I am grateful for the start of summer. Living in Manitoba the start of summer is greatly anticipated.
I am grateful to be hearing my son sing in his room before he sleeps.
I am grateful that my daughter is able to bike to school with her friends.
To be honest, I haven’t known where to begin with my Father pieces. He is such a mystery. And I’m afraid he will remain as such. So please bear with me as I attempt to put a few pieces together at a time. What started me on this journey about 5 years ago was the fact that I knew more about my Dad’s death than his life. One of the first sentences I wrote was “I hate the bullet”. The bullet represents not only the literal bullet but all of the negative of my Dad’s story. I wanted to find the positive. I was taught to believe and do believe that there is a reason for everything. And that means everything. I struggled with that. What was the reason and the positive in my Dad’s murder? Were these concepts even possible? Murder and positive. Murder and reason. Aren’t these paradoxes? I was determined to find out. So I spent my year of maternity leave with my son finding out. I didn’t expect to have everything figured out but at least get a start. I made incredible progress in that first year of discovery. I felt by the end of the year that I had found a few positive reasons. He did not die in vain.
On June 12th 1976 my Dad 32 year old Allan Pearce was shot in a home invasion on his parent’s farm outside Moosomin, Saskatchewan. My Grandma was also raped. My parents had a house on the property. My sister was 20 months old and my Mom was 3 days from due with me. That is the short version. I am working on the long version but believe me when I say that it is complicated and painful. I have heard versions and told the story since I was 12 years old but putting it down in writing as accurately and respectfully as possible is completely different; especially when you weren’t there.
My Dad gave his life trying to protect his family. I have no doubt of that. There is evidence that more people would have died if things had not happened exactly as they did. For me, I find this incredible. I am so proud and honored to be able to say that my Dad gave his life for ours. But it is also the reason I wish I could have known him. That is the pain that doesn’t leave; the constant back and forth.
The man who pulled the trigger and raped my Grandma was arrested within a few hours and received a life sentence. He has spent the last few years working to rehabilitate. He has become a Christian, and for all the judgments out there on this subject, please reserve them for God and trust that we have received enough information on the subject to believe that he is telling the truth. He is now in a halfway house with a job.
The accomplice to the crime also received a life sentence. Even though he did want to be there, did not pull the trigger or commit the rape he received almost the same sentence as the man who did. We understand the legality of the situation and now as we look back we also wonder if prison saved his life. Where would he be if he had been on the outside? He is now working full time in a half way house as a counselor; completely rehabilitated and a Christian.
For my Dad, a man of God and strong faith, the fact that these two men are now on a path to God would have been reason enough to give his life. It is reason enough to say that he did not die in vain. But the other side is that all these men had to do was ask for help and my Dad would have done anything for them. No one had to die that day.
I have found the positive and the reason, or as much as my human mind can comprehend, so the bullet has less power over my life. And if I can find the reason for my Dad’s murder everything else seems a whole lot easier. I’m thankful for what my Dad did I just wish he wouldn’t have had to do it.
When I first told my Mom that we were having a boy she couldn’t hide her slight disappointment. She said, “What am I going to do with a boy? What am I going to sew for a boy? I still have too much pink and purple fabric to have a grandson.” My Mom had 2 daughters and 3 granddaughters, not a boy in sight. Then he was born and she fell in love with him.
Mom found that she really didn’t have too tough a time finding things to make for him. PJ’s, a stuffed taxi that he sleeps with, pillows, blankets. We just had to go shopping for different color fabrics. She enjoyed the challenge. And he enjoyed everything she made and still does. His baby blanket is his treasure. His PJ’s are almost up to his knees and elbows but he refuses to give them up. They are Gamma pants and Gamma shirts. The two of them really started to bond when he was 2. Unfortunately that was also when she got sick. But, I think that it also sweetened their relationship. They had their routines of affection. Little hugs and tickles. Sometimes she would be so sick and so tired but as soon as she saw him she would suddenly find energy and a smile. I would ask her if she was really sure that I should bring the kids and she would insist. She wanted every minute with them that she could get. I took them every Saturday that I could for over a year. And when he was being a “normal” toddler and taking me to what I thought was the end of my nerves I would ask her, “Is he ever going to grow up?” She would smile and pat me on the shoulder and say, “Yes, Lisa. He will grow up.” I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything. My son got used to going to Grandma’s to the point of getting very upset if we didn’t go to Grandma’s on schedule.
