i have to say, i am enjoying these open book things....i hope i am not abusing my privelege to use them...sorry if i am being an open book hog.....
that having been said, here's what i have to share:
today, april 28th, 2006 is a weird day for me. it was the last day, one year ago, that my father was alive. it's strange for me to think that i haven't seen my dad in a year. a whole year! that's the longest it's ever been and it's only going to get longer. i remember i kept doing that with each month that past after he died. "wow, it's been a month since i've seen him...then 2 months...then 3 etc, etc, etc." i've learned a lot this year starting with the fact that grieving is not linear - meaning, yes, it does get progressively "easier" with time but it is more like riding space mountain at disneyland than driving through the plains of the southwest. you could be riding along smoothly and then wham! you drop 60 feet in .5 seconds. jarring, unexpected, scary and often painful. as far as my emotions go, something i used to keep so bottled inside of me, under my "control", i have learned to expect the unexpected.
I re-read my journal last night from an entry a year ago. i talked to my brother on the phone this morning and he said he'd been haiving all of these random flashbacks this whole week. not about the "end" but rather silly and uneventful memories of day-to-day life with my dad...a favorite burger joint he would take us to....his "Sam and Ann" stories (stories he would make up about the adventures that a brother and sister had together)....stuff like that. it made me smile to recall those things when jack (my bro) brought them up. i guess that's what they mean when they say you keep a person alive in your memories of them.
as i approach this evening (his time of death was a little after midnight EST on the 28th...technically the 29th) i am a little bit hung up on what i will be feeling between the hours of 9pm-10pm PST....that will be the hour, one year ago today, that we all (my mom and my brother and I) sat around in my parents bedroom waiting for hospice to come and pronounce him dead. his body lay peacefully in the bed while we all sat on the floor in a haze of relief and shock and sadness, our minds trying so hard to wrap themselves around what all of this meant. it was the middle of the night and apparently there were alot of folks releasing themselves and passing on, so it took hospice and the funeral home a couple of hours to get there. around 5am, all of the procedural things had been done and my father's body was en route to the funeral home. we all sat there, exhausted and wide awake, staring blankly at one another when jack made a suggestion. "Let's go drive past our past two houses and then go get breakfast at Bob Evans (a local diner). it seemed like the perfect idea and it's just what we did. i just may have to go eat breakfast at a greasy diner tomorrow morning...anyone care to join? ;)
it's funny how in some ways it seems like yesterday and in others - a lifetime ago. Dad, this day is for you - a day to celebrate who you were and the memory of you that lives on.
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1 Comments:
i have to say, i am enjoying these open book things....i hope i am not abusing my privelege to use them...sorry if i am being an open book hog.....
that having been said, here's what i have to share:
today, april 28th, 2006 is a weird day for me. it was the last day, one year ago, that my father was alive. it's strange for me to think that i haven't seen my dad in a year. a whole year! that's the longest it's ever been and it's only going to get longer. i remember i kept doing that with each month that past after he died. "wow, it's been a month since i've seen him...then 2 months...then 3 etc, etc, etc." i've learned a lot this year starting with the fact that grieving is not linear - meaning, yes, it does get progressively "easier" with time but it is more like riding space mountain at disneyland than driving through the plains of the southwest. you could be riding along smoothly and then wham! you drop 60 feet in .5 seconds. jarring, unexpected, scary and often painful. as far as my emotions go, something i used to keep so bottled inside of me, under my "control", i have learned to expect the unexpected.
I re-read my journal last night from an entry a year ago. i talked to my brother on the phone this morning and he said he'd been haiving all of these random flashbacks this whole week. not about the "end" but rather silly and uneventful memories of day-to-day life with my dad...a favorite burger joint he would take us to....his "Sam and Ann" stories (stories he would make up about the adventures that a brother and sister had together)....stuff like that. it made me smile to recall those things when jack (my bro) brought them up. i guess that's what they mean when they say you keep a person alive in your memories of them.
as i approach this evening (his time of death was a little after midnight EST on the 28th...technically the 29th) i am a little bit hung up on what i will be feeling between the hours of 9pm-10pm PST....that will be the hour, one year ago today, that we all (my mom and my brother and I) sat around in my parents bedroom waiting for hospice to come and pronounce him dead. his body lay peacefully in the bed while we all sat on the floor in a haze of relief and shock and sadness, our minds trying so hard to wrap themselves around what all of this meant. it was the middle of the night and apparently there were alot of folks releasing themselves and passing on, so it took hospice and the funeral home a couple of hours to get there. around 5am, all of the procedural things had been done and my father's body was en route to the funeral home. we all sat there, exhausted and wide awake, staring blankly at one another when jack made a suggestion. "Let's go drive past our past two houses and then go get breakfast at Bob Evans (a local diner). it seemed like the perfect idea and it's just what we did. i just may have to go eat breakfast at a greasy diner tomorrow morning...anyone care to join? ;)
it's funny how in some ways it seems like yesterday and in others - a lifetime ago. Dad, this day is for you - a day to celebrate who you were and the memory of you that lives on.
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