Môj otec, mi padre, my papa

Nels Anders Swanson, 1952-2007

I have been dreading this week since I found out I was accepted to the Peace Corps. Four years ago tomorrow, my life changed forever. I was a junior in college, sitting in Economics class. I looked down at my phone and saw that I had three missed calls in a span of a couple of minutes. Very odd, considering you don’t call over and over unless it is an emergency (I didn’t live in Guatemala, where they call over and over just to chat.) I had a voicemail, and it was from Bam. Now my grandmother, who my family affectionately calls “Bam”, is not a crier, at least she wasn’t back then. The voicemail was Bam with a VERY cracked voice telling me to call her back. I immediately knew something was VERY wrong. I started to cry as I listened to the voicemail, crouched down in my seat during class. I immediately grabbed my things and left the large auditorium where class was being held. I went out the back door, and as I went down the stairs to exit, I called Bam back. She answered as I was making my way to the door. I opened the door and felt the warmth of a beautiful October day. She gave the phone to my mom, and my mom said the six words that forever changed everything “Your dad has had a stroke.” The October sun faded away, and everything seemed to become dark.  The rest couple of days were a blur, and on October 4^th, 2007, we took my papa off life support and he passed on.

This is an oldie. My papa and I at a gallery opening.

Now back to the here and now. This week has always been difficult for me, as is to be expected. The past few years this anniversary has had its events. A Vandy-Auburn game on the first anniversary, the biggest family fight I have ever had on the second anniversary, and last year, my mom, sister, and I all got tattoos. This Tuesday will be the fourth anniversary, and I am not sure how I am going to handle being without a physical family presence. I know everything will pass, and it will be fine. I kind of don’t like it, that I am trying to make it just another day, it should be memorable. By Thursday, I will be back to my normal self. My current plan for Tuesday is to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark, one of my Dad’s favorite movies, and have a beer. How am I going to get a cold beer into my house without putting it in the refrigerator and without letting my host family see? Something I need to work on.

Dad and I at a Reds game. Our last photo together.

This blog is all about me, and to help me with my grief over the day, I thought I might write some things about my Dad. My dad and I always had a special bond; I was definitely “Daddy’s little girl.” My sister still makes fun of how I got basically anything I wanted when I was around him. During the last couple of years of his life, I was in college, and that is when we really started to bond. During high school, I was still “the apple of my father’s eye”, but we would have many disagreements. Ok screw disagreements, we would have yelling wars. We Swanson’s know how to yell, it is in our blood. I think it was because I was a teenager. During college, that cooled down a lot because we didn’t live in the same house. We would talk about sports, the Swansons, movies, and about what was happening in our days. It was great. He was my dad. I miss him so much and what I wouldn’t do to hear “GERFFFFFF” one more time. My dad liked to make up weird nicknames for our family. I was Gerf, Hannah was Catish, and my Mom was Gam. Amazing parents raised me, and we all had a wonderful bond, and we still do.

Me, Papa, Mom, and Hannah at Uncle Bennie's wedding. 

Now I am in the Peace Corps, living in Guatemala, and for most of the day, I don’t speak English. I know that my Papa would be proud of me, and I am sure he would call and would want to know all of the details of my day. He would be so proud that I have learned a foreign language, and that I was doing my little part to make a difference in people’s lives. He would obsess over the safety. Right before he died, I was thinking about studying abroad in South Africa. One of the last emails I got from him (we were big emailers!) said some thing like “I think its great you want to go to Africa, but why not go somewhere safe like France?” It always makes me smile to think about it. I miss him, and think of him lovingly and humorously daily. 

Paz y Amor