My dad and my grandpa died about 90 minutes apart; dad first. We didn’t find out about grandpa until the next morning.

My extended relative threw a birthday party for her one year old with around 40 people, including my grandparents. This was before vaccines and my grandparents were in their 80s. My dad did not attend this party, but the virus did. The next week, another extended relative held a Thanksgiving gathering. Again, there were too many people in too small of space. My grandparents were not well enough to travel to this gathering, possibly due to the virus, but another extended relative picked them up. Again, my dad did not attend.

My dad lived the closest to his parents and, along with my stepmom, helped them out with many things. It is a near certainty that he contracted the virus from them, his parents. Grandma’s hospital stay was short, but grandpa’s was nearly a month until it ended… he ended. Dad’s was not quite as long, he even got to come home for a brief bit before going back in and succumbing. His death was likely due to a mixture of remdesivir damaging his liver and his hope being crushed by the collapse in his condition. The drugs were our hope and it was the hope that killed.

Literally, I lost two family members that day, two of my best. In reality, I lost almost an entire side of my extended family and I barely know anyone on my deceased mom’s side. There is so much blame to go around, so many wrongs. Selfishness, mainly, and taking advantage by family members of a father and grandfather who had dementia. Grandpa was never likely to make it to the other side of the pandemic, with his age and medical history. To me, that meant we should do more than CDC guidelines, not less because he and they were impatient. I hope those parties were to die for.

My kids have only very young memories, stories, and thankfully pictures, of their grandpa. Outside of our house, he was one of the most important people in our lives.

Four months to the day, the state had a ribbon cutting for Ohio’s pandemic memorial. It is at the state park nearest to where they lived and a place where we spread some of my mom’s ashes as she held it almost sacred. I cannot see myself ever going back to that place now; those memories are tarnished.

I cannot find words awful enough to describe my grief. I doubt I ever will. I will not find the words, nor will my grief end. I feel cheated, though so many others have even worse stories. Maybe writing this out here will bring a modicum of catharsis down the road, but not today.

A little more than eighteen years ago, my dad sat down and started writing eleven cards. One card was mailed every day in succession. As I opened each one, I found details about my parent’s trip, notes about my brothers, and various wishes for a Happy Birthday.

Each card began with “Hi Doll”, “Dear Daughter”, “Dearest Daughter” or “Dear Daughter Dawn”. They started with just a quick, short note but each one progressed with more thought and meaning. This was unusual for Dad. He wasn’t someone who wrote letters or spoke a lot about how he felt. He told you he loved you; you knew he loved you, but he didn’t get … mushy? All of the cards finished with “Love & Kisses, Dad”.

Each Happy Birthday wish had a special heartfelt message. They started small and then …

“Just wanted to give you an early Happy Birthday'”

“Let’s see, are we close to your birthday? At the time of this writing, only two more days. Forty-two years ago, you wouldn’t believe what was going on. It was well worth it!”

“You have always soared high in life, trying to improve life in general everywhere. You are a great person and a wonderful daughter. I hope you stay the same for the rest of your life!”

I’ll share the next two in a bit, as they are very special to me.

“I hope you are not getting tired of these cards. There are a few more. The date above is the date they were written and dropped in a mailbox.”

“Happy Mother’s Day. I hope it was a good one for you because you deserve it. Not many moms have done what you have. Be happy and proud!”

“Are you getting tired of my little letters? Seems like we don’t see much of you guys any more, but all are in our thoughts. Our love is just as strong anyway!”

“This old man still loves you, but this is very difficult. To write every day. I have a very small brain. I don’t know how you did all your cards to me and grandma, besides working full time. I may have to slack off a bit.”

The following two notes were written on my birthday and the day after. These two leave me without words.

“On this day 42 years ago, a very happy occasion for your parents. It was also a stressful time for us, because the doctors didn’t give us a good deal of hope for your survival. By the grace of God, you came through for us. Thank you for not giving up. We will always love you. Happy Birthday and many more. All the happiness you deserve, will come. I am sure of that.”

