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.