10 Years Ago...

Remembering my Dad.

For the last 10 years, I wake up on November 22 and realize it’s Kim Young’s Birthday. That’s my Dad. You’d think that wouldn’t be a thing I’d have to “realize” but that’s what starts to happen when someone is gone. There’s no more ramp up to the day. No more, “What are we doing for Dad’s birthday this year?" No more shopping or asking, “What size t-shirt does Dad wear?” It’s slowly become a day that creeps up on me and smacks me in the face like, “Hey, you didn’t forget what today is, right?”

Then the sadness hits. Sadness that he’s not around. Sadness that you almost forgot…again. Sadness that it’s been so long that you had to do the math on which year this was. Has it been 9 or 10? Sadness that there’s some heavy feelings coming over the next handful of days and it’s never fun.

In 2011, my Dad was retiring from Caterpillar, where he had worked since I was a baby. His last bit of business was going over to Ireland for 2 months helping with a plant transition of some sort. He was over the moon about this. He loved Ireland and the idea of getting to live over there for a few months on the company dime sat pretty well with him. Except for the fact that he’d miss Thanksgiving. haha. Isn’t that funny? He was 56 years old. That means he’d had 56 Thanksgivings and he was seriously conflicted about taking a trip and missing ONE. He called and we talked about it and I said…

“Man, GO! This will be such an amazing experience for you. Live it up for two months, then you’re retired! Thanksgiving will be waiting for you here next year.”

We would soon find out Thanksgiving would be there waiting for him the next year just like I said, but he wouldn’t be able to make it to that celebration. Or any of the others to follow.

Dad went to Ireland and did the work and ate the food and played the golf! And just as planned his retirement papers had gone through while he was there. He had 2 weeks left as an employee of Caterpillar and then he was flying home and starting up a life of leisure. Or if you knew my Dad, never sitting down (my stepmom Becky called him a FART IN A SKILLET.) and probably creating at least 2 new careers for himself.

The Thanksgiving he hated to miss rolled around and my whole family was at my parents house as they had always hosted. We got on a laptop and called him on Skype and everyone took turns talking to him. Then we all gathered to say good-bye, him ending with “I’ll you guys in 2 weeks! Love you!” And the holiday went on.

2 days later I was driving a few towns a way to a comic book shop I loved. It had been awhile since I’d been there and it was one of those shops that you could still find weird stuff buried in the shelves. A discovery shop. It was about a 45 minutes from my house and about 20 minutes into the drive, my wife Casey called.

“Becky called and said she hasn’t talked to your Dad since Thanksgiving.”

This was abnormal because they talked and emailed each other every day like clockwork. I instantly had a bad feeling. Something happened but what? My comic brain didn’t go to “He must have fallen and…” or any normal kind of “something happened.” My comic storytelling brain when straight to “Some generic movie bad guys kidnapped the American Corporate Executive from the dog races, he’s tied to a chair in the basement of some warehouse and being held for ransom!” I’m not even kidding. I actually had that thought flash through my head.

So the last 20 minutes of the drive to the shop was foggy. I was running scenarios in my head. I made it to the shop, half-heartedly browsed the shelves and picked a few books to buy just so the trip wasn't a waste. Then I drove back home.

I went to my bedroom and talked to one of my sisters trying to see if they have found anything out, but they hadn’t. He wasn't answering his phone or email and no one even knew who to get in touch with to go by check his apartment, nor did we know the address or apartment number to tell people to check. Plus, it was Thanksgiving so all of his co-workers here in the states were out of the office. Before we hung up I told my sister…

“I’ll be here, call me as soon as you know anything.”

I didn’t have a good feeling.

I laid in my bed, pretty out of it and not knowing what to do. To help turn my brain off a bit, I put on PJ20, a new documentary about Pearl Jam. I made it to the part about Eddie Vedder learning about his Dad and the song “Release” is heavily featured. This song always reminded me of my relationship with my Dad and would soon become much more attached to him than I could’ve known. As I started to get lost in the story of this band I loved for so long, my phone rang and it was my sister.

“They found him.”

Three words that haunt me every November 26th from then on.

They finally found and made it into his apartment. He had a heart attack in the middle of the night. He wasn't sick. There were no signs or warnings. He was, and then one day, he no longer was. Just like that. My Dad was gone.

It would be two weeks before we could him back to the U.S. and have services. It felt we were in a limbo within a limbo. Losing him so suddenly while he was alone in another country and then having to wait so long to do all the things that go along with a loved one passing away.

We spent those two weeks grieving the loss of so many things we would miss about him, and laughing about some of things we would NOT miss so much, like his grilled steaks. (They were so overcooked, they’d be grey and curled up on the ends as if there never was an ounce of juiciness to begin with. haha.) That two weeks felt like an eternity.

Eventually, he was retuned, we had services and all the rest of the odds and ends of of losing one of your people. Then, got on with the business of living the best way we knew how.

Before I knew it, a year had passed and that 5 day window of heartache began.

“Happy Birthday!” “Happy Thanksgiving!” “They found him.”

It’s always hard, even if the rest of year seems to get easier and easier. This week, for me, is always hard.

It’s been 10 years now.

My son, Baxter, who was 2 years old then, is now 12. It would 4 more years before my youngest, Milo, was born and he’s now 6. The absolute hardest part of losing that man is not watching him be the great Grandpa to my boys like he was to my nieces and nephews who were lucky enough to have him for awhile. He would have been blown away by Baxter’s big brain and would have laughed his ass off over and over at Milo, who’s basically a mini version both me and my Dad. They just know him as a concept right now. I look forward to a day when they’re older and understand life as young men and I can really share stories about the Grandpa they didn’t get know.

We had a long, sometimes rocky road, but luckily by the end, were were great friends. And during this 5 days every November, I always struggle with missing my friend…

…My dad.

Miss you, buddy.

Kim Young 1955-2011