Nothing says “i love you” like a shed
October 27, 2011
I can’t help but hear the Rolling Stones playing softly in the background as I run through these thoughts and emotions.
After my mom passed, there was never a time I needed my father more. And there was never a time that the blinders were pulled back to reveal the brutal, ugly truth. My mom was the glue that held it all together.
My need for normalcy was overwhelming. I knew I couldn’t turn back time, but I wanted desperately to fill the void left by her death. I did what most intuitively would do – I turned to my surviving parent for comfort and the proverbial shoulder to cry on. But I didn’t get that. Instead, I had to stand by his side, helping him to buy new sheets along with other things my mom had always done for the 49 years they were married. It became apparent early on that talking about my mom or my grieving process wasn’t an option. And so it was all stiff upper lip and small talk from then on out.
We bump along. Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months, months to years and we rebuild. Go on with our lives. I can’t speak for everyone, but I know struggled with needing reaasurance and comfort for a long time. Feelings of anger and resentment boiled over occasionally because he wasn’t able to or wouldn’t give me what I needed. But underneath it all, I was/am just a little girl who wanted/wants her daddy to make it all better.
After hearing my deliberations on a shed for the back yard roll on for far too long, my dad declared one afternoon in the early Fall that he would build me a shed. Annnnd the fun began. The fighting at home began. The fighting with my dad began. The fighting with the neighbor began. The weeks of hearing how he would build it stage by stage began. The plans were made, scrapped and then re-made. The materials lists were made. The materials were bought. The concrete was poured, the frame was built, the siding hung and the paint applied. And after months of raw human interaction and manual labor, a shed was born.
After her death, I wanted to feel my dad’s love. I wanted to bury my head in his chest and feel safe and secure. I wanted him to be with my children, show them who we are and why we do the things we do. To instill in them a sense of history, leave a connection with their past to be sure it becomes a part of their identity through life.
He poured hours of thought and attention into every detail of that structure. Used his hands, energy and strength to put it together. I remember wishing he had put that time and energy into me, my siblings and my kids.
I didn’t understand then that my dad will never show me love the way I would like him to or the way I would show love myself. And that I can’t define how someone should love me – I should just open my heart to the opportunity and soak it up. Different doesn’t always mean less. I couldn’t see then that all I needed was a shed.
Every time I look out my kitchen window I am reminded, assured and thankful. Dare I say almost as good as a hug. Cuz if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.
