My Dad, Part III
My father died and there was this in between time where I wasn't sure if he was truly gone. Have you ever watched someone die? One moment he was there, I felt him there and the next he was gone. You see people on television hugging dead bodies of loved ones but as soon as it was clear to me that my father was gone, I wanted nothing to do with his body. He wasn't there anymore, he even looked different. It felt unreal, seeing this body that was my father but now was just a body, empty.
I took care of the necessary stuff at the hospice place, packed my overnight bag up and got into my rented Hyundai Santa Fe. As a rule, I do not like any Hyundai, however I enjoyed this one quite a bit. I know that may sound strange, but I have a thing about cars and I feel truly comfortable in a select few. I liked that car a lot. Of course, it wasn't a 2007 (05 or 06?) but it was nice. It was a strange comfort for me during that time that I do not understand. Anyway, it handled well and that became important to the days ahead.
If you remember, I was in the Salt Lake, Utah area and it was January 11, 2006. Snow had been threatening since I landed at the airport early the previous day. Part of me thinks that my father died, when up to heaven and said, "God, you give my daughter some damned snow. She needs it." As I drove away from my father's body, knowing that I would never see him again, it began to snow. How I love the snow. It snowed and I wanted a cigarette so badly that I could taste it. I had quit smoking six months before and vowed to my father, on his deathbed, that I would never smoke again. Even though the death of your parent seems like a pretty good excuse to fall off the wagon, I drove straight home. To my father's house.
I felt my father in the car with me, and when we returned to the house I knew that he was there. (I believe I told part of this story in another post, but I do not care to look it up. Right now, this is what I need to talk about and that is that. I need this.) My father (his spirit or soul or whatever you do or do not believe) was right there with me. I took out the sleeping bag that my dad kept at the house for me and I curled up on the floor in front of his computer. I heard a small creak in my father's room and felt that he was hanging out in there, just to bring me comfort. So I wouldn't feel so alone.
Spending the night in my father's house was so hard. I could smell him and I was surrounded by his things. Some things took me back to childhood, they had been around longer than me. My father worked as a mechanic for a million years, first on nuclear subs during the Vietnam War era, then on cars for decades. I will always associate the smell of cars and grease with my father. I have a picture of me as a baby, probably about 1 year old and I am turning a tidy pile of clean shop towels into a crazy mess. They smelled so good, like my dad. I don't know if I had ever felt so alone in my life. There was no one else, no cousins or siblings or aunts or fucking anyone. Just me. My father's only child, I am the third generation only child on the paternal side. It makes for a marked absence of family members. I'm sure everyone has experienced or heard about a death happening and the vultures in the family swooping down and beginning a whole lot of shit over the poor dead person's belongings. This time, there was only me.
My current boyfriend (H3.2) flew out to help me with the remainder of the mountain of duties ahead of me. In less than one week I had notified everyone, had my dad cremated, completely boxed up or threw out everything that my father owned, scrubbed the house until it shone, closed all of his accounts, picked up my father's ashes, put the old 1970 Chevy truck on a trailer hooked up to the biggest fucking Uhaul truck and headed back to California. I got back in town at about 3am, knowing that I had to work (my Nanny job) at 6am. I parked the Uhaul, got into my Honda and drove to Baby Z's house. I slept in the car for two hours and then began my shift.
I realized much, much later that I had not given myself time to mourn. Not to say that I did not cry, but I didn't get the time to sit back and feel the loss. Now, almost two years later I find myself wondering why my FMS has been such a ragged bitch to me. Gee, I had some control over my FMS, it wasn't horrible, and then my father dies over a period of ten years (Chicken's whole life) and the fibro says "FUCK YOU!" at the end. (By the way, stress is bad for FMS if you didn't catch that before)
This both makes me feel stupid-why didn't I put the two together before? And sad because I don't know how to quite stop the hurting. It is getting better. But I miss my daddy.
I took care of the necessary stuff at the hospice place, packed my overnight bag up and got into my rented Hyundai Santa Fe. As a rule, I do not like any Hyundai, however I enjoyed this one quite a bit. I know that may sound strange, but I have a thing about cars and I feel truly comfortable in a select few. I liked that car a lot. Of course, it wasn't a 2007 (05 or 06?) but it was nice. It was a strange comfort for me during that time that I do not understand. Anyway, it handled well and that became important to the days ahead.
If you remember, I was in the Salt Lake, Utah area and it was January 11, 2006. Snow had been threatening since I landed at the airport early the previous day. Part of me thinks that my father died, when up to heaven and said, "God, you give my daughter some damned snow. She needs it." As I drove away from my father's body, knowing that I would never see him again, it began to snow. How I love the snow. It snowed and I wanted a cigarette so badly that I could taste it. I had quit smoking six months before and vowed to my father, on his deathbed, that I would never smoke again. Even though the death of your parent seems like a pretty good excuse to fall off the wagon, I drove straight home. To my father's house.
