Tuesday, September 4, 2012

August 2012

On August 4th, 2012, my dad passed away. It happened to be his 76th birthday, as well. My father was not a healthy person, he was an alcoholic, and was also in denial about his general condition. He always said to me that he was going to live forever. He always bragged about how much younger he looked than other people his age. But somehow, I bought into much of his bravado, and though my husband and I discussed my father's eventual passing, I was not prepared when he did leave us.

My father drowned, in the creek that he loved next to his trailer. What happened, we will never really know. I spoke to him the previous day, a Friday, and he seemed fine. Odd things happened on Friday. I had not forgotten his birthday on Saturday morning, and was thinking about what I'd say to him when I called him, since he had forgotten about my birthday less than a month before. I was devastated by my father's dearth, because it should not have happened like this.

So, I've been mourning. I'm behind on everything: my reading, my writing, my reviews, my search for a job. My children have started back to school, and here I am a month later, with still no plans for a memorial service. I've gotten lovely, sweet and thoughtful cards and messages from so many people, mostly my friends, since my dad really had no family left that he spoke to often, and his best friend really was my husband. Oh, he had hangers on. The person who was with him the day before he died and the who was also the same person who found his body--but we never heard from him or saw him, although they lived right next door to my dad, and we spent 2 weeks cleaning out my dad's belongings. Not a call, not a hello. Silence.

I think of my dad and I feel a stab in the gut. I just can't believe he is gone, and I can't call him or talk to him again. I want to know, what happened to him? I've been thinking about contacting a psychic, or learning how to talk to the dead. I think I've been seeing things, and I think it is a side effect of my grief.

I dreamed about my dad last night. He had been saying to me for the last five years that he wanted to start walking with me, which I knew he could not do. His gout was too bad and he had really slowed down in the last few years. He hadn't owned a pair of sneakers for some time. In  my dream, he was dressed up in workout clothes--shorts and a tank top. My dad NEVER wore anything but pants (mostly jeans) and t-shirts. He just wasn't a workout kind of guy. Funny to see him dressed like that, but it was still so good to see him. I miss you, Daddy. I love you.

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