So when Mom passed away we weren’t sure what to expect. Due to my son’s issues with crowds and noise we didn’t have him at the funeral. Even though I grew up and agree with the philosophy of children going to funerals. And I knew that this may make it more difficult to explain the situation to him. But we tried. And when we cleaned out her apartment I took him with me a few times so he could see that she wasn’t there. He would curl up in her recliner with a sad look on his face. But he seemed to understand. He stopped asking to go to Grandma’s.
Then we went to Steinbach today, where my Mom lived. And we were just down the street from her last apartment and he asked to go for a walk. He wanted to go to Grandma’s. I had a sinking feeling but knew this was an important walk. He led the way and walked into the parking lot and then started to run up to all the patios looking for Grandma. I finally had to stop him before he started knocking on doors. I sat on the curb and tried my best to explain to him that Grandma wasn’t here anymore. Grandma is in heaven. She isn’t here anymore. But he was not satisfied. He kept searching. He walked up to the back door of the building and asked to go in. I explained again and he just hung his head and asked to see Grandma. I finally got him to walk around the building and we quietly sat on the bench for a while. He would turn and look at the door every few minutes waiting for Grandma to come out. Then he went into the middle of the sidewalk facing the doors and waited, staring at the doors willing them to open. All the while I was talking to him, trying to explain and comfort him. He finally gave up, took my hand, and we walked back to the house we were visiting.
When my Mom was sick I was determined that my son would remember her; that they would have a bond that would last. And I guess this is the temporary cost of that bond. The pain is still worth it because one day he will grow up.
I’m sitting on the Lake of the Woods in Warroad, Minnesota. The water is so calm and clear. The sky is a calm light blue with a few storm clouds to the South. The wind is cool coming off the water. The campers and boats are out in force on this American long weekend.
The lake itself brings back memories. When I was a kid my Mom and Grandma would bring us to the restaurant with our bathing suits. After lunch my sister and I would change and head out to the water and swim. I can still see my Mom and Grandma watching from their seats inside. The water was absolutely freezing but we didn’t care. Now there are signs, “No swimming allowed.” The lake shore has been dug out for the boats to dock so it is no longer safe to swim. It is progress, but sad. The restaurant has been beautifully renovated and expanded. And there are more play structures. But the memories are still here every time I come.
Warroad is where my Mom was born and lived most of the years before marrying my Dad. But the house out in the country is really where the memories are kept. No one lives there anymore. My Mom’s brother and sister keep the yard enough so you can drive in and walk around. My Aunt has her flower beds, it is her retreat. If you walk out through the field to just beyond the tree line there is a beautiful creek, or as my Grandma always called it, the “Crick”. The garage is still there and holds a thousand memories. My Grandpa died a few months before I turned 4. But I have quite a few memories of him, for the amount of time we had together. When I’ve discussed these memories with my Mom and my Aunt we discovered that these memories are from the spring and summer that I was 2 and turning 3.
I remember my Grandpa taking me out to the garage, him opening the doors and seeing the whole floor covered in baby chicks in their warmers. The smell comes back to me like yesterday and it’s comforting. I remember him putting them in my hands and the little feet poking me. I was amazed and a little frightened all at once. We would also go out to the garage to build things. Well, Grandpa gave me a little hammer, a piece of wood and some nails. He was doing the building or fixing. But that stuck with me. And when I go into the garage his work shelf is still there with some of his tools. It takes me back in time instantly. I also remember him taking my sister and me to the store. We climbed up in his light blue truck and had to take turns sitting by Grandpa. He took us up the road a few miles to the little store in Swift. It was so exciting just to be with Grandpa. And from the days of seatbelts not being required; I guess my Grandparents had issues with me sticking my head out the window while they drove. So, one day I was sitting by the flowerbed at the back of the house and I asked Grandpa why he had no hair. He told me that one day he stuck his head out the window when he was driving really fast and it his hair just flew away. I never stuck my head out the car window again. I remember waking up in the early morning and seeing him sitting in his chair in the living room and I would climb in his lap and we would wait for the rest of the house to wake up.