Dad is talking about when I was born, two months premature and weighing only 3lbs 2 oz and dropping to 2lbs 6 oz before leaving the hospital after two months in an incubator.

“One day after your birthday and I still love you. Isn’t that something? As long as I breathe, I will love you. I hope you take life as it is and try to enjoy each and every day for the good things that happen and don’t let something that happens unhappy or uneasy to you, spoil your day! Am I rambling? Well, you will figure it out.”

I’m trying Daddy. It’s hard, but I’m trying.

These cards were rediscovered in the spring of 2021 after dad passed away in January. I was looking for dad’s handwriting to incorporate into a tattoo. The tattoo design is of a dragonfly with mom’s handwriting saying, ” Love you” and dad’s saying, “Love you more”. It is said that dragonflies can travel between heaven and earth.
Along with those cards, I found another from two years later. Again, for my birthday.

“Dearest Daughter,
As you know, I have always loved you more! I will continue to until my last breath! Which will be in about 50 years or so. Don’t you wish? 44 years old and counting. In six years, you may join AARP. What a babbling fool I am. Well, love you more and always.
Daddy
xoxoxo”

Yes, Daddy, I do wish.
Happy Birthday.
I love you most.
Soaring on the wings of a dragonfly.

My brother Johnny would start seeding crops for fall harvesting in August, around his birthday. Every seed packet and catalog of his included the day to maturity — the amount of time it takes from germination to the plants’ full mature stage. Johnny would make sure that a given crop would mature before the weather got too cold. He was so meticulous. Johnny always said growing vegetables for the fall was easier than for the spring, since he could control garden pests better.

Johnny’s fall harvest would include kale, carrots, lettuce, radishes, and turnips, as well as many other vegetables. He started his spring, summer, and fall gardens when he was a child, and he continued planting gardens throughout his life. He would distribute a good deal of his bounty to friends, neighbors, and relatives. Every time I see a vegetable garden, I think of Johnny, who I will always miss.

I had you in my life for 65 of your birthdays and you are terribly missed for your last 5 birthdays since you passed in the very beginning of the Pandemic. I treasure all the many memories that I have. I miss your energy, compassion, kindness and love. I miss your life.

My life was more significant, fuller, and better because you were here. Thank you, Johnny, for being a wonderful brother. Tomorrow is your birthday and I will always remember and honor the kind and special soul you were and still are.

My Dad was an appliance repair, salesman/coin operated laundry mat owner since he was 16 years old. A self made man at such a young age; he was well known around the South as one of the most intelligent, genuine, funny men you would ever have the pleasure of knowing. Why everyone knew Tommy Sizemore and to know him was to love him. He never met a stranger and was always willing to lend a helping hand to anyone or any animal in need.

As a young child, I have very fond Summer memories of getting to ride to work with him and catch calls. We’d make a whole fun day out of it. And he even let me paint his tool box rainbow colors–I decorated every inch of each tool box to which he told me years later, his customers would say “I see you have a talented artist in the family.” I remember him accepting payment in the form of homemade honey and jams because the customer couldn’t afford the repair. That’s the kind of man my Dad was–always put others before himself.

On our many adventures together, I got to ride around with my Dad to all of his different coin operated laundries. What always stuck out in my mind was Pop always had loose change in his pockets. It’s how I always knew when he was home from work as I could hear the jingle jangle of the change in his pockets as he came in the door.

What most don’t know is how something as simple as the change in his pockets gave me some of the best memories of my life. From buying me a snow cone at the park on a sunny, Saturday afternoon, to laying down a quarter on every row of colors at Six Flags so I was guaranteed to win a giant stuffed animal, getting me an icey after any Dr’s appointments that required shots, or donating change to my giant Coca Cola bottle bank– there’s nothing more magical than those moments.

Pop didn’t realize that with just the change in his pocket, he made this girl, this Daughter, so happy. I wish he would have known how magical those moments were and how much they meant to me. The impact he made on me and the world will always be cherished and never forgotten. And who would have ever thought he made all of this possible with just the change in his pocket? May we always try every day to live like Pop.