halloween at home

 My children, who looooove trick or treating, did their civic duty and stayed home this Halloween. I think I only got one "why can't we go trick or treating" from J2 the whole Halloween season. I'm going to toot my own horn and say it's because (1) I am on my way to raising socially aware children who care about others; and (2) I had such a fun evening planned for them they hardly felt like they were missing out. But, think what you will. 

I promised a little family Halloween party with games and prizes. In the weeks leading up to the event, I  was continually harassed about whether prizes had been purchased and what said prizes were going to be. Thankfully, I don't think anyone was disappointed.

We started with pumpkin carving. Every year I fully intend to forego this tradition because it's gross and somehow I end up with blisters. And yet every year, here we are. Carving pumpkins. What I will say about this year is that both kids carved their own pumpkins with zero help from me. We'll call that a win.

J1

J2

We dressed up and had some spooky food for dinner.

Then we had some old fashioned fun bobbing for apples, eating doughnuts off string, digging through "brains" for spiders, and annihilating a pinata.

We finished our evening with snuggles on the couch. 

And here's the moral of the story. I am happiest at home with my little family. I get enough people-ing scrolling through social media. Or maybe that's just the election anxiety talking. For now though. Staying at home feels good. 

unboxing

Friday, October 9th marked 19 years since my mom passed away. It also marked J1's 10th birthday and one decade of me being a mother, myself. On top of which, it was the end of a very long week that included a trial and a couple long work-related nights. While I would generally give myself a moment to reflect, be sad, and feel all the feels, there was just way too much going on for me to fall apart. So I compartmentalized and pushed ahead. 

When my brother called me that afternoon on my way to J1's birthday dinner, I couldn't even have a meaningful conversation about it. He wanted to talk about what a milestone 19 years was; how we've been without her for almost as long as we had her. I just wasn't in the right space. 

I slowly unboxed all the feelings over this past week. 

Last week, perhaps as a reminder, was one of those weeks that I really could have used my mom. As I struggled to figure out the best way to do something under the pressure of a clock that was slowly ticking down, I remembered how in Fall 2000 I was sitting in an overpriced studio apartment in NYC struggling to finish an urban design paper. My dad had agreeably driven me around Sun City West over Thanksgiving break while I took pictures, much to the suspicion of many a senior citizen, of Del Webb's planned community. As I sat at my desk flipping through actual prints of these photographs (I think I used a disposable camera *gasp*), I could not for the life of me figure out how to structure my writing. I remember my mom calling and me being upset and crying. While she didn't know the first thing about urban design, she told me that she knew I could figure it out. She was right. And I did. Last week, even without her, was really no different. I cried. I took a break. I thought some more. And I eventually figured it out.  

I think of that conversation with her often when I struggle with figuring something out. She probably also told me to pray about it, to which I almost certainly responded that God was not going to write my paper for me, just like he wasn't going to teach me calculus in college. Although I probably should have and it certainly couldn't hurt, I likely did not pray about. She would be happy that we do, however, often ask God for help particularly when it comes to J2's ability (or lack thereof) to make good choices. Not entirely sure it works, but again, I assume it cannot hurt. I digress.

My mom was tremendous. In her love for the Lord, in her love for family and community, in all things. As I help my kids navigate developing resilience in school, athletics, life, I, like my mom did for me, tell them that I know they can figure it out if they just keep trying. I will even tell them the story about my urban design project, and how I did, just like she said I would, figure it out. 

And while it is nothing like writing a paper, we all also keep figuring out how to just keep going without her even as the years tick by and the time she was with us becomes a smaller and smaller fraction of our time on this earth. Because no matter how long I live, the space in my heart for her never gets smaller. 

And this, among other things, is how I will remember always her ... unmolding some god awful Jell-O "salad" to accompany the even more god awful lutefisk for Christmas Eve. Oh, and yes, that's a tub of Tom & Jerry's, which I also find rather barfy. What are we doing?!

Sept. 23, 2019

In the fall 2000, I got a phone call from my mom instructing me to go to JFK. She had booked me a flight to Rochester, Minnesota where my dad was undergoing emergency surgery to fix an aorta rupture. It was then that I promised myself that I wouldn't ever move out of state until after both my parents were gone. 

I didn't keep that promise. In Winter 2010-2011, Gus and I fled the tundra for the Arizona desert and subsequently Sacramento. After which I took notice of the fact that I only saw my dad once, maybe twice if we were lucky, per year and I realized that it meant that I would probably only see him a handful more times before he was gone. And while we certainly made the best of the times we had together, it just wasn't enough. It was then, however, that I promised that I would ALWAYS answer the phone if Dad or Amy called. 

