A Letter to My Father

Hi Dad,

Happy Father’s Day. I miss you, a lot. I’m home today, a reality that makes me happier than I could ever possibly express. I get to celebrate with mom, Kairi and Eric, Tori and Tim, Tanner and David. I wish though, we all do, that there were two David William Berg’s here. I’m sure you are in a way, the life behind the air's gentle presence, but it’s not the same.

 I think about you every day. Sometimes I try to imagine the person you'd be were you alive today. I like to dream up the ‘memories’ I would have, of you walking Kairi and Tori down the aisle, the celebration hugs you gave each of us when we graduated from college, the words of wisdom and caution to be safe as Kairi and I set off on cross country road trips in search of our new homes, and the absolute joy in your tear filled eyes as you held your new baby grandsons for the first time. I wish those were real memories that you had been able to experience all of that before having to go.

Other times I remember you through my real memories. The time you instantly left work to rescue your foolish, college daughter who’d locked herself out of the car, twice, in one week. Coming home to Park City after a five week road trip with mom, Kairi and Tori to discover – to our delight- that

you’d built us an awesome swing set. The moment I realized you’d tricked me into truly believing a flat head screwdriver was called a David’s screwdriver, for the first 12 years of my life. Your response when I asked why you did that “I just thought it was fun”. Then there was the April you came to Nenana my sophomore year and took me to Fairbanks for a fun weekend, letting me drive the whole way. When I was six and you let me drive – without any assistance – the golf car during your and grandma’s game. The year I was eleven and we spent your birthday weekend dip-netting (unsuccessfully) in Soldotna. I made you the most ridiculous gift out of random items I’d cobbled together in the trailer, yet you kept it on your dresser for years. The picture I took that weekend, of you with the massive cinnamon roll ‘birthday cake’ is one of my absolute favorites.

There is one more memory; some might not call it a real one but to me it is. It was the March after you died and mom had taken us girls to Big Bend. Within hours upon driving through the park's gate I was finally able to understand why you and mom loved that place so much and with eaach passing hour I became ever more entranced. Throughout that entire week, nights at our campsite, hiking into Boquillas, the evening mom took us to witness the sunset magic of Sierra del Carmen I saw you, standing there with your hands on your hips saying “this is just so cool”. You were so happy to finally be able to share this amazing place with your family.

As I’m sure you’ve seen, these past years haven’t exactly been my proudest. I got myself into a pretty bad situation a couple years back, made some less than stellar decisions. I haven’t always kept the promises I made you on your last night. I am trying though, and when I feel myself really floundering I look back at how you fought to stay with us and gain just a little more strength to push through. I know you would understand though, probably more than most, how hard it can be to continue that mental battle; to you what would matter most is to just keep fighting, which I have and will. I think that at least makes you proud.

Another memory; it was my first year in Nenana and school had just about reached summer. I’d called home and after the normal conversation bits I told you why I had finally stopped crying to come back home the prior fall. It was because you had pointed out that I was always so quick to give up on things and I had to stop doing that or else I would never get anywhere in life. I’d been furious in the moment and didn’t call home for at least two weeks, but I eventually realized you were right. So I changed my attitude and gave Nenana a shot. You told me months later that it was the first time you had cried because of something right you had done as a parent.

I so hope that you left this earth knowing that there were a thousand other moments you had to be proud of. You gave your family so many wonderful gifts, memories that we will be grateful for to the end of our lives. I’ll stop here now, go back to the others; but know that I'm thinking about you, that we all are. And not just today but every day. You are in the hearts, minds and dreams of your entire family always. I love you dad.

Your daughter
KC

Furiously Happy (?)

Last Tuesday I reached over to my stack of library books and grudgingly pulled out “Furiously Happy” by Jenny Lawson. I say grudgingly because I’d just finished a wonderful story about dark faeries, spelled princes, and crazy magic and was not excited about the idea of leaving the realm of magical fiction behind to instead root through a person’s real life story with mental illness. I can honestly say that within one minute of reading I had completely changed my tune.

This book is fantastic. Seriously. It is one of the best, most hilarious, and incredibly entertaining; laugh out loud books I have read in possibly my entire life. I started chuckling on page 1, almost killed myself choking on an apple at page 27, and giggled furiously (yes I’m stealing that word) for close to 15 minutes straight the night after. But interspersed with the humor is Lawson describing her lifelong struggle with depression, anxiety; sleep disorders, etc…in a refreshingly real way. She freely and openly shares emotions and experiences that so many thousands feel the need to hide because our society tells us we should be ashamed of them. 