Grandparents are so incredibly important, if you are fortunate enough to have them. I missed out a lot from my Grandfathers, them both being gone by the time I was 4. But I wonder if I treasure the memories that I do have so much more because that’s all I’ve got.
Well, I have to go find my children. They are off making new memories with their Dad and Great Aunt.
I wrote this almost a year ago. It is really amazing to read it again and to remember how I felt at that time. And I have an update.
“I know that it is never enough, but is it enough to survive? I am facing my Mother’s imminent death. She has terminal cancer and we don’t know how much longer she has. I have been fighting for her health and well being for a year. Since she left the hospital the last time in May I have had a different fight; regrets.
I know regrets about life and death. I have experienced them and I have watched them eat people alive. I don’t want regrets. I don’t want to regret not bringing my children to her enough. I don’t want to regret them not learning her passions, her stories and her love for them. They are 4 and 10. They are innocent. It is up to me to be sure that they have the memories that they deserve of their Grandma. Sidney has the right to learn to cross stitch, embroider and sew with a machine; to bake with her Grandma’s recipes. Alex has the right to simply remember her for her hugs, laughter and cookies. Other than when she was in the hospital I have brought them to see her at least once a week. We even had some adventures with Alex while she was in the hospital this past winter. She enjoyed every minute of it.
Have I asked everything that I need for myself? My Mom and I were never close. She didn’t share a lot of her life with me. I have always hoped that she would magically turn into the mother that I have wanted and deserved. I saw glimpses of that mother while growing up and now in adulthood. But those glimpses are too few and far between. Once I got a glimpse of what I was missing I craved that Mom. I have been desperate to get to know her. But she is just out of my reach. Over the last year my Mom has become a little more of that Mom that I crave.
I feel like I’m being teased. I will get just enough of this Mom and then she will leave me.”
Now for the update: I have no regrets. I made some decisions that seemed impossible at the time and I thought my heart would explode. Do I stay with my Mom because she needs me and I don’t know how many more times I’ll have with her? Or do I go home to my son who has an ear infection and I can hear him crying for me on the phone? Or do I stay home when my daughter pleads with me to not go out again? I admit that I chose my Mom more times than not. My children were at home in very good hands with my husband. And my Mom was alone. My children would be here when this was eventually over, my Mom wouldn’t.
I have no regrets. My daughter did have her Grandma for a sewing teacher. My son remembers her and refuses to give up the pajamas she made him. My daughter would grumble sometimes about having to go to Grandma’s every Saturday when she wanted to be with her friends. So we would bring her friends with or she would stay with them. I had to remember that at 10 and 11 she just didn’t have the capacity to realize how important this time was. I’m not sure that I have the capacity. But, one day I know she will understand and be thankful.
And I really do miss that Mom. I do feel like I have been cheated. But this isn’t the first time I have felt cheated by time, life and death. I understand the reasons but understanding and accepting are two very different things. But I will keep working and blogging on it.
Pasith’s Dad passed away 3 years ago today. It is one of those days that I will never forget. But, it’s his life that is more important than his death. I am not the expert that I would like to be on my Father-in-law, Bpoo (Laos name for Grandpa), but I will tell one story from my perspective. There are many more to be told.