I felt my father in the car with me, and when we returned to the house I knew that he was there. (I believe I told part of this story in another post, but I do not care to look it up. Right now, this is what I need to talk about and that is that. I need this.) My father (his spirit or soul or whatever you do or do not believe) was right there with me. I took out the sleeping bag that my dad kept at the house for me and I curled up on the floor in front of his computer. I heard a small creak in my father's room and felt that he was hanging out in there, just to bring me comfort. So I wouldn't feel so alone.
Spending the night in my father's house was so hard. I could smell him and I was surrounded by his things. Some things took me back to childhood, they had been around longer than me. My father worked as a mechanic for a million years, first on nuclear subs during the Vietnam War era, then on cars for decades. I will always associate the smell of cars and grease with my father. I have a picture of me as a baby, probably about 1 year old and I am turning a tidy pile of clean shop towels into a crazy mess. They smelled so good, like my dad. I don't know if I had ever felt so alone in my life. There was no one else, no cousins or siblings or aunts or fucking anyone. Just me. My father's only child, I am the third generation only child on the paternal side. It makes for a marked absence of family members. I'm sure everyone has experienced or heard about a death happening and the vultures in the family swooping down and beginning a whole lot of shit over the poor dead person's belongings. This time, there was only me.
My current boyfriend (H3.2) flew out to help me with the remainder of the mountain of duties ahead of me. In less than one week I had notified everyone, had my dad cremated, completely boxed up or threw out everything that my father owned, scrubbed the house until it shone, closed all of his accounts, picked up my father's ashes, put the old 1970 Chevy truck on a trailer hooked up to the biggest fucking Uhaul truck and headed back to California. I got back in town at about 3am, knowing that I had to work (my Nanny job) at 6am. I parked the Uhaul, got into my Honda and drove to Baby Z's house. I slept in the car for two hours and then began my shift.
I realized much, much later that I had not given myself time to mourn. Not to say that I did not cry, but I didn't get the time to sit back and feel the loss. Now, almost two years later I find myself wondering why my FMS has been such a ragged bitch to me. Gee, I had some control over my FMS, it wasn't horrible, and then my father dies over a period of ten years (Chicken's whole life) and the fibro says "FUCK YOU!" at the end. (By the way, stress is bad for FMS if you didn't catch that before)
This both makes me feel stupid-why didn't I put the two together before? And sad because I don't know how to quite stop the hurting. It is getting better. But I miss my daddy.
posted by Sam at
11:20 PM
5 Comments:
I was in my parents room and watched my dad pass. It was my sister and my mom and me. I felt a heavy weight lift off of me as he passed. I was taking the hospice nurse out of the apt complex my parents lived at and was listening to the radio. All of a sudden the radio started to play an old song that said "Thank you, Thank you from the bottom of my heart". I felt it was my dad saying thank you to me for helping him pass. I hope your FMS stops hurting you.
It's important that you're grieving now. And I'll bet that the FMS backs down now too.
He was a better man that you were there in his last moments. To be blessed to be at a 'crossing' is a gift. even if you don't see it that way today. I have experienced that myself.
What more can I say but to offer my prayers:
Eternal Rest Grant him and may Perpetual Light shine upon him.
The Preacher Jeremiah
Sam, you have no idea how much I can relate to this post. When my dad died, like, you, I didn't want to touch his body. It was a dead body. Gross! To me, my dad was gone -- just like you said. My dad wasn't his sick body, my dad was his jokes and his stories and his love. His body was just this thing that we couldn't fix.
I have no idea how difficult that must have been to do all of that alone. It's almost incomprehensible. Now that i've lost 2 family members, i am more grateful for the rest of my family than i ever have been. There's no way i could have done it alone, like you did. i would have had a total meltdown and turned into a basketcase without feeling that someone else felt what i felt. i NEED people to grieve with me.
sometimes, i feel like i will never stop grieving. sometimes, i feel my dad nearby or i have a dream about him. so in some ways, it's like he never left, or he just died. but it's been almost 3 years.
so i kinda know some of the things you are feeling. i'm sorry that you haven't grieved. but i hope you can find the time and ability. the more you are sad about it, the better you feel, really. i'm not surprised your FMS has been really bad.
i miss my dad, too. i hope you feel better. keep blogging about it when you need to.
ok, i can't talk about this anymore or else i will have to get up and go find a kleenex. and i'm lazy.
Oh my gosh, the truck! With the snow.
I almost never gasp at anything I see online, but I did hear a marked intake of breath on seeing that photo.
My own dad would drive such a truck. Perhaps that's why.
You deserve to grieve. And to not feel so much pain.
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