing to try new things, and more accepting of new people. We need to recognize that beauty does not come in a shampoo bottle or lipstick tube, but in a smile, in kindness, in confidence. We need to love ourselves more, and pursue all the relationships in our lives with a new appreciation and vigor.

*Sigh* Okay. That concludes my philosophical spiel.

P.S. It might not mean much, but if you find that you ever need someone to vent to, drop me a line at teenagefeminist@gmail.com.

"Life is eternal and love is immortal,

and death is only a horizon,

and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight."

--Rossiter W. Raymond

"We Will Remember" (A Video Tribute to My Dad)

It might not seem like it, but this video took me hours to finish. It's a tribute to my dad who passed away last month. It's a celebration of his life, and it makes me smile and cry every time I watch it. Love ya, Dad.

A Tribute to My Daddy (1964-2011)

Darrin C. Burch
(Sept. 2, 1964 - Jan. 17, 2011)

It feels unreal that less than two weeks ago I was writing about feminist issues, and now I'm writing about my dad who has passed away.

Each word I write and each breath I take feel like a cruel dream at the end of a rough day. But it's real, it's here, this is now, and my world will never be the same. I don't think I will ever be the same.

My dad was in intensive care for about a week before he was officially pronounced brain-dead; as much as they tried to pump life back into him, his body wouldn't have it. All we could do was sit by his side for hours on end, hold his hand, and rub the arm hair we used to make fun of.

It's true what they say: you don't always realize what you have until you lose it. Because as much as I knew in my heart that I loved my dad, we didn't always see eye to eye. But in retrospect, everything we argued about, everything we butted heads on... that stuff really didn't matter. I want to smack myself because I wish I would have just swallowed my pride and let him be right once in a while so we could get on with life. I wish I would have savored every simple, happy moment.

As an "angsty" teenager, I feel like I never gave people the true story about my dad. It was always "yeah, my dad did this," or "he makes me so angry sometimes!" But did I ever tell anybody about how he used to pay me to try to get him to laugh by tickling his feet - and after seventeen years I finally succeeded? Did I ever tell anybody about how he used to flaunt his "moves" (especially one he made up called the Praying Mantis), or how he used to rub my earlobes "for power"? Did I ever tell anybody all the silly, simple, amazing things about him? Did I?

Let this be one of my greatest tributes to my dad: the true story.

Me and my dad on Christmas morning.
(Can't you just feel the excitement?)

To my dad, immense joy could be found in a new pair of socks. I could never understand that. I mean, really? Socks? I always thought that was lame and unoriginal. I can even remember trying to do my Christmas shopping as a kid and being so darned frustrated because Dad would never flat-out tell me what he wanted.

"I'll like anything," he'd say.

"So you're saying I can get you a rock with some mud on it, and you'll be happy?!"

He always said "yes." That's the kind of guy he was.

My dad and I would take walks sometimes, and just talk about the future, my prospects, and where I was going in life. My dad had faith in me like no other, and when he said he was proud of me, I was proud of me.

One of the only times I ever saw him cry was when I sang in public for the first time. He said he couldn't believe how brave I was - and coming from him, that meant a lot.

He was also my dinner buddy. Nobody else in my house likes ribs, for example, so when Dad would slap a rack on the BBQ - just for the two of us to share - watch out! I wonder who will eat ribs with me now.

One time my dad saved me from choking on a chip,
another time he jumped into a pool - fully clothed -
to stop me from drowning. This guy was my hero.

But the absolute best memories I have of my dad are from the time we spent together, just the two of us, out on the basketball court.

Once in a blue moon we would pack up our ball and head to my old elementary school to shoot hoops. He would always show off by doing crazy dribbles, jumping up, and dunking the ball like he used to do when he was a kid.

My dad was so cool when he was flying in mid air. He was Superman.

_________________________

My dad was one of the quietest, most private people you would ever meet, but I don't think he realized how many people truly loved him, looked up to him, and respected him. Even in the end, he was incredibly selfless and chose to be an organ donor (we just found out that his heart will be going to somebody at the University of Washington - fitting, because he was a Husky fan).

I will be saying goodbye to my daddy for the last time tonight, and it may just be the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But I need to tell him a few things, including how much I loved him.

How much I love him.

In closing, I have a few things to say that probably won't make any sense, but my dad will get it:

Dad, for as long as I live,

I'll try not to leave the fridge door open too long,

or let my fan run and run,

or turn the lights up too high.

And I will always, always put my chips in a bowl!