Bpoo was quiet with sadness in his eyes. His losses were many; family, friends, war buddies, and his country. He had a justifiable anger in him that wasn’t always aimed at the source, but isn’t that the case for most of us? Pasith took me home to meet his parents and I remember the big smile on his Mom’s face as she nodded hello to me. His Dad was in the kitchen and he was busy; didn’t look up. But I saw a look in his eye that said he did not approve. I didn’t take it personally and didn’t think much of it at all. I was 16. A few days later Pasith told me that I wasn’t allowed at the house if his Dad was home. Pasith didn’t take this too well and I think this is where he and his Dad are a lot alike – they are both fighters. They both fight for what they believe and who they are. Well, Pasith pushed back a few times. I told him that I didn’t want to make trouble between the two of them. But Pasith said that it wasn’t fair that I was being shut out because I was white and he was going to prove it to his Dad. He was 18. But for me I understood that this country was not of their choosing, even though it had provided safety it had also brought them pain. And now he was losing his son to this country. They were hanging on to their culture for dear life and I was there to ruin a part of that. For Pasith, he was and is a Canadian and our relationship only made sense.
His Dad put up a wall for a year, hoping I would go away. It was hard on Pasith; he felt that his Dad just needed to get to know me. I told him it would all happen in time. And it did. After a year Bpoo finally realized that I was there to stay and said that I was allowed over to the house. A year after that Pasith and I got married. After the wedding we were at his parent’s house where they were having a huge party and his Dad asked us into the back bedroom. He told me that I was now their daughter and a Laotian. I was very touched. They each gave me a hug and we never looked back.
There were a million questions that I wanted to ask Bpoo over the years. I wanted to know him and what had happened in his life. But the language barrier prevented me from asking most of the questions as well as the fact that I didn’t want to pry into subjects that were so painful for him. So, when he got sick I knew that my time was up. I was never going to know him. Now that is 2 fathers I would never know.
A few months before he passed away Pasith and I went to see him in the hospital. Bpoo suddenly got serious and was trying to tell me something but couldn’t get the words right so he got Pasith to translate. Bpoo said that he owed me an apology. I was stunned and asked what and why? Bpoo said that he had mistreated me in that first year and that he was truly sorry for what he had done. He asked for my forgiveness. I said there was nothing to forgive; that I had understood his reaction then and now.
Bpoo was a loving and doting Grandpa to my children. Alex won’t remember him but we have pictures. Sidney spent a lot of time with him and it was a very deep loss for her. I had so hoped that my children would not know death at a young age like I did. Bpoo said she was his breath, his life.
Today is our 16th Wedding Anniversary; seems like yesterday and forever all at once. When I was a kid I heard what adults said about the statistics of young girls growing up without fathers. I listened and I knew that I didn’t want that to be me. I was determined not to marry into a loveless relationship or continuously look for love and attention in all the wrong places. I wrote out my ideal husband. I was 12. Dark hair and eyes, not too tall, soft spoken, likes music and loves kids. The list went on for a whole page.
Pasith and I met in drafting class in high school in January of 1993. I was a year behind him but went into his class to finish up work before exams. We had a mutual friend/acquaintance that I was talking to and Pasith came up and the childish banter started. It was like grade 6 all over again. Meet in the hall, give a little shove. See the other one in the cafeteria; steal a few fries, etc. We continued this highly recommended behavior for about 2 months before even knowing each other’s names. I gave him my phone number, he jumped a snow bank and the rest is history. We were inseparable much to my Mom’s dismay.
Neither of us had ever known anyone that could really understand how the other one felt. We both knew trauma. We both knew heartache. We felt like we had known each other forever. Like we had just been separated for a while and had found each other again. We knew we would get married within a few months of dating. I thought about that list that I had written and got it out and checked off every line. I now believe that there is no way around it – that was divine intervention. I had a detailed description of Pasith 4 years before I met him. We had some tough times over the years just like other couples but through it all there has been no question that we will be together whatever we face.
One of my great pains was not having a Dad to share with Pasith, especially now that his Dad is gone as well. I know how much it would mean to Pasith to have a Father-in-law like my Dad. According to my Dad’s family they would have gotten along very well; both being quiet, deep thinkers. What I wouldn’t give to have them together. And that fact, that they are forever separated, I can’t have both my husband and my Dad is a fact that I don’t think I will ever get over completely.
