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.
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 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.
A quick glance at my IG may (or may not) lead a person to believe that we are somehow living our best life and *gasp* maybe even thriving. It's the highlight reel. Don't be fooled.
And now for the rest of the story ... This is what is really happening. I initially had high hopes for all the knitting, reading, baking, cooking, jigsaw puzzling that I was going to have time to do with no soccer, swim, or other kid activities. It has quickly devolved into Tiger King, Australian licorice (PSA soooo good!), and what delicious food or beverage can I consume to assuage the anxiety.
I mean, I definitely think we are living the best life we can under the circumstances, but trust me the struggle bus stops right outside our house and I can't always figure out how to get off. I'm over here with four or less lash extensions left on each eye, hella grey roots coming through, and let's not even bother to talk about the forehead wrinkles and my less than groomed nether regions. Trying to do all the work, at least a little of the teaching, and trying to remember who is on what Zoom at what time. I feel you friends. All of you. Trust me.
Distance Learning
I went on strike after about week 2. Gus, bless him, took over. At one point, I got demoted from third grade teacher to kindergarten teacher. The fact that coloring hats for the Cat in the Hat was about all I had the bandwidth for could have had something to do with the volume of wine consumed. Since going on strike, I have crossed the picket line a couple times mostly because I feel guilty for not pulling my weight. But I don't home school my kids for a reason.
We have put tremendous pressure on J1 during this time. #momguilt We mostly made her responsible for her own work, which hasn't been all bad ... except for the Spanish. How is my brilliant child failing Spanish, when it is only a participation grade? Because she hasn't been logging on to Rosetta Stone and I haven't bothered to check to see if she was doing it. #momfail
J1 is also responsible for helping J2 with his work. Unless of course, J2 gets frustrated, hits J1 and then J1 refuses to help J2. I mean I don't blame her. And when J2 tells you that he's finished his homework, you can almost guarantee that he's only done an 1/8th of it, at best. So evenings, after logging off from work, are often devoted to finishing schoolwork. Mostly it's Gus because well, I went on strike (see above).
Working
I have commandeered J1's room. I don't have a green screen. My computer doesn't support the Zoom backgrounds without a green screen, and therefore every single video conference people can see me in my 9-year old glory, pink walls, lofted bed, unicorn twinkle lights, Hello Kitty (because Asian!), etc. I have to pick up her room each morning because I cannot even think in a messy room.
Everyday I need something new. First it was a monitor. Then another monitor. Then a real keyboard, a desk chair, and most recently a laser printer. Oh, and my kids each got new laptops. We are staying home and doing our best to stimulate the economy. LOL. When I'm logged on remotely, I can type a complete sentence, check IG, and then what I typed might finally appear on the screen. The efficiency is definitely lower, which means for longer hours. Sigh.
Healthy Living
This is hard. While Fleet Feet reminds me daily that running is not canceled, eating my feelings has taken a starring role. I mean people are worried about toilet paper and I panic bought cheese and wine. Gouda, havarti, feta, cotija, manchego, cheddar, two kinds of vegan cheese.
Gus, of course, had the common sense to buy the paper products, so we're still doing OK on that front.
Yet, even after running nearly 450 miles to date this year, I'm pretty sure the box of crackers I consume every other day and the regular at-home happy hours (because WTF else am I supposed to do?) have contributed to me gaining the COVID-19. At first, I gave myself the grace to eat the cheese and the carbs and drink the prosecco, but it's a slippery slope and if we have to keep this up much longer, I'm gonna weigh a quaran-ton.
So this week, I decided I work do two a day workouts because again, what else is there? Monday through Friday of this week I worked out twice, culminating with a 20 minute dance cardio workout with my boy, Cody Rigsby.
Again, this is unlikely to be sustainable, and probably the result of some weird emotional shit I need to work through ... but it got me through the week feeling like I accomplished something. Probs gonna pour myself a glass of prosecco now.
And now you know ... the rest of the story. It might not be pretty, but it's ours.
When this is over ... because we will get through this. I am going to see, do, and be all the things that I am currently missing like ...
Be the token Asian hanging out with all my white friends.
Be the soccer mom.
And the swim team mom
Go for dim sum, brunch, shave ice, happy hour, for a life-changing pretzel at the Biergarten, ANYTHING.
Run all the races
Make bad decisions with my crazy running crew
See my co-workers again
Despite all of the things I am missing, I am filled with gratitude that I even have these things to miss. Doing our part in the midst of this crisis is really a drop in the bucket when you consider the people who have been laid off, are on the front lines, or who were struggling even before this began. I am blessed.
