I’ve been delaying writing this post since this morning, as I don’t really know how to wrap up these past two week’s events and move on.
As I was going through some old pictures, I found this one of my dad and brother. I hardly have any photos of him, but I’m glad I had this one. Nice to remember him smiling.
Thinking in retrospect, having to drive 7 hours just to pick up my mom and turn around to drive 2 more hours to a hospital was surreal. The fact that it was Father’s Day was saddening. I’m told my father has had several stints in hospital beds, all happening when I was away such that I could not return to be with my family (childhood vacations with grandma, Army training, etc…) I never had any idea that he was ever admitted. He didn’t want the kids to know.
While we did not have the best of relationships (I had tendencies to feel like the red-headed stepchild), I loved my dad. (I actually am his stepchild, just not red-headed…) Just the day before my father was hospitalized, I was regretting not having sent him a Father’s Day card. (The man was not fond of spending hard-earned money to send him gifts and paper tokens of affection. He shunned them at every turn.) After we arrived at the hospital, my husband and I really got to see the extent of his condition. In and out of consciousness, it was frustrating to see him struggle to stay awake and be heard.
It took me a while to approach. Even longer to bring myself to hold his hand. Not because I was harboring anger towards him, just that I had never seen him this way and it was scary. In one instance when he woke, he asked mom who I was. She told him and then I told him that my husband and I were there. I also told him that I loved him and heard him say he loved me too.
I’m so grateful that I was able to let him know, despite everything, I loved him, one more time. To hear him tell me that he loved me felt like a blanket of guilt and worry was lifted from my shoulders and I was awash a sea of relief. It was as if that exchange made amends for all the wrongs we committed towards each other. While he seemed to be improving and was even released from the ICU, it was hard to believe what the doctor was telling us the morning he passed away. It was his 73rd birthday.
It’s been over a week now and I still can’t believe that he’s gone. I feel a little empty. Between all the obstacles we’ve had these past two weeks (a testy funeral director, warring siblings, delays within the VA system) I find that I’m still a bit tired and scattered. It’s a comfort to know that my brother has taken over getting my mom organized in the aftermath of it all.
The most minor of things seem to set off crying bursts. The day before it was a picture of me and him when I was 4 standing on a windy hill in Puerto Rico. He had one of those John Travolta hairdo’s and it was sticking up in the wind. Yesterday it was a song on my iPod. I’m sure there will be more tears in the weeks to come.
He will be missed.
I suppose my next post will be back to business as usual. Friends are hounding me for birthday presents and I did get the opportunity to practice a new technique while I waited around, but I’ll post more about that in the following days.
If you placed an order while I was gone, thank you. I’ll be getting those completed and out in the next couple of days.