And this is why, on September 23, 2019, while driving my kids to school, I answered the phone. Unlike my brother, who still has the voicemail Amy had to leave notifying him of the news, which to be honest I'm maybe a little jealous about. Whether I answered the phone or not, Dr. B. was gone. I remember breaking down in the car. I remember sending my kids to school and going to work anyway, which in hindsight was a terrible idea. I remember the kids telling me that they had never heard me cry like that before. I remember texting Gus and telling him to call me immediately. I remember telling Gus what happened and wondering why he would immediately get off the train, turn around and catch the next train home. The gravity of the situation had not totally sunk in at that point. 

It quickly became obvious that I wouldn't be able to focus on work and I went home and laid on the couch until Gus arrived. After which we worked on the logistics of how I would get home, who would come with me, and what we were going to do about J2's birthday, which was four days later. I remember J2 saying that he didn't want to go to Minnesota because everyone would be sad and he didn't want to be sad anymore.

And ... here we are one year later. Really no less sad than we were before. Dad's death was really the kickoff of many changes that were to come in the following 12 months, e.g., distance learning, mask wearing, staying home. 

Even when I struggled to connect with him emotionally, he was my Dad. The best one. I knew that he loved us fiercely and his dedication to his work was a reflection of his dedication to family. I attribute much of my work ethic, desire for success, love for academia, and professional drive to him. 

David and I reminisced on the phone tonight about our favorite Dad memories. David was a Dad favorite because he liked things like roofing houses, digging trenches, and power tools. I, on the other hand, was the girl who changed her outfit whenever she got dirty and sat around waiting for Dad to ask me to fetch a nail or hold something (which wasn't often enough to keep me interested).

Despite our dissimilarities, we played endless hours of cribbage and he was always there to support me at every swim meet, band concert, hockey game or football game. He even helped bake the pasties when I was the Job's Daughters Honored Queen. He would truly do anything for me. 

He, of course, had high expectations. He would question any A- on my report card like the pseudo-Asian dad he was. While at the same time telling me my report card was boring if I got straight As. When considering colleges, he told me that I could go wherever I wanted and he would figure it out. He hired a plane to fly us to my Carleton interview. 

The past 12 months have pretty much been a dumpster fire and all of a sudden I find myself back here, the day my Dad died. Pandemic prevented us from going to Minnesota this summer and more importantly inuring Dad's ashes. I find myself in a love-relationship with autumn, which is really one of my favorite seasons. I don't hate fall. I hate being an orphan (and pumpkin spice *gasp*). 

I still haven't quite figured out life without him. Maybe none of us has. In spite of it we keep going. Not missing him any less. 

He was one of the good ones. Talented surgeon, dedicated father and grandfather, a good friend to many. He is missed. More than he probably even knows. 

Dad, while I would really like to toast you, unlike Dave, I don't think I can choke down anymore Kendall Jackson chardonnay. But Gus opened a Far Niente Chardonnay. So I imagine I am still your favorite child. Love and miss you tremendously. Always. 

day 163?

 I lose track and depend on @sharynesque's IG to remind me what day of pandemic-life we are on ... since her last update on Day 162 was 19 hours ago, I'm going with today is Day 163. OMG. 

Our days, weeks, and months have been a sea of "this is kind of fun and we're getting lots of family time" to "can we please go somewhere, anywhere?" and then devolving into endless days of watching reality television garbage, which admittedly is kind of fun. I recommend Southern Charm and Married at First Sight, in case you need suggestions. 

Pandemic life has forced us to be creative ...

Sunday communion = Michael David Cabernet and saltines 

At-home wine tasting. 

Backyard Disneyland complete with "rides."

We got desperate enough for a summer "vacation" that we braved the elements and went camping. In a tent. Gasp. Not just once. BUT TWICE. Both kids have said it is their favorite thing we've done this summer, which may not be saying a whole lot given the circumstances. 

Suffice it to say, we are hanging in there. By a mere thread but still. The kids got a bit of normalcy when swim team and soccer resumed and I at least got my annual Dairy Queen. 

 

Gus ate some vegan nonsense faux Top the Tater and has subsequently decided he is transitioning back to the omnivore life. 

Summer is over. Distance learning has re-commenced. I can certainly see why 4th grade was always my mom's favorite grade to teach. And J2? Well, that's an entire blog entry unto itself. Suffice it to say, his favorite thing is to push boundaries and test patience. He's currently on the path to being the first student expelled from our little home schooling project. Sigh. 

