T-Minus One Week
My father's ashes are finally being laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery next Thursday. They've been in my safekeeping. I could say that my Mom was not doing well -- which is true -- and that we didn't want to have a Winter ceremony. But the truth is that I wasn't ready. I'm still not ready. I don't think I'll ever be ready. I don't know how people can do this a few days after they die. Maybe I'm putting myself through more grief by prolonging everything.
It's like a cliche though. I'm that annoying brat in the movies who says that the pain sometimes feels better because at least then I feel something. I don't want to forget. I don't want to let him go. I don't want to move on. I feel bad because I don't get the sucker-punch, gut-wrenching pangs very often anymore. And when I do, they're not nearly as intense. My body and mind tries subconsciously to forget about the ordeal. Even now it seems like another lifetime. Like some story I read. I don't feel like the same person who went every day to the Hospital and had to put on rubber gloves and a paper smock just to give my dad a hug. I have trouble remembering details that used to be so clear to me. I have trouble remembering how cold and stiff his hand was, or how hard it was to close his eyes. I have troube recalling the horror the first time I saw him after cremation, that the thing that used to be my Dad now fits in my hand in a container smaller than a milk jug. My mind wants to forget but *I* don't want to forget.
At the same time, I don't want to deal with his funeral. I can procrastinate like a champ and it's so hard to force myself to get things done. I'd probably put it off another 8 months if I could, but even I recognize that it's time. I scheduled this date in January because this was the projected peak time that the Cherry Blossoms would be in bloom. I don't know if that's still the case, but it's about as good a time as any. There is no good time to say goodbye, only less crappy options.
When I mentioned the Funeral (Do I even call it a funeral if it's ashes? Ceremony? Whatever) to some good friends, they immediately offered to come with me. My first thought was "why?" Not that they aren't