Goodbye
My dad died at home, early Friday morning. He'd been getting better, somewhat, and then he started getting worse again and then he...stopped. By the end he was completely non-responsive, but it was still a miracle month that let us say goodbye. The first coma in April was almost like a dress rehersal.
I'm not really sure how I feel, right now. I love my Dad, but mostly it just feels like he's gone somewhere else...not metaphysically, but geographically. He managed one last trip to Spring Training in March. It's like that, like he's just not in town at present. And I'm pretty fine with that. It mostly felt the same way in college when my Grandmother passed away. But then there are those moments when something inside wells up and my heart just wrenches and I just don't know how I'm supposed to do this. I'm not ready. I haven't learned enough. You know; we never actually got around to changing a tire together. How am I supposed to learn now, if not from him? So many things left undone, so many ways I feel like I let him down...even though everyone maintains how proud he was of me (and, I must grudgingly admit, my brother).
For the past week or two, I've found myself eulogizing in my head, which seemed so wrong when he wasn't even gone yet. It looks like the funeral on Saturday will be short and sweet, but I finally figured out what I might have said, so I'll say it here now:
When my Dad worked in the yard, he worked in the yard 100% until everything was done (and usually paid for it the next day). And when my Dad watched sports, he watched them 100% until all the sports were done (usually while paying for the day before). And when he was having fun with his friends, he was having Fun with his Friends. Full stop.
Dad lived in the moment, whatever the moment, better than anyone else I have ever known. I can sometimes match that level of "nowness" when a book gets really good, but usually my mind is a hamster-wheel ricocheting between future and past. I'm going to miss my Dad's calm present presence and I really hope I can someday learn to be as fully invested in the current moment as he could.
I'm not really sure how I feel, right now. I love my Dad, but mostly it just feels like he's gone somewhere else...not metaphysically, but geographically. He managed one last trip to Spring Training in March. It's like that, like he's just not in town at present. And I'm pretty fine with that. It mostly felt the same way in college when my Grandmother passed away. But then there are those moments when something inside wells up and my heart just wrenches and I just don't know how I'm supposed to do this. I'm not ready. I haven't learned enough. You know; we never actually got around to changing a tire together. How am I supposed to learn now, if not from him? So many things left undone, so many ways I feel like I let him down...even though everyone maintains how proud he was of me (and, I must grudgingly admit, my brother).
For the past week or two, I've found myself eulogizing in my head, which seemed so wrong when he wasn't even gone yet. It looks like the funeral on Saturday will be short and sweet, but I finally figured out what I might have said, so I'll say it here now:
When my Dad worked in the yard, he worked in the yard 100% until everything was done (and usually paid for it the next day). And when my Dad watched sports, he watched them 100% until all the sports were done (usually while paying for the day before). And when he was having fun with his friends, he was having Fun with his Friends. Full stop.
Dad lived in the moment, whatever the moment, better than anyone else I have ever known. I can sometimes match that level of "nowness" when a book gets really good, but usually my mind is a hamster-wheel ricocheting between future and past. I'm going to miss my Dad's calm present presence and I really hope I can someday learn to be as fully invested in the current moment as he could.