Today marks one month since the day my dad died. I feel the occasion should be marked but I am not entirely sure how. Frankly, this weekend has been really hard on me. Some part of me wants to bury myself deep into covers and pillows and hide away in my bed until it passes. A huge part of me wants to do this, actually.
Death is not unfamiliar to my family. My dad was a pastor, after all. My entire childhood was spent frequenting hospitals, nursing homes, rehabs, and helping set up and take down funeral services. I've been to more gravesites than I can count. I even have an affinity for graveyards. When I would need peace, I know that I can find it amongst tombstones. Somewhere in there, I have lost people who I care about deeply: grandparents, dear friends, family members, even my own children... no, I am no stranger to death. I have been here before.
Given that, I suppose that I should know what to do with all of the ugliness and pain that comes along with death. One would think I'd be some kind of expert at dealing with it by now. The reality is that I will never become accustomed to death. I will never get used to how deep and wrenching each loss is.
This was different. This was a loss like none ever I have ever been through before. This was my first experience losing a parent. I once had a friend whose child was shaken to death by someone she trusted. She said of her tremendous loss that it feels exactly how you think it will feel, times a million and then some.
That is the only say I can describe losing my dad. He was living with ALS; we knew that he was headed down this road even when we didn't want to believe it. Death was always a possibility. We are also not a secretive or awkward family. We speak openly about such things as death or the more ugly/painful things in life. You can't have been around it so often and somehow come away with the idea that the topic of death is taboo.
I was wrapped up in my dad's death from the moment he was diagnosed with an MND. I always prayed for a miracle, don't get me wrong. However, when things go wrong, my gut reaction is to *do* something. I couldn't prevent his diagnosis. I couldn't stop ALS but I could do everything possible to make sure that he and mom felt informed and were supported in what was the scariest time in our lives.
The very few times I got to see him awake and alive, Dad encouraged and thanked me for this participation. It was important to him that someone was walking this ugly part of the road with them. :'( I hate that, to this day. I hate how much he thanked me for being there for him for this ugly underside of living with a terminal illness. :'(
The day came, much to our intense horror. He was suddenly gone and all that was left were the details of his death. It was a shocking and traumatic week, to say the least. Nine or ten days later, we held his ceremony. The following morning, my mother was packed up and left the state.
I cannot entirely put words to how incredibly forsaken I felt at that point. You see, that is when we had to stop everything. There was nothing left to do but to feel, process, and remember all that we had been through and lost.
This last month has been different than any other of my life. At first, I couldn't even look at pictures or videos of my dad without losing my mind. I still have to really spread out videos because they hit me too hard. I don't feel like the last month has been spent living. We are functioning, of course. School had to be resumed, my garden had to be started, my babies still need a mother who is capable of a smile. That has perhaps been the hardest part. Still, I've managed.
Some things about death I am familiar with, and expected. Other parts have been more horrible than a lot of the other losses in my life. My dad dies over and over again on a loop. He dies all over again every time I have another happy memory of him and have to remember that I don't actually have *him* anymore. He dies when I've gone to sleep and woken up prepared to fight harder against ALS, only to remember we've already lost the battle. You get the idea.
Anyway, today is one month away from his death and it may as well be a million years. I feel as though I haven't seen him in ages. I would give anything to go back and kiss him goodbye again. I'd give anything for another conversation. These are the same things everyone says about anyone they've loved and lost.
My feelings are hurt, too. I don't understand how everything could have happened so quickly and so horribly. I honestly thought that the relief of him no longer having to suffer would outweigh the pain of the loss. The reverse has actually been true. The farther we get away from his death, the less relief I am able to summon.
You see, the memories of my dad as *my dad* far outweigh the memories of the sick man he was at the end. At first, my disease-ravaged dad passed away, thank the Lord for being so merciful! However, the farther away we get from his sickly body and the more memories I have, the more I have lost my *daddy*. :'( In this sense, the loss has become more significant the more time passes.
Last night, my aunt passed through our area on the highway. She was driving by through the middle of the night... this wasn't a situation where I'd ask for a visit. However, the simple act of her passing through brought to mind the many times my dad did the same thing. He worked as an independent courier, delivering packages all over this state and in the surrounding states.
He would frequently pass our exit on the highway on his way out and back. It never failed that he would call us from his car phone to say that he was about to pass our exit. I would hurriedly put the phone on speaker for the girls and we would shout, "BYE PAPA!!! WE LOVE YOU!!" at the top of our lungs as he passed. Each time, he laughed heartily and said that he loved us, too. He never failed to ask, "Are you Papa's pretty girls?" They always were and they always *will* be. My soul, he will never pass this way again! We will never again get that spontaneous phone call!!! :'( :'( :'( :'(
I am trying to be okay. I am trying to keep functioning.
