My father.
My father died this morning, a heart attack. My uncle called me at 6:39 with the news.
I'm still reeling, really. I'm the one he nominated to be in charge, years ago, but he didn't leave me much to work with. As far as we know, there is no life insurance policy, but we can bury him with what's left over of his pension. It should be plenty. Honestly, all I want is enough to cremate him in accordance with his wishes, give him a good send off, and maybe have some extra for the road trip we always said we'd take: the three sisters and the urn and the scattering of our father across America.
I'm angry. I'm angry that I have to go through and decide what happens to his shit. I have to find homes for his cats, discard his trash, clean up his messes, decipher his finances, and clean out his apartment. I'm hoping he managed to pay for May, otherwise I have ten days to do all of it.
I'm not angry because I'm doing it alone, far from it. My sisters, my mom, uncle, husband, grandparents are all helping. I'm angry that I have to do it at all. Goddammit, he was only 54. You don't die at 54, you die at 70 or 80. But, it wasn't his fault and he didn't choose this.
Caitlyn was the closest to him in the recent years, and she's taken it the hardest. On the other hand, I'm only fine as long as I'm moving. Hence the LJ post when I would rather be asleep. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to wear myself out first. Anna is trying to keep thinking of him playing with his granddaughter. In her mind, now they have each other.
My grandmother may never be the same again. She's so frail anyway. She just kept asking "why?" over and over again. She told my mother "A parent should never have to bury their child," and Anna wailed and flew into her arms, the first real bonding moment Anna had ever had with our grandmother.
Mom and Uncle Mark had a moment today, too. Uncle Mark hugged her and said "I understand." Because Aunt Belinda died after the divorce, it didn't mean he loved her any less, or that the pain wasn't as bad.
I should be asleep. But going still means I have to face it. I know I have to face it eventually, but I don't want to right now. I'm not sure why. I know it's permanent. I know I'll never have my father back. But is it too much to ask that I can find a way to forget for long enough to get some rest?
My dad taught me how to shoot, he taught me to love history, he taught me to think for myself, and to think defensively. Most of the time he was more of a fun big brother than a dad, but that's just because that's who he was. He wasn't really the family man type. He's always been an old solider.
The Facebook comments were heartbreaking. Nurses, cops, friends of the family all chiming in on her FB page before we even knew they knew. Word gets around fast, especially since there was an EMT on the ambulance who knew who dad was, and immediately sent word around the police and fire stations.
This funeral is going to be huge. Oddly, part of me is excited about it, excited about seeing old friends again. Part of me wants to be anywhere but there.
I want to do nothing at all tomorrow and put off the paperwork and death certificates and house cleaning for a day, but even if I were to do so, I'd drive myself crazy sitting at home and bawling all day. I want to get it over with and try to move on, so that my life isn't about my dad's death anymore.
God I miss him.
I'm still reeling, really. I'm the one he nominated to be in charge, years ago, but he didn't leave me much to work with. As far as we know, there is no life insurance policy, but we can bury him with what's left over of his pension. It should be plenty. Honestly, all I want is enough to cremate him in accordance with his wishes, give him a good send off, and maybe have some extra for the road trip we always said we'd take: the three sisters and the urn and the scattering of our father across America.
I'm angry. I'm angry that I have to go through and decide what happens to his shit. I have to find homes for his cats, discard his trash, clean up his messes, decipher his finances, and clean out his apartment. I'm hoping he managed to pay for May, otherwise I have ten days to do all of it.
I'm not angry because I'm doing it alone, far from it. My sisters, my mom, uncle, husband, grandparents are all helping. I'm angry that I have to do it at all. Goddammit, he was only 54. You don't die at 54, you die at 70 or 80. But, it wasn't his fault and he didn't choose this.
Caitlyn was the closest to him in the recent years, and she's taken it the hardest. On the other hand, I'm only fine as long as I'm moving. Hence the LJ post when I would rather be asleep. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to wear myself out first. Anna is trying to keep thinking of him playing with his granddaughter. In her mind, now they have each other.
My grandmother may never be the same again. She's so frail anyway. She just kept asking "why?" over and over again. She told my mother "A parent should never have to bury their child," and Anna wailed and flew into her arms, the first real bonding moment Anna had ever had with our grandmother.
Mom and Uncle Mark had a moment today, too. Uncle Mark hugged her and said "I understand." Because Aunt Belinda died after the divorce, it didn't mean he loved her any less, or that the pain wasn't as bad.
I should be asleep. But going still means I have to face it. I know I have to face it eventually, but I don't want to right now. I'm not sure why. I know it's permanent. I know I'll never have my father back. But is it too much to ask that I can find a way to forget for long enough to get some rest?
My dad taught me how to shoot, he taught me to love history, he taught me to think for myself, and to think defensively. Most of the time he was more of a fun big brother than a dad, but that's just because that's who he was. He wasn't really the family man type. He's always been an old solider.
The Facebook comments were heartbreaking. Nurses, cops, friends of the family all chiming in on her FB page before we even knew they knew. Word gets around fast, especially since there was an EMT on the ambulance who knew who dad was, and immediately sent word around the police and fire stations.
This funeral is going to be huge. Oddly, part of me is excited about it, excited about seeing old friends again. Part of me wants to be anywhere but there.
I want to do nothing at all tomorrow and put off the paperwork and death certificates and house cleaning for a day, but even if I were to do so, I'd drive myself crazy sitting at home and bawling all day. I want to get it over with and try to move on, so that my life isn't about my dad's death anymore.
God I miss him.