And yet, we persevere. For now. 

it's not summer without you

This is where my kids have spent every. single. 4th of July. of their entire existence. It's all they know. It is humid. There are mosquitoes. It takes planes, trains, automobiles, and boats just to get there. But it is perfection. Everything about Lake Vermilion fills my heart with summer, love, and the sheer joy of knowing that sometimes you can go home. 

This summer is different. It's our first summer without Dad, which in and of itself is hard, but the icing on the cake is a global pandemic. End result? This is the first summer in as long as I an remember that I will miss the 4th of July at Lake Vermilion, and I am definitely struggling. Facebook is kindly reminding me each day that over the past 9 years we've made this annual pilgrimage to a little boat house were family is always waiting.

I am both sad and maybe a bit relieved that this summer is different. Nothing is normal. I am sad because I miss the lake. I miss lazy days on the deck. Letting the kids swim non-stop. Spending time with Dave. Lighting off fireworks. Kayak racing around the island. Crayfish hunting. Letting the next generation run feral on the island. 

 

 

The list of things that I will miss is long. It goes on. And on. 

But mixed in there is some relief. Going home this summer meant facing a 4th of July without Dad greeting us at the boat house, or making us breakfast, or drinking coffee and watching the morning news. I don't know what being back in a place that doesn't just remind me of Dad, but is Dad, looks like without him. 

   

It's just not summer without him. Or without a Bloody Mary for breakfast, a sawdust scramble, Top the Tater, or a trip to the MOA.

 

Summer is never going to be the same, but fingers crossed that we'll be back at Lake Vermilion for 2021. 

the first of many

Sunday will be my first Father's Day without my Dad. I can't remember the last time I spent the actual holiday with him, but until this past September it was always a possibility. We said goodbye to him last fall and these were my words. Perhaps a cop-out of a blog post, but this blog is only sort of limping along as it is.

I have always been so proud to say that I am Dr. Berglund's daughter. If you read his obituary, you can certainly see why. As many of you might know, there was another doctor with an adopted Korean daughter, and you can bet that I made sure to correct anyone who mistook me for Renee Passal. Not because her dad wasn't lovely. He certainly was. But he was not mine. In fact, I kept my maiden name, in part, because I felt like it kept me connected to Dad. Of course, it confuses the hell out of those who meet the Chunglund clan and wonder why the mother of such a nice very Korean family has a Scandinavian last name.

Growing up, my Dad was the smartest person I know. Well educated, well read, and always well informed about current events. As a child, I never questioned anything he said. Like when he told Charlie there were no sharks in the Atlantic Ocean so my little brother wouldn't be scared to go snorkeling. I believed him too. In fact, I even saw a shark on that particular snorkeling trip and convinced myself that it wasn't one because, well, Dad said so. #gullible

Because I looked up to him so much, and you all read about how impressive he was, the thought of disappointing him struck the fear of God in me. Dad was the quintessential "wait until your father comes home" kind of dad. I did not want to see the look of disappointment on his face. One withering stare could crush me. Let's be honest. I'm a 41 year old woman who is still afraid of disappointing her dad.

As you all know, Dad wasn't a huge talker and he certainly didn't wear his heart on his sleeve. I got the distinct feeling that any of my tears or emotional outbursts (of which there were plenty) left him discernibly uncomfortable. He was stoic. He was humble. He never complained. It often made it hard for me as an adult to know how to show up for him in a way that made him know how much I loved and respected him, which I most certainly did.

What I have discovered as I have reflected on his life is that his love was a constant, unwavering, reliable presence in my life. It wasn't the overwhelming, all consuming, in your face kind of love that my late mother radiated. It was quieter and it was always there when you needed it. Dad was at every swim meet, graduation, parents night, end of year banquet, piano recital, and pasty bake. It's hard to know if he actually enjoyed those things, but he was there. I never had to wonder if he was going to show up because he always did on time or even early. We would spend weekends in the cities at three day long swim meets, which by the way, I have a new appreciation for as both my kids are on the swim team and I'm pretty much over all day swim meets already. Dad saw me through failed relationships, moving home from NYC, college, graduate school, law school, and the birth of my children. When I finally eloped with Gus at a drive thru chapel in Las Vegas without telling anyone, he told me twas the best decision I had ever made. He wasn't wrong. 

My favorite recent memory is when my daughter, Juliet, conducted a telephone interview with Dad for a school assignment. The easier choice would have been to interview my mother-in-law because she sees the kids every day. But Juliet wanted to talk to Papa Roger. I figured it was the middle of winter and he was probably home alone with nothing to do so why not? While the conversation was a bit halted and awkward, and Dad was definitely caught off guard, I got the feeling he was happy we called. We all had some laughs about his answers to his questions. Of course, my then first grader later asked me "what did Papa Roger mean when he said that he wished he knew 'how to talk to girls' when he was growing up?"

I am grateful for the time my kids spent with Papa Roger. We have made such great memories at the lake over the past several years. It's been nice to watch Dad slow down a little and enjoy the lovely home that he and Amy built. Instead of constantly tackling the next project, these last few summers we've played lots of cribbage, drank lots of wine, and just sat outside on the deck. I particularly loved when Dad would come down to the dock to watch the grandkids jump into the lake. He'd create the category, e.g., best cannonball, biggest splash, farthest jump, and then give each of them a score.

I will miss coffee with Dad in the mornings. Juliet says she will miss watching the news with Papa Roger. I will really miss just knowing he's there because that's where he's always been. I struggle thinking about adjusting to a life without his constant, quiet presence.

Thank you for always being there for me, Daddy. I am the person I am today in large part because of you. I certainly lucked out when you chose me to be your daughter. Just as I have trusted all these years that you will take care of me, I now trust that the Lord will do the same for you. I love and miss you tremendously.  

i just miss you ... that's all

Dear Mom,

I miss you. So much. In a way that profoundly changes me. Urging me to be a better person, a more patient mother, a rainbow in someone else's storm. But it's hard.

Things are so crazy right now. Quarantine life. You're missing out. Or not. Although, I'm sure you and Ralph would have made the most of it and perhaps watched many movies that you had forgotten you had already seen. Ha.

those shoulder pads!

There have been a handful of things that have happened recently, just in time for Mother's Day, that have kept you on the forefront of my mind.

First, I've been catching up on my Teen Mom OG. Yes, you are rolling your eyes. But, someone recently asked me if I took parenting classes before I had J1. I did not. I watched a bunch of Teen Mom and figured if they could do it, I could, as a married, thirty-something with two post-grad degrees, definitely be a mom. This show still does its part in making me feel better about my parenting skills (or lack thereof).

In a recent episode, one of the women loses her mom to cancer. The series documented her last year or so. It felt like reliving 2000-2001 all over again. That moment when you know the time has come and you must prepare for the end. I remember that moment. I was sitting on the couch looking out at the lake. You had just gotten off the phone with Dr. Olson, who had given you his opinion on your scans. The cancer was everywhere and there was nothing left to do. And yet, I wasn't prepared for the end. I didn't know how to be. Even now, in hindsight, I don't know what I could have done differently. Perhaps you just can't be prepared. Maybe you were though.

Second, this turned up in my Pinterest feed today. You don't even know what Pinterest is. It's a time suck. It will not suck more of your time than TikTok, but it will also make you laugh a lot less.

But this. Every. single. damn. day. I try. Truly I do. I want to be the mom for J1 and J2 that you were to David and me. The best kind of mom. And to be honest, I barely even come close. You had the patience I lack. The desire to teach that I admire, and a way of holding us all together with Christmas cards, stroganoff, and Swedish meatballs.

she's unleashing a heinous gelatin salad in this photo

Liane, your hair is enviable. Truly enviable.

You were everything to everyone and you managed it with a grace that I cannot even fathom. I honestly don't recall a time when you were so stressed out that you just couldn't deal with us. Maybe those moments existed, but I don't remember them. I kind of secretly hope that this is the case and my kids won't remember the tears and stress etched into every inch of my face. Particularly, over the last month as we've struggled to figure out how to distance learn and work from home. Maybe because we're moms we always have that "I got this" look, even when we have no idea what the fuck we are doing.

Finally, you've been gone for nearly 19 years. I think that's correct. Just today, a friend was telling me about something her parents did and I felt like I couldn't relate because it wasn't something you would have done ... but maybe it was and I just can't remember. Sometimes I wonder if I misremember things that happened because the grief and loss that this world suffered when you left swallows up any memories and just leaves a rosy glow of romanticism. Maybe that's what is supposed to happen. But it terrifies me to think that I can't or won't remember things accurately. Because those memories are all we have left. There will not be anymore made.

Oh, and maybe you've already seen him, but Dad left us last fall too, in a most unexpected way. Please give him a hug for me, if you do run across him. I miss him so so much too. You probably knew all the things in his obituary that I did not because you were there for much of it.

None of this gets easier. This year feels particularly hard because it's so. damn. weird. But I guess the depth of my grief means there was and still is great love. I'd really like to talk to you. I just miss you. That's all.

All my love,

Nina