Emotionally, I have to admit that I’m not doing so well right now.
Intellectually, I recognize the symptoms: my unwillingness to leave the house, to do things, to see people, to prepare for my students, even to go to movies. Intellectually I force myself to get out a little, to visit a little, to study a little, but even my physical therapist recognizes and remarks on the changes in my demeanor, my body language, my physical health as a side affect of this loss and its related challenges.
Intellectually, I recognize that the problems of Patrick’s estate—and there are many—are of his doing, not mine. I have no reason to feel like I’m a failure, yet in many ways it’s like I’ve disappointed him, been unable to clean up his mess the way he wanted me to do. Despite his best efforts and intentions to share things equally between his kids and Stephanie’s family, he left a mess. I’m sure he didn’t mean for a paltry sum to permanently rupture things between my sister Jennifer (who is actively defying his wishes) and the rest of the family, but it has.
Intellectually I should forgive my father for his mistakes (in life and in dying), my sister for her greed, and myself for allowing this pain to surface in such unbecoming ways.
Intellectually, I think things through, but every thought is overridden by the sadness I feel for losing him.
I miss having to remember to call before noon because of the nine-hour time difference. I miss the occasional short stories of his life when they popped up in my inbox. I miss hearing him rant and worry about the horrors of the US and the world, the decline of music, the joy of Ivonne’s company, the sadness of Stephanie’s loss.
And I miss those awkward moments when we each forced out the words ‘I love you’ to the other, a phrase our family shunned for decades, three little words we subconsciously refused to utter for fear of further hurt.
Yes, it was time for him to check out—as one of his dear friends observed, there was nothing left of him inside his sweatshirt except pain, emptiness, and more pain—but selfish me wished for more time with him, more conversations, more laughter, more wine.
Now I surrender to the sadness, for that too is part of the healing process. At least, that’s what the intellectual me recites in my head. I shall return to a functional state again, and be happy again, and enjoy racing and teaching again, but for now, I’ll hunker down in my house a bit longer, type a bit more on my computer, listen to his voice a few more times.
Intellectually, I’m going to be okay. Emotionally, it’s gonna take a little time. I’ll catch up soon enough.
— JP
I’m the son of Patrick of Meadows.
This posting reflected the battle between the professor and the son.
I’m better now, but not yet whole.
John,
It’s been about four years since our brief spurt of e-mails and a phone call. They piqued my hope to learn more about Patrick’s life, family, friends, achievements, et al.
This website, which I only just discovered this past week, is far beyond my hopes — as it is a testament for your limitless love for your father. I give thanks for your dedication; it resonates with my unspoken wishes.
In the days when I had the good fortune to spend time with Patrick, he showed me a diary with a long list of books he kept up. Patrick was 31 then. He said he’d started the list when he began reading at 21, “I never read a book all the way through until then,” were his words, somehow indelibly impressed in my memory.
I mention this in hopes that you may run across that list sometime and share it here. Patrick loaned me many books. Each one almost always introduced me to a path in literature I was unaware of. As soon as I returned one, we’d chat, and he loaned me another. It would be fascinating to be able to revisit that list. By that time his library was already prodigious. I can barely imagine what it must have been in later years.
Best regards, John Hook
JP
I appreciate all you did to try to award Patrick’s estate the way he wanted, but failed to document. Jennifer’s blocking her father’s wishes has hurt you and deprived Gretchen, Alison and Carl’s receiving their intended share – money all of them sorely need.
I truly don’t understand her blocking what her father wanted and clearly made clear in his trust. Blocking his intentions is nothing short of evil.
Maybe some day we will understand her position, but I cannot imagine what/why she wanted to do what she has done. Karma is a bitch.
Tate Shepard – January 19, 2018.
John,
I think you have done a remarkable job in the face of this difficult task. I’m sorry for the stress you have suffered , I know Papa felt you were up for the task, and I’m sure , would be pleased , to say the least. We are all connected in the sadness of losing him. Thank you for all you are and have done! Love, Allison
Thanks for sharing your heart, JP.