(no subject)
I've been writing and then rewriting this entry both in and on paper- or whatever the idiom for this would be, for a few weeks now. It always starts the same.
So, my Dad's dead.
There is no way to express this without sounding flippant, so I give up on trying. Berkeley Strobel passed away December 30, 2011 after suffering liver failure. He was 72. He served in the US Army Reserves. He was a graduate of FSU, and earned a Masters in Education from GSU. He was case manager for the Federal Penitentiary in Atlanta, The Pipe Major for the Atholl Highlanders USA, a pipe smoker, an Anglo-Catholic Episcopalian, a grandfather, and my dad.
None of that is enough to describe what he meant to me, to brother and sister, or most the people who knew him. I won't say he was liked by all. He inspired some fairly emotional responses from people and not all of them were positive.
How am I doing, you ask? It depends on what I'm doing when you ask me. My stock answer has been, "better than you'd expect." and that's pretty much the truth. Still there are times when it's me like a sledge and I can't move or speak for moment. There's just me and the stark realization. "So..." I think to myself, "My Dad's dead." And it's not like I feel anything about it. There is just the stone cold fact. He's gone- theological discussions aside- and I'm here. I can't really allow myself to become bogged down in the mire. It solve anything. It's not me.
Do I need anything? Yes. I need help cleaning out a storage unit. I need cigars, and company. Also I could use a new job maybe in a new city. The idea of leaving Atlanta has popped into my head more than once.
But yeah I'll be fine. Thanks for asking
So, my Dad's dead.
There is no way to express this without sounding flippant, so I give up on trying. Berkeley Strobel passed away December 30, 2011 after suffering liver failure. He was 72. He served in the US Army Reserves. He was a graduate of FSU, and earned a Masters in Education from GSU. He was case manager for the Federal Penitentiary in Atlanta, The Pipe Major for the Atholl Highlanders USA, a pipe smoker, an Anglo-Catholic Episcopalian, a grandfather, and my dad.
None of that is enough to describe what he meant to me, to brother and sister, or most the people who knew him. I won't say he was liked by all. He inspired some fairly emotional responses from people and not all of them were positive.
How am I doing, you ask? It depends on what I'm doing when you ask me. My stock answer has been, "better than you'd expect." and that's pretty much the truth. Still there are times when it's me like a sledge and I can't move or speak for moment. There's just me and the stark realization. "So..." I think to myself, "My Dad's dead." And it's not like I feel anything about it. There is just the stone cold fact. He's gone- theological discussions aside- and I'm here. I can't really allow myself to become bogged down in the mire. It solve anything. It's not me.
Do I need anything? Yes. I need help cleaning out a storage unit. I need cigars, and company. Also I could use a new job maybe in a new city. The idea of leaving Atlanta has popped into my head more than once.
But yeah I'll be fine. Thanks for asking