Today I am not.
Today it has been one month since he died and over a month since I saw his sweet face or talked to him over the phone. Today it is simply too much to bear. God, PLEASE tell Dad how much we miss him!!! :'( :'( :'( :'( :'(
Given that, I suppose that I should know what to do with all of the ugliness and pain that comes along with death. One would think I'd be some kind of expert at dealing with it by now. The reality is that I will never become accustomed to death. I will never get used to how deep and wrenching each loss is.
This was different. This was a loss like none ever I have ever been through before. This was my first experience losing a parent. I once had a friend whose child was shaken to death by someone she trusted. She said of her tremendous loss that it feels exactly how you think it will feel, times a million and then some.
That is the only say I can describe losing my dad. He was living with ALS; we knew that he was headed down this road even when we didn't want to believe it. Death was always a possibility. We are also not a secretive or awkward family. We speak openly about such things as death or the more ugly/painful things in life. You can't have been around it so often and somehow come away with the idea that the topic of death is taboo.
I was wrapped up in my dad's death from the moment he was diagnosed with an MND. I always prayed for a miracle, don't get me wrong. However, when things go wrong, my gut reaction is to *do* something. I couldn't prevent his diagnosis. I couldn't stop ALS but I could do everything possible to make sure that he and mom felt informed and were supported in what was the scariest time in our lives.
The very few times I got to see him awake and alive, Dad encouraged and thanked me for this participation. It was important to him that someone was walking this ugly part of the road with them. :'( I hate that, to this day. I hate how much he thanked me for being there for him for this ugly underside of living with a terminal illness. :'(
The day came, much to our intense horror. He was suddenly gone and all that was left were the details of his death. It was a shocking and traumatic week, to say the least. Nine or ten days later, we held his ceremony. The following morning, my mother was packed up and left the state.
I cannot entirely put words to how incredibly forsaken I felt at that point. You see, that is when we had to stop everything. There was nothing left to do but to feel, process, and remember all that we had been through and lost.
This last month has been different than any other of my life. At first, I couldn't even look at pictures or videos of my dad without losing my mind. I still have to really spread out videos because they hit me too hard. I don't feel like the last month has been spent living. We are functioning, of course. School had to be resumed, my garden had to be started, my babies still need a mother who is capable of a smile. That has perhaps been the hardest part. Still, I've managed.
Some things about death I am familiar with, and expected. Other parts have been more horrible than a lot of the other losses in my life. My dad dies over and over again on a loop. He dies all over again every time I have another happy memory of him and have to remember that I don't actually have *him* anymore. He dies when I've gone to sleep and woken up prepared to fight harder against ALS, only to remember we've already lost the battle. You get the idea.
Anyway, today is one month away from his death and it may as well be a million years. I feel as though I haven't seen him in ages. I would give anything to go back and kiss him goodbye again. I'd give anything for another conversation. These are the same things everyone says about anyone they've loved and lost.
My feelings are hurt, too. I don't understand how everything could have happened so quickly and so horribly. I honestly thought that the relief of him no longer having to suffer would outweigh the pain of the loss. The reverse has actually been true. The farther we get away from his death, the less relief I am able to summon.
You see, the memories of my dad as *my dad* far outweigh the memories of the sick man he was at the end. At first, my disease-ravaged dad passed away, thank the Lord for being so merciful! However, the farther away we get from his sickly body and the more memories I have, the more I have lost my *daddy*. :'( In this sense, the loss has become more significant the more time passes.
Last night, my aunt passed through our area on the highway. She was driving by through the middle of the night... this wasn't a situation where I'd ask for a visit. However, the simple act of her passing through brought to mind the many times my dad did the same thing. He worked as an independent courier, delivering packages all over this state and in the surrounding states.
He would frequently pass our exit on the highway on his way out and back. It never failed that he would call us from his car phone to say that he was about to pass our exit. I would hurriedly put the phone on speaker for the girls and we would shout, "BYE PAPA!!! WE LOVE YOU!!" at the top of our lungs as he passed. Each time, he laughed heartily and said that he loved us, too. He never failed to ask, "Are you Papa's pretty girls?" They always were and they always *will* be. My soul, he will never pass this way again! We will never again get that spontaneous phone call!!! :'( :'( :'( :'(
I am trying to be okay. I am trying to keep functioning.
Today I am not.
Today it has been one month since he died and over a month since I saw his sweet face or talked to him over the phone. Today it is simply too much to bear. God, PLEASE tell Dad how much we miss him!!! :'( :'( :'( :'( :'(
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