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omaewokorosuI asked my mother if I could have my dad's funeral stuff. She said sure, not a problem. That it would be better in my hands anyway. So she gave me the plastic tote it's been sitting in, tucked away in a corner.
I went through all of it, because it's been 15 years since I've last seen any of it. I discovered that the keepsake book people would sign to say they attended the wake had information pages about the deceased. None of them were filled out. The only things filled out, in fact, were 7 pages of names.
Teachers. Friends of mine, of my brothers. People from church. People in my dad's department at ADP. Relatives. Friends of relatives.
I filled out the information pages, because it felt weird to leave them blank. I came to the biography section, and I wasn't sure what to put. My dad had a rough childhood and a rough family. One of the last things he said was, "I'll admit that I wasn't always the greatest husband. But at least I did my best with you guys (us kids)."
And he did. His obituary (one of three) lists him as "beloved father", but that isn't enough. He was more than beloved. More than loving. He was my dad. His coworkers loved him. The people he dealt with at church enjoyed his company. He was described as kind and always willing to lend a helping hand should anyone need it.
I remember the first five years going through this stuff was hard. I would sit there sobbing, in hysterics, dry heaving. My chest felt crushed by the weight of my grief. It was really fucking hard. Five more years, he was gone an entire decade. I went from 10 to 20. And I know he didn't miss seeing any of it...but I missed him being part of me growing up from a really geeky kid to a just as geeky adult. And then another five years well by. 15 years total. Looking at this stuff still hurt. Left me reeling. I couldn't handle it. It hurt too much because it was all a too real reminder of the fact that he was gone.
It'll be 22 years this October. He's been gone longer than my parents were married for. Longer than all the years I had him for. Longer than any of us kids had him around for. I was 10, my brothers were 18 and 20. That's a hard thing to swallow. To realize your one parent has been gone for more than half your life now. And it'll keep getting longer and longer and longer.
And longer.
21 and a half years later, looking at this stuff still makes me sad, but in a different way. All of these cards and letters of condolence talk about how kind and selfless my dad was. How much they loved having him around and would miss having different conversations with him.
I miss all of that too. I miss his cooking and his baking. The late night talks while watching Star Trek or a Friday night movie. Him teaching me web design, how to code in HTML. Different things about music. Language. History. Space.
I don't break down in hysterics anymore. I still cry. It still hurts, but the pain is duller now. Muted. Still ever present. It will never go away.
I never questioned whether he loved me or not. I knew he did. He made it very clear to me. He always had space for me to occupy no matter what he was doing.
He was the most loving father anyone could ever ask for. xo
I went through all of it, because it's been 15 years since I've last seen any of it. I discovered that the keepsake book people would sign to say they attended the wake had information pages about the deceased. None of them were filled out. The only things filled out, in fact, were 7 pages of names.
Teachers. Friends of mine, of my brothers. People from church. People in my dad's department at ADP. Relatives. Friends of relatives.
I filled out the information pages, because it felt weird to leave them blank. I came to the biography section, and I wasn't sure what to put. My dad had a rough childhood and a rough family. One of the last things he said was, "I'll admit that I wasn't always the greatest husband. But at least I did my best with you guys (us kids)."
And he did. His obituary (one of three) lists him as "beloved father", but that isn't enough. He was more than beloved. More than loving. He was my dad. His coworkers loved him. The people he dealt with at church enjoyed his company. He was described as kind and always willing to lend a helping hand should anyone need it.
I remember the first five years going through this stuff was hard. I would sit there sobbing, in hysterics, dry heaving. My chest felt crushed by the weight of my grief. It was really fucking hard. Five more years, he was gone an entire decade. I went from 10 to 20. And I know he didn't miss seeing any of it...but I missed him being part of me growing up from a really geeky kid to a just as geeky adult. And then another five years well by. 15 years total. Looking at this stuff still hurt. Left me reeling. I couldn't handle it. It hurt too much because it was all a too real reminder of the fact that he was gone.
It'll be 22 years this October. He's been gone longer than my parents were married for. Longer than all the years I had him for. Longer than any of us kids had him around for. I was 10, my brothers were 18 and 20. That's a hard thing to swallow. To realize your one parent has been gone for more than half your life now. And it'll keep getting longer and longer and longer.
And longer.
21 and a half years later, looking at this stuff still makes me sad, but in a different way. All of these cards and letters of condolence talk about how kind and selfless my dad was. How much they loved having him around and would miss having different conversations with him.
I miss all of that too. I miss his cooking and his baking. The late night talks while watching Star Trek or a Friday night movie. Him teaching me web design, how to code in HTML. Different things about music. Language. History. Space.
I don't break down in hysterics anymore. I still cry. It still hurts, but the pain is duller now. Muted. Still ever present. It will never go away.
I never questioned whether he loved me or not. I knew he did. He made it very clear to me. He always had space for me to occupy no matter what he was doing.
He was the most loving father anyone could ever ask for. xo
