Dear Dad,

How’s it going?

A year ago you died. It was also the same day Mom moved into her new trailer at the Hamlet. Your timing, per usual, was impeccable.

The plan, of course, was for both of you to live at the Hamlet. I suppose that you (and God) had other plans.

We know you wanted to make sure Mom was settled okay; she is. We know you’d want Mom to do okay; she is – considering you’re gone. We’d all much rather have you back to your former smart-ass self, making us donuts out of canned biscuits, cooking weekend breakfasts, tinkering on one of your projects, baking real biscuits, and sharing a family meal with you smacking your lips and exclaiming “It don’t get no bettah!”

We miss you.

Life has gone on.

I’ve been dyeing my hair bright pink. I told Mom I wish you’d been alive to see it, because I thought you’d like it. Mom told me you wouldn’t like it. But I told her, even if you didn’t like it, you’d be amused by it. My pink hair. You would tease me about it. No worries on that front, by the way, both Mom and Edmund give me enough grief about the hair (and I give it right back.)

Bill is doing well. He spent almost every weekend last summer helping Mom out at Camp Cull. The floor is finally in the basement. This summer might see another bathroom and sleeping area so Edmund and I can stay over. He’s still working hard up in North Anson. Taking care of business.

Ed’s Dad Henry is not doing well, the Brain cancer came back and he had a major stroke. We are waiting for the other shoe to drop. I suppose you and Dot will have some company sooner than later.

Other than that, Edmund and I are doing okay. We’re working at the same jobs; I’m going to take up balloon twisting again. I’ll need to get up the gumption to find a regular gig so I can practice, as you always said “God hates a coward!” Working on it.

Mom is exercising regularly and spending time with friends. She gave Max up last fall, it was hard but he was getting to be too much for her. He was adopted out right away, so we feel good about that. Loki the cat is still a pain in the ass. Mom’s going to take him up to camp this summer instead of leaving him in Westbrook. We still meet almost every Friday for dinner. Today we’re going to have lunch at the Mall – just like old times with you.

I miss you, Dad. I miss your sly sense of humor. I miss that twinkle in your eye when I said something particularly clever or funny. I miss your insight. I miss your delight in good food and spending time with family.

I am grateful and I feel blessed to be your daughter. You always made me feel like I could do anything I wanted to. Your delight in my successes and my snark kept me going – keeps me going.

I love you.

Your daughter,

Lanna Lee

Dad the Chef [Photo by Betty-Jean Bennett]

For 30 years, on the 4th we’d gather at Dot Mithee’s family camp on First Davis Pond in North Guilford.

Mom says he’d ask people six months ahead of time, “You coming up to camp on the 4th?” Everybody was invited. Both sides of the family (Mom’s and Dad’s), friends, and even their dogs were welcome. Mom and Dad would provide chicken, hot dogs and hamburg. Mom would make some potato salad, three bean salad, spaghetti casserole and maybe a (booger) broccoli casserole. After that there was pot luck. Aunt Rose would bring her famous biscuits. Others would bring macaroni salads and sweets. If you went hungry, that was your own fault. People brought their own beverages.

Dad and Bill would attach a huge tarp to the side of the camp, plus a couple of pop-up tents, for shade and for a place to sit if it rains. Years ago, Dad made several wooden benches that were placed around the property.

In the past couple of years, Mom and Dad kept telling me and Bill that they were going to stop the 4th of July celebration. It was too much for them to handle anymore, the camp had no running water and the stove was a bit tetchy. Since Dad got their own Camp Cull ready last year, we were glad to hear that the celebration was going to move there (just a mile away) instead of disappearing entirely.

Then Dad died and we couldn’t do it. Too much too soon.

In the 1990’s I missed a couple of the 4th celebrations, I was living in Boston without a car. Some years I’d make great strides to get there. I haven’t missed a 4th celebration since then. So it’s a bit weird to not be trucking my ass up the highway toward Guilford, Maine. Instead I’m still in my pajamas in Westbrook, with no plans. I’m okay with that. I am sure we’ll be celebrating Thanksgiving and Christmas together as a family, that’s soon enough to experience long-held family rituals without Dad.

As far as me, I’m doing well. I am feeling much better. Better than I’ve felt for a few months. The trip we took last week was truly restorative, just what I needed. So I face today with sadness, but still with hope.

It would have been my parents’ 46th Wedding anniversary today.

Their wedding flowers were lilacs. This was for two reasons: they were in bloom and they were free for the taking. Every year since then, my father would find some way to get my mother lilacs when they bloomed. Here in Southern Maine they were blooming at the beginning of May, when we had my father’s funeral.

Pictured is the bouquet of lilacs my pal Trisha made up for us, refreshed with new lilacs stolen from the senior housing development next to my house. Lilacs have gone by now, but they’re forever immortalized in picture form, saying a thousand words and the like.

I love you Dad. You should be here right now.

I love you Mom. Happy Anniversary.

I’m coming up on a tough week. Tomorrow, Monday June 11th, would have been my parents’ 46th wedding anniversary. Friday, June 15th, is my birthday. And Sunday, June 17th is Father’s Day.

If this is your first time here, my Dad, Walter Maheux, passed away this spring. So to be hit with three “firsts” in one week is a bit daunting. And it brings me back to a private Facebook message my friend Bill Cook sent me a few days after my Dad died. Welcoming me to “The Club”.

Here it is in it’s entirety:

Hey Lanna,
I was just reading through your blog about your dad and crying and smiling.
I lost my dad October 27th, 2001.
He officially passed from complications with diabetes, but he’d slipped away to Alzheimer’s years prior.
When he was sick, everyone had advice, but one friend…who’d lost her Mom & Dad already…said you never “get it” until you’ve experienced the death of a parent.
She was right.

Welcome to “The Club”.

My unsolicited advice?
Never expect a “right way” for anything to unfold in your grieving.
Your writings for “The Last Picture Show” hit home on so many levels.
Talking about thinking there would be more time…
The last time I saw my dad was in The Barron Center. I’d visited, and he’d had a good day. “Can we go to “The Deli” (The Full Belly Deli)?”, he asked?
“Next time”, I said… thinking there would be. He passed 2 days later.

Next “The Firsts”. Those were hard. Especially with my family. He died in October, and that Thanksgiving there was a big elephant in the room that everyone tip-toed around, until I said, “Remember when Dad would…?” or “Remember that time that Dad…?”
Talk about him.
Include him.
I have a feeling that won’t be a problem with your family.

And finally, “I don’t see this getting better for a long time.”
It doesn’t.
It just gets different.
At least for me.
The images of him sick get replaced by images of him healthy.
The wishing you could talk to him gets replaced with the knowledge that , well, you can.
The missing him though? That doesn’t change.
Honestly, not a day goes by that I don’t think about him.
Some days are better than others, even after 10+ years. And even now, there are some times I have a melt down.
I’d like to think that the more you love someone, the more it hurts when they leave.
So Cry.
Get Mad!
Curl up in bed.
Feel justified thinking, “DON’T YOU PEOPLE KNOW MY DAD HAS DIED?!?!?! F*CK YOU ALL!!!!!”

It’s a sobering thing, the death of a parent.
And life changing.

But I think the humor and love in your family will help out a lot.
And I think I know where you got both.
If you ever want to talk to a fellow club member, let me know.
xo

I asked Bill if I could share his message on my blag because it came to me just at the right moment. It’s a club that nobody wants to be in, but whenever I’m feeling down I think of The Club and know that I’m not alone.