I have so much respect and admiration for people like Lawson; individuals who buck the idea and expectation to be 'normal' and instead embrace who they are, the good, the bad and the crazy - the fun parts and dark moments both. Social media bombards us daily with images, ideas and 140 character messages of people's perfect, happy lives. We're tricked into believing that life is always amazing for everyone, except us, but that is just a ridiculous lie. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that probably 99.99% of the world's population have at least days, if not weeks or months, and sometimes entire years of unhappiness. But they hold it in, living with a painful belief that only they are failing at that this thing call life. If more of us not only embraced those moments, but were also brave enough to shout them out to the world, there might not be so many people feeling isolated and alone. I haven’t been diagnosed with any of the disorders Lawson mentions in her book but I have had my own mental health battle. I’ve been fairly upfront about that fight but it has been many months since I’ve shared anything of substance though, so here goes…

I would say that at least once day I feel like a failure. I listen to my own Mr. Hyde-like voice telling me I’m a mess at my job, I have no established career, I can’t clean my house properly, I’m a disaster at lawn care, I suck at writing, I watch too much TV, I haven’t baked a dessert for work in a month so I’m totally dropping the ball, I told Steph I’d like to make frozen dinners for her family months ago and have cooked one so I’m a bad friend, I never seem to be able to save money so I’m an irresponsible adult…I could go on for pages. The Dr. Jekyll side of me knows that not all of those things are necessarily true (although the lawn care definitely is) but it’s so easy to disregard that whisper and instead fall in line with the negative yells. I also have that other voice in my head; the one who tells me I’m too fat, that I’ve eaten too much, that I only worked out for an hour – not three – so that’s an entire day wasted. It’s exhausting.  

In truth, I'm not particularly in love with life right now; I haven't been for a few months. That’s not to say I’ve been wrapped inside a constant state of unhappiness; I can easily find contentment while sitting in my little home library, or delving into a craft project, attacking a steep mountain trail, or wandering through the dark shelves of Barnes&Noble for an hour, or two...ok maybe three. Faelina remains my ever shining star and has me laughing daily as observe her zany obsessions and delighted obstinacy in rule breaking (we have daily discussions about the kitchen counters being off limits, I say they are (off limits that is), she disagrees).

Part of my downward emotions are probably due to the fact that, since January, I’ve been back in therapy. There was no major crash that brought that about, finding a therapist was something I should have done as soon as I reached Utah, but I was just so tired of dealing with everything so decided to attempt managing everything on my own. In some ways I did ok, in others I definitely failed; by January though I was started to lean towards bad habits and decisions with frightening frequency so it’s good I started back up when I did. Of course there is a pretty big difference in living a delicate balance with an eating disorder and actively trying to eliminate it. The second part is harder, it sucks, and it means that many days you go to bed feeling miserable.

That isn’t all of it though, there is just something is missing. I have been rifling through my life and mind trying to figure out just what that something is but apparently elusivity (this may not be an actual word but I don’t care, I’m still using it) is it’s middle name because so far I’ve got nothing. It’s a quest I won’t give up on though; happiness is too important to give up on, so I’ll keep searching. I’ll share things as I discover them – good, bad and ugly. I’m also going to start being a little more forthcoming with some of the quirkier, weirder aspects of myself because they bring me joy and delight and a little bit closer to becoming furiously happy.

p.s. If you do anything today, go to the store and buy that book. If you don’t laugh at least once I will refund your money. If you still don't want to spend money go the library, books are free there.

 

 

 

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It Can't Happen Here

This past weekend I read the final words of Sinclair Lewis' 'It Can't Happen Here', a "cautionary

tale" about a new president establishing a dictatorship in order to save the country from an all-consuming crisis. The book was published 1935, yet certain passages have me all but convinced that Lewis discovered the secret to time travel and witnessed the 2016 presidential election. I suffered a whirlwind of emotions throughout it: apprehension, incredulity, resigned amusement, a flutter of fear, and doubting disbelief - Yes, the election played out in the book, could have been the prophecy of last years, but there's no way what happened after could really happen now - could it?'. '

I'd like to think that with the advances in technology and social media today the country's safe, that I'm just experiencing a moment of paranoid fear, but honestly who knows. I freely admit that I trust this current president about as much as I would a President Lord Voldemort (should he ever run, win, and - you know - be real). I despise Trump and am disgusted with the direction he has taken the country. I wouldn't put it past him to go after a dictatorship if he sees an opening to do so, and with the absurd amount of supporters who continue to follow him (a fact that makes me downright ashamed), he just might.

I recommend this book not because it will bring one enjoyment and happiness, but because it makes one truly ponder the importance of the principles this country was built upon. Obviously, I may - ok do - have some very strong, biased opinions about this government. Those who share those same political ideologies would likely have family similar thoughts were they to read this book, and I would love to discuss it with them (this would make for an excellent reading club choice). I'd also be interested though in hearing the opinions and insight of those who do not ascribe to those same beliefs, because as much as I try to understand where they're coming from I just can't. But maybe by continuing to talk differences through (and I will concede that the harshness dialogue in my previous paragraph is perhaps not the most conducive to such discussions) we can someday breach the ever expanding differences between us and really work together to improve this country. I hope so, because if not, then someday, we might wake up to find that it did happen here.