Bye, daddy-o
(check, check? Apparently I sign up for LJ and only post when traumatic shit happens)
My dad died.
I fucking hate saying that out loud. My dad died. But he did. And this is probably the only e-spacey kind of place I wanna say anything detailed about it that isn't maudlyn, regurgitated. I really want it detailed because, and I said I'd say it if asked to do a eulogy by mom- we had a really good last day. (Sorry if you've heard that already.)
I needed/want a forum to let this out so if friends aren't too comfortable reading, I don't cut tag and move on.
So I've been unemployed after my last assignment and have been waiting for my new assignment to come up soon. Mom and Dad offered to pay me for manual labor (as they are wont to do) in the interim, esp. since they are still rehabbing the grounds around the cabin up North. So for the record, I've seen my folks quite a bit in July.
The last three weeks have been marked with planting huge bushes at their Plymouth townhome and de-rooting a tree, heading up the hour plus trek to the cabin. It was what it was. They usually or (he usually) talked about how sweaty I was.
So I had talked to my pop a few times (A record in as many days, but since my old fiancee' broke up with me I vowed to treasure my protracted dad-talks and this shouldn't be different. He was, of course, the first I talked to at the time and the first to tell me post-break up to "ride the waves") and he agreed to meet on Thursday (we had "cabin'ed" 6 days prior, and he had to meet with the old retired Sheriff's deputies for a breakfast) So fine. 9am.
He was late, per normal, and it gave time for me and the Bean to talk. I bitched and lamented about "Postle-Punctuality" and that if he had anything to do he needed to go before dad showed up or he'd be in for a lengthy conversation which'd make him late for work. (As it turns out, David ran out to hug and shake dad's hand and say "hi" just because I was silly about it)
We drove up Central and our talk was about how everything has changed. Shops. Industrial centers. We bitched about stop lights. We talked about what was the same...what was different.
We got up to the cabin and got to work. He showed me how to set up the temporary trailer and where to pee behind the shed. Then I started in on the work. I made him sit and watch while he threw out advice (dad grenades. I was to do the manual labor and he was to chill) I cut down a 40 foot dead fir tree and got it apart. I'm old. I had to sit periodically next to him. We went in and continued taking apart the cabinets to put in the garage. He needed to sit for a bit. I said to relax and he sat before holding up a little bullet shaped thing and said that it was for his heart. (To understand, dad has had nitro ready since 1989. It was sort of a joke, but with that, a wife who was an RN, and two kids mildly EMT ready and CPR savvy it was more of a joke. And we knew mom has made him do quarterly visits) Still, I told him to chill.
Then I told him cabin stories from when I was a kid that I won't bore you with here. He loved them. I mean, it made me NOT feel like I was talking to a wall. He understood. Filled in blanks. And took his glasses off when he laughed so hard that I remembered great-grandma's brand of cigarette.
It got late. Really late. And I wanted to get home to pack for an out of town camping trip ASAP. He wanted to gut some stuff and get it to the dump but we decided to chill. We ate cheese. We drank a beer and talked about the future of the cabin. And we strapped the dumb old squirrel eaten mattresses inside to the roof.
The ride home was really nice.
We took the "long" way which I didn't argue about. He bitched Mo and I couldn't be here for the local small town "Pie Contest!" and we wanted to pull over for a Farmers Market that had bushells (Gods, who does bushells?) of red potatoes for only $3.00!!!
On the way, we opened up about a lot of things. A lot. I admitted things I had kept quiet and verified things he only knew briefly. Of covert cabin trips with (Shh) booze when I was 16, 17, 18, 19...of Zima, gin, ruined watermelons, fake grenades to scare friends, skinny dipping, vomiting. I was in such pain from the manual labor but I was crying laughing telling my dad this. In turn, he wasn't pissed! He started laughing and telling me about what HE heard about it. Then it devolved into stories on the top-secret base he stationed in the early 60's. And early cabin stories. And mom stories. We went through it all. Old girlfriends. Mo. My friends and neighbors. By the time we were up Central he was bitching that the Height's theatre had changed out "Harry Potter" and that he wanted to take Mom to that.
He wanted to take me to the dump for the mattresses, but I rebuffed. I said it was 5 and I was fall over tired. I told him to pull the "old man" card and get one of the kids that work there to help. We pulled up to my house. I got out, he asked where Mo was. He asked what David was doing. We chatted, I invited him in for water, he just wanted me to call Mom and tell her he was on his way. We hugged.
For a big guy. For a really big guy. I remember being glad I was on the curb. It felt good to be bigger than my dad. I was able to say "I love you" and he skidaddled.
