I’ve got to go home, I’ve been so alone you see…
Daddy reading me the funnies. I think I'm two here?
This is what I remember about that day:
I watched him take his last breath, and then it seemed so horrifying and final. I kept waiting for him to breathe. I left Chapel Hill and drove home. I got in bed with Haze and didn’t move. I couldn’t cry.
This is what happened:
I went to my home group the next day and talked about it, and I kept talking about it. I kept talking about him. My sister came out and stayed with me and we went to the memorial. He was cremated, he is now in a box in my step-mom’s living room. For four years now he has been in a small-ish box. It is impossible for me to wrap my head around the fact that his whole body and breath and soul are now in a box in South Carolina. He is too big for that, I think. Anyway, I couldn’t cry. Not at the memorial, not when I saw him in a small-ish box, not when I saw my brother and sisters cry or heard my nephew’s voice break when he read something that meant something to someone. I just couldn’t.
After all that:
I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I listened to Iron & Wine to make me cry. I did lots of crossword puzzles to keep him with me in memory. I tried to emulate his voice and say things he used to say. I keep lots of moustaches around because they make me smile and think about his ‘stache. I can cry sometimes. Not a lot, but sometimes. I miss him. I wear his Giants sweatshirt because even though I don’t know much at all about football or the Giants it makes me feel like there is a part of me that is still him. I’m half his. I know because I got his nose (thanks Dad – not) and his loudness and his willingness to talk to anyone at all. I just wish that I had more time with him. I go through this every year. I think about how someday I might get married, I might have babies and he is not here with me for that.
Don’t get me wrong. It could have been so much worse and I am always going to be grateful that we had time to know each other in adulthood, in recovery. I love him so much and I really miss him. And it happens every year, and this year I didn’t even get it until after 12 p.m., so that’s a bonus. It must be getting easier? I just never want to forget anything about him, even though I know I already have.
Well anyway, Daddio… You were an awesome granddad and a solid guy, and I am lucky that I got to be your kid. You taught me more about myself than I could have ever learned without you. Thank you for all those lessons and the ones that I’m going to keep learning that I know you’ll have influence on.
This is the song that got me through the worst part, the part where I couldn’t cry and I couldn’t move and I just felt like a big hole was in the middle of my chest:
