Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes

Today is Father’s Day; however, my father is no longer with us. He’s been gone for 3 years now. It's somewhat challenging to express sentimental feelings about my dad and me. To be honest, the memories aren't particularly wonderful. I truly cannot comprehend the experience of having a father-daughter relationship, yet I make an effort not to linger on it any longer. It is what it is, and it has shaped me into the person I am today.

I will say though, my dad was a firm believer in education. Go to college and get a good job is what he would say. He told me to major in business so that is what I did. No questions. At the time, I was so lost and unsure about everything. I could have used some parental guidance, but I just went through the motions. After college, I wasted a good chunk of my life doing stupid shit but eventually found my way to jewelry making. I did share a little with him about my job and my dreams of eventually owning a jewelry business. He would tell me that it would be a hard life being an artist, but he would never shut my idea down.

In 2021, we found out he had late-stage bile duct cancer. We went together for his consultation before his surgery. The doctor assured us, and she said, “Don’t worry, we can remove it. Your father will be fine.” Well, surgery day came, and they cut him open and saw that it spread too far then sewed him back up. She was wrong.

Understandably, this was at the height of covid, and hospitals were very strict on their visitor policy. We couldn’t even see him immediately after. It was one visitor PER DAY. Not one visitor at a time. ONE visitor per day.

Looking back on this, I think the worst pain and grief I ever felt in my life is the pain and grief my dad must have felt. If that makes any sense. It was even more painful than his actual death. My dad, the most mentally and emotionally strongest man I know. I’ve never seen him cry. I’ve never seen him mad. I’ve never seen him sad. Rarely seen him smile. I can’t even picture his reaction. My dad, the civil engineer who could solve any math problem in the world and could navigate around any difficult situation could not solve this. That nothing could be done to save him. This was it. The end of the road. When he received the unfortunate news, what thoughts occupied his mind as he lay alone on that hospital bed? It still lingers in my mind.

In between chemo treatments, he was so brave, but I know it was difficult for him. He lived on Maui but had to do the treatments on Oahu. So, he flew back and forth, back and forth by himself. My sister and I would pick him up and drop him off at the airport every other week or so.

In the midst of deep sorrow and anguish, I find solace through the process of crafting with my hands. I decided to make a cancer ribbon with an emerald representing bile duct cancer. I sourced a 3mm natural emerald and some silver rectangle wire. It is a simple design. I actually sand casted the setting which looking back now, I could have done it a different way—something easier and cleaner. I eventually showed my dad in the car while on the way to the airport. He was so proud. It makes me laugh when I think about it. You know when you show your parents something you made because you’re so proud of it but in actuality it looks like a piece of shit, but your parents smile anyway and say it’s the best thing ever?

In my dad’s truck, I found a big binder full of his favorite songs. He had printed out the lyrics to 100 or so songs and they were all in plastic sheet protectors! I can just imagine him putting this binder together slipping the sheets of paper in their plastic protectors one by one and it makes me smile. He loved music. He showed me a video on YouTube of this old guy playing “Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)” but playing all the parts—guitar, bass, vocals and drums. The video depicted him divided into four sections on the screen, all playing at the same time. My father was truly astonished! It was one of those rare instances when I witnessed pure joy on his face. I made a playlist of his songs from that binder on Spotify and had it playing in the background while he was in hospice. His last words to me were, “sounds good.”

I was given my dad’s gold wedding ring band which I will cherish forever. I was on the verge of giving it a thorough cleaning, a nice polish, and reshaping, but I ultimately chose not to. I think the scratches and imperfections are meant to be there as a reminder of him.

T