And that was that.
My dad died.
I fucking hate saying that out loud. My dad died. But he did. And this is probably the only e-spacey kind of place I wanna say anything detailed about it that isn't maudlyn, regurgitated. I really want it detailed because, and I said I'd say it if asked to do a eulogy by mom- we had a really good last day. (Sorry if you've heard that already.)
I needed/want a forum to let this out so if friends aren't too comfortable reading, I don't cut tag and move on.
So I've been unemployed after my last assignment and have been waiting for my new assignment to come up soon. Mom and Dad offered to pay me for manual labor (as they are wont to do) in the interim, esp. since they are still rehabbing the grounds around the cabin up North. So for the record, I've seen my folks quite a bit in July.
The last three weeks have been marked with planting huge bushes at their Plymouth townhome and de-rooting a tree, heading up the hour plus trek to the cabin. It was what it was. They usually or (he usually) talked about how sweaty I was.
So I had talked to my pop a few times (A record in as many days, but since my old fiancee' broke up with me I vowed to treasure my protracted dad-talks and this shouldn't be different. He was, of course, the first I talked to at the time and the first to tell me post-break up to "ride the waves") and he agreed to meet on Thursday (we had "cabin'ed" 6 days prior, and he had to meet with the old retired Sheriff's deputies for a breakfast) So fine. 9am.
He was late, per normal, and it gave time for me and the Bean to talk. I bitched and lamented about "Postle-Punctuality" and that if he had anything to do he needed to go before dad showed up or he'd be in for a lengthy conversation which'd make him late for work. (As it turns out, David ran out to hug and shake dad's hand and say "hi" just because I was silly about it)
We drove up Central and our talk was about how everything has changed. Shops. Industrial centers. We bitched about stop lights. We talked about what was the same...what was different.
We got up to the cabin and got to work. He showed me how to set up the temporary trailer and where to pee behind the shed. Then I started in on the work. I made him sit and watch while he threw out advice (dad grenades. I was to do the manual labor and he was to chill) I cut down a 40 foot dead fir tree and got it apart. I'm old. I had to sit periodically next to him. We went in and continued taking apart the cabinets to put in the garage. He needed to sit for a bit. I said to relax and he sat before holding up a little bullet shaped thing and said that it was for his heart. (To understand, dad has had nitro ready since 1989. It was sort of a joke, but with that, a wife who was an RN, and two kids mildly EMT ready and CPR savvy it was more of a joke. And we knew mom has made him do quarterly visits) Still, I told him to chill.
Then I told him cabin stories from when I was a kid that I won't bore you with here. He loved them. I mean, it made me NOT feel like I was talking to a wall. He understood. Filled in blanks. And took his glasses off when he laughed so hard that I remembered great-grandma's brand of cigarette.
It got late. Really late. And I wanted to get home to pack for an out of town camping trip ASAP. He wanted to gut some stuff and get it to the dump but we decided to chill. We ate cheese. We drank a beer and talked about the future of the cabin. And we strapped the dumb old squirrel eaten mattresses inside to the roof.
The ride home was really nice.
We took the "long" way which I didn't argue about. He bitched Mo and I couldn't be here for the local small town "Pie Contest!" and we wanted to pull over for a Farmers Market that had bushells (Gods, who does bushells?) of red potatoes for only $3.00!!!
On the way, we opened up about a lot of things. A lot. I admitted things I had kept quiet and verified things he only knew briefly. Of covert cabin trips with (Shh) booze when I was 16, 17, 18, 19...of Zima, gin, ruined watermelons, fake grenades to scare friends, skinny dipping, vomiting. I was in such pain from the manual labor but I was crying laughing telling my dad this. In turn, he wasn't pissed! He started laughing and telling me about what HE heard about it. Then it devolved into stories on the top-secret base he stationed in the early 60's. And early cabin stories. And mom stories. We went through it all. Old girlfriends. Mo. My friends and neighbors. By the time we were up Central he was bitching that the Height's theatre had changed out "Harry Potter" and that he wanted to take Mom to that.
He wanted to take me to the dump for the mattresses, but I rebuffed. I said it was 5 and I was fall over tired. I told him to pull the "old man" card and get one of the kids that work there to help. We pulled up to my house. I got out, he asked where Mo was. He asked what David was doing. We chatted, I invited him in for water, he just wanted me to call Mom and tell her he was on his way. We hugged.
For a big guy. For a really big guy. I remember being glad I was on the curb. It felt good to be bigger than my dad. I was able to say "I love you" and he skidaddled.
And that was that.