melancholy and the infinite cross posting
Today was an emotional adventure of sorts.
My granddad died this morning. I haven't talked to him or seen him in years.
My phone rang on the way to work, but before I could see who was calling, the battery died. I had a feeling that it might be something about my dad, so I called my voicemail when I got to work, and there my dad was, telling me that his own father had passed away. I proceeded to cry at work, which only added to the emotion after Shirley cried when she gave me a going away present.
I know that he's existing in a more pleasant realm now, whatever that realm may look like. He was in his eighties, he was missing a leg, and he was going blind. I don't think he's missing his life. I'm worried about my dad though. For years I have worried about what will happen when my grandparents aren't around anymore. He told me that my Aunt Sheryl had granddad all excited about a chihuahua puppy she planned to give him in a few weeks. Giving a high maintenance dog to an elderly couple really isn't a stellar plan, but I can't help feeling sad that he never got to meet his puppy.
Visiting my dad's house tonight reinforced a few things like it always does. I come from a true broken home-- physically and emotionally, the place and its inhabitants have been cracking and crumbling for a long time. The family that once lived there has been falling apart more and more every year. But in reality, everyone in the world is broken. That's what it's like to be human. I need to stop letting the cracks get in the way of communicating with the people who anchor my existence. I'm sad that the person whose death I'm mourning isn't someone I've known in my adult life. The person I'm mourning is a figment of my childhood. He called me his Tigger. He scared me with his false teeth. He took care of me when my mom was in the hospital trying to regain her sanity and her sobriety, when my dad was at work or trying to save his marriage, and when my stomach was mysteriously queasy every morning so I couldn't go to school. I should have known him as an adult, and he should have known me as an adult, but it just didn't happen that way.
I've been worrying a lot about my dad recently. He has a pace maker. He's old. I don't talk to him enough. I know that clocks never stop ticking and that he won't last nearly as long as his father did. I know that I want to be a loving, demonstrative daughter. I always slide back into my shell, though. I suppose it's time to let the shell break, too.
Leaving MidFlorida is making me feel a bit like death, as well. I certainly do want to move on with my life, but there really are some great people there. I hate having to say good bye.
My granddad died this morning. I haven't talked to him or seen him in years.
My phone rang on the way to work, but before I could see who was calling, the battery died. I had a feeling that it might be something about my dad, so I called my voicemail when I got to work, and there my dad was, telling me that his own father had passed away. I proceeded to cry at work, which only added to the emotion after Shirley cried when she gave me a going away present.
I know that he's existing in a more pleasant realm now, whatever that realm may look like. He was in his eighties, he was missing a leg, and he was going blind. I don't think he's missing his life. I'm worried about my dad though. For years I have worried about what will happen when my grandparents aren't around anymore. He told me that my Aunt Sheryl had granddad all excited about a chihuahua puppy she planned to give him in a few weeks. Giving a high maintenance dog to an elderly couple really isn't a stellar plan, but I can't help feeling sad that he never got to meet his puppy.
Visiting my dad's house tonight reinforced a few things like it always does. I come from a true broken home-- physically and emotionally, the place and its inhabitants have been cracking and crumbling for a long time. The family that once lived there has been falling apart more and more every year. But in reality, everyone in the world is broken. That's what it's like to be human. I need to stop letting the cracks get in the way of communicating with the people who anchor my existence. I'm sad that the person whose death I'm mourning isn't someone I've known in my adult life. The person I'm mourning is a figment of my childhood. He called me his Tigger. He scared me with his false teeth. He took care of me when my mom was in the hospital trying to regain her sanity and her sobriety, when my dad was at work or trying to save his marriage, and when my stomach was mysteriously queasy every morning so I couldn't go to school. I should have known him as an adult, and he should have known me as an adult, but it just didn't happen that way.
I've been worrying a lot about my dad recently. He has a pace maker. He's old. I don't talk to him enough. I know that clocks never stop ticking and that he won't last nearly as long as his father did. I know that I want to be a loving, demonstrative daughter. I always slide back into my shell, though. I suppose it's time to let the shell break, too.
Leaving MidFlorida is making me feel a bit like death, as well. I certainly do want to move on with my life, but there really are some great people there. I hate having to say good bye.