But, I am also so thankful that I have Pasith in my life. He is my rock and has gotten me through some very difficult times. As I have done for him as well. We are opposites in some ways. The things that used to drive us nuts about each other are now what we rely on in each other. His passive, laid back attitude used to drive me crazy. My sometimes frenetic, anxious, get it done yesterday attitude used to drive him crazy and still does. But we also rely on these qualities. Me to light a fire under him every once in a while and for him to put out the fires and keep me calm, more often.
We are a team and we can’t wait to see what’s coming next.
I wrote this letter out on the grass of the old family farm in Minnesota the day after we found out my Mom had cancer. This letter has so many memories attached to it.
Dear Grandma,
We miss you. I miss you. I miss your stories, your strength, and your wisdom. Oh how I could use your wisdom right now. We all could.
There are so many questions that I want to ask you. So many things that I want to tell you. How’s Heaven? Have you settled in to eternity? Who was there to meet you? I mean other than Grandpa. What was it like to see Grandpa after almost 25 years? Did it feel like 25 years or does time disappear instantly? Have you met the baby that you mourned quietly for? Were all your brothers there to meet you? Oh, the conversations that you must have had! Were your conversations in German or is there a whole new language in Heaven? Have you met anyone famous that you never met but always wanted to?
What was the first thing you said to God? Did you make him laugh? I know how long you had been waiting for the moment that you would see God. I am so happy for you.
You may not physically be at family gatherings but you are always in our memories, hearts – and conversations. We’ve had some good laughs in remembrance of you. Some of my recent favorites are my Uncles and Aunts telling stories of the trouble they used to get into as kids. You had your hands full that’s for sure. Your story telling ability has become a large part of your legacy and it has brought a lot of joy. Thank you.
The old farmhouse and yard still brings a lot of peace to me and others in the family. Auntie A has gardens and flower beds all over the yard. She’s out here most evenings in the summer. I don’t get out here as often as I would like but when I do it is the most incredible feeling. My mind goes back to the joy and peace that I used to feel as a child. I look at the back door that still has curtains in the window and I expect you to be standing there waving the way you did every time we left for home. The wash line reminds me of the smell of your clean sheets in a warm bed – and how much trouble cousin M and I would get into if we went near the sheets when they were hanging. The spot at the edge of the trees that used to have 2 tall trees with a swing in the middle. I literally spent hours on that swing. The slight slope of the sidewalk between the house and the garage door where Mike and I used to ride the wagon down with a good push from the other. Our lack of steering ability shows in the dents in the garage door.
With no TV, no internet, no expensive toys it doesn’t sound like paradise to most kids but I don’t remember being bored. There were always plenty of books to read for all ages on the shelves in the back bedroom, board games to play, naps to be taken, and a yard just waiting for the imagination to take over.
I think about you all the time. You are so close and yet just out of reach. I see you in myself and in my children. I wish you had the chance to meet A. I think you two would have understood each other. His quiet mischievous nature reminds me of you. I wish S could have more memories of you but my memories of the two of you are precious to me. You, at 85, apologizing to a 3 year old for using the word stupid because S had been taught that it is a bad word will always bring a smile to my face. You, pretending to be asleep in your rocking chair while S leaned on the arm looking up at you in awe. Then your eyes would open slowly and a quiet “boo” would startle S and the two of you would laugh.
Thank you for the stories. Thank you for your honesty. Thank you for your faith. Thank you for listening to the inner voice that seemed to be your constant companion and sharing your wisdom.
I love you.
I wrote the following letter to my Grandma Pearce, my Dad’s Mom, shortly after she passed away February 12th, 2009.
Dear Grandma,
You are missed. You are truly missed. It hasn’t been all that long since you left us for a better place. We didn’t want you to go, but at just shy of 96 I guess its ok. You’ve had your time here and you are more than ready to move on.
I can only imagine the joy you felt when you saw Grandpa, Uncle W and my Dad. How it must have felt to be with Grandpa after 30 years, and my Dad after almost 33 years. It had been a long wait for you and I’m sorry for that. You went through so much loss in your life. I’m so glad that you got it all back. It must have been an incredible welcome. Did they show you the sites? Did they meet you at the gates? What did you ask God first?
I miss you so much. I don’t grieve for you so much as I grieve for time lost. I don’t know what happened. I was suddenly grown up, our time was almost up and there was no way for me to make up for the lost time. How does that happen? How do we get so wrapped up in our lives that we don’t realize the time passing and the relationships that get sacrificed along the way? I know that I have said this to you before but I can’t help feeling like it is never enough. There was a time when I didn’t have control over our relationship. There was nothing that I could do to change the situation. But, I did grow up and I did have choices. And I didn’t make the right one. It is painful for me to think that I had a part in extending or increasing your heartache. I should have been there for you more. I was your lost son’s daughter, one of your last connections and I wasn’t there. I didn’t see it until it was too late. I now remember how you used to look at me, searching for any sign of your son, looking for a gesture, a movement, a characteristic. I wish I had given you more chances to catch a glimpse of him. I know that you are with him now and that is a comfort but I wish I could have lessened that ache while you were here.
I know that you are at peace with your life now. You are in the presence of God and your family. I know that you forgave me in life and I know that you now understand all the reasons for everything that happened and I have to admit that I envy that. I wish I knew all the answers right now.
There is a box of things that Auntie A dropped off today sitting in my living room. I keep looking at it wanting to open it. But I can’t. It’s confirmation that you are gone. I’m not used to seeing you all the time so it doesn’t always feel real. Once I open that box it’s real. We, the living, are so selfish. Even though I know that you are so happy, and with your family, I want you here with me on this imperfect planet with pain and tragedy. Why do we do that? Why can’t we just be happy for those that are lucky enough to escape and move on with our lives? I guess you know the answer to that now.
Grandma, I am so happy for you. I love you. Thank you for your legacy.
Love, Lisa Allyn
I have always wanted to be more understood. All through childhood I felt misunderstood. Who else can understand what it’s like to lose a father before you know you have one and then feel like something is missing but not know what it is or why. Even for another child to understand what it’s like to lose a father; there weren’t many children in the small town I grew up in that had experiences even close to what I had. So, I didn’t really fit in very well. I wasn’t ostracized or bullied. I just always felt different. I stopped going to youth group within a year of starting because I couldn’t relate to the other kids. I had serious issues that I was dealing with and questioning my basic existence and the other kids were worried about getting a zit or their curfew. I went to work with the 2 – 5 year olds instead. I fit in much better there and made a lot of little friends.
Even now as an adult I feel different from the people around me. I see things so differently; I see the seriousness of situations a lot sooner, I have an underlying pain that most people don’t understand. I feel things so differently and I don’t know how to explain my feelings because they are so complex at times that I don’t even understand them. Experiences, like Pasith getting home later than expected, affect me that others would brush off or just give a nod to and move on. I see possible doomsday coming.
I never thought that I could be too understood until my Father-in-law passed away May 29th, 2008. After he passed away Pasith told me that he felt like he understood me better. I was heartbroken. I fell apart. It took me days to get through the fact that we were now in this together. I never wanted him to feel anything close to what I had felt all my life. That feeling of missing someone that takes over your heart and mind at times. I know that feeling all too well and it just saddened me that he now knew that feeling. And the fact that my Dad died 2 weeks before I was born and Pasith’s Dad died 2 days before Pasith’s birthday is just so strange and difficult for me to reconcile. My birthday was a reminder every year of something negative that seemed to outweigh the positive of a child turning a year older. And now Pasith is in the same position. His birthday will always be a small reminder.
A few months after my Father-in-law passed my Uncle passed away and at the funeral my cousin, his son, told me as well that he felt like he finally had an inkling of what I have felt all my life. And it hit me again. It is very hard for me to accept that this just keeps happening. I know that it is nature and it has going to happen sometime but it doesn’t seem to make it any easier when it is someone that you care about and love that is now in the same boat as you.
I have a strong desire to be understood but not like this.