Dawn Baca

Larger Than Life

My dad passed away on December 10, 2014. An unexpected and sudden death, most likely a heart attack. He turned 58 years old in October, the youngest of three children. He was larger than life to almost everyone who knew him, and almost everyone who knew him loved him. It was virtually impossible not to. When my dad loved, he loved with all of his heart, and he never stopped. Even divorce couldn’t slow him down. He still talked to each of his three ex-wives, and helped his step-children even decades after he divorced their mothers. The lines were always blurred for dad. Once you were family, you were always his family, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you, if it were in his power to do it.

I did not grow up with my father or his side of the family. I did not get to know him until I was 25 years old. I gained two great sisters in the process, but it was a long road. It took a few years for me to get used to the idea, and my father and I slowly created a fabulous relationship. He understood me, and my hesitation to be embroiled in another “family” again. But he was patient. He had the patience of a saint. No matter how much I pushed him away, he stood steadfast in his belief that one day I would understand. In time… a lot of time, he became one of my closest and dearest friends. We talked about everything, usually for hours. We talked about books, about TV shows, about movies we saw or wanted to. We talked about family, and friends and everyone one good in our lives, as well as deep discussions of everyone who had done us wrong. There was no subject that was taboo. Love, Sex, Family, Friends, Drama, Money, Lies, the Truth, it did not matter, we talked about it all. Unlike some relationships, ours was based on mutual respect and understanding, not on pre-conceived expectations. No one in this world understood that better than my father. He got me, in so many ways, that so few people around me ever bothered to do. In many ways we were complete opposites, our upbringing, our environments, our passions and hobbies, but in many other ways we were very similar. He was one of the few people who could have an intelligent conversation about war, military and politics and even when he didn’t always agree, he could respect your position, and not try to make you feel stupid or small because you didn’t see things his way. He was unique because we could talk for hours and end up in the middle, both seeing the other’s point of view more clearly than before.

My dad did not raise his three biological daughters, due to circumstances not fully in his control. He felt tremendous guilt for that and wanted more than anything to develop a relationship with his children, that he had missed out on. He knew he had made mistakes and unlike many people, he took full responsibility and worked hard over the last decade or so to make amends.

My husband and I looked forward to his visits and often would drop everything to make it work so that we could spend time with him when he came to town. Our family holidays were always so much fun when he was able to be with us. He tried to divide his time between all of us, difficult as it was, with us all scattered to the far corners.

My dad was a long distance truck driver, with a love for the open road. He didn’t spend nearly as much time enjoying the locations he visited as he would have liked, but he loved it nonetheless. He had never wanted to do or be anything different. He was in his element. Because my husband and I usually commuted almost 200 miles each day, my father and I talked often about crappy traffic, crazy drivers, and how long the roads were sometimes. Most of these conversations were steeped in laughter, as well as stress. We could relate to each other’s days on the road.

He was an insatiable reader. He loved audiobooks with an enthusiasm that I’ve never seen matched. He loved to share this with other drivers, and was always loaning out his audiobooks to friends. We shared our passion for books, often talking about books to buy for each other or ourselves. Over the years we shared our love for Harry Potter, The Amelia Peabody Series, The Twilight Series, The Mortal Instruments Series, The Dresden Files, The Sisterhood Series, The All Souls Trilogy, and so many more. Out of all books, we both shared a love for long running series. The idea that the joy could continue to come was the best part. He was so unlike your average reader, because he crossed many genres. He loved romance stories, science fiction, or mysteries. He loved fantasies, and magic and everything in between. He enjoyed historical stories, westerns, and military fiction. If someone recommended it, he read it.

One of his favorite stories was a trilogy by Nora Roberts, The Born In Series. It was a set of stories about three Irish sisters, two that grew up together, and one that came into the picture as an adult. He used to tell us often that it reminded him of his three daughters, and how our personalities were very similar to the characters in the book.

His death has rocked my world. It has made me question everything good in this world, and it has made me question myself. I am broken beyond words; so empty inside that I wonder what I have left to give those I love. The support that my husband and I have received has been tremendous. The calls, texts, messages, flowers and cards has been so overwhelming. I am humbled by the love and support that has come from all directions. I am grateful beyond words as each day they have helped me to take another step forward.

Wayne is survived by his sister Evelyn, and his brother Delbert (Beetle), as well as his children Dawn, Amy, Jennifer, Billy, Erika, Glynisse, and Christopher, 18 grandchildren, and too many friends and loved ones to count.

Below is a video montage in his memory.

Rest in Peace ~ Wayne David Cook ~ 10/4/1956 – 12/10/2014
You were loved beyond words. And that will never change.

~*~*~

Just a month ago, I loaned out my copy of How to Survive the Loss of a Love, by Peter McWilliams, Harold H. Bloomfield, and Melba Colgrove.

I thought it might help a friend with the drama and stress in her life. I’ve had this book for more than 20 years now, this is my second copy as I loaned out the first, and someone else years later gave me his copy. Little did I know I would need to borrow it back so soon. There is a poem inside written by Melba that seemed to fit my wildly erratic emotions.

Grief is a quiet thing.
Deadly in repose.
A raging horror,
a thunder of abuse.
Raucous-
Demanding-
Incomprehensible-
Tearing all that one has ever loved.

Hopeless,
Forlorn,
Fear-ridden, and misunderstood;
Ceasing a moment, and through the years
Returning…to destroy.

To rage,
To curse all that is happy-
or contented,
or trusting.
To threaten every beauty that is true.

Grief?
It’s a quiet thing.
-Melba Colgrove

 Another one that made me laugh considering my last meltdown, also from the same book,

I’m past the point of going
quietly insane.

I’m getting quite
noisy about it

The neighbors must think
I’m mad.

The neighbors, for once
think right.

For those dealing with the loss of a loved one, or depression from the loss of a loved one, know that you are not alone. Reach out to your friends and family, they can be a source of support, just as you can share in the grief, you can share in the support as well. Just remember the most important thing is that you are not alone. There are options available to you,

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1 (800) 273-8255 available 24 hours, 7 days a week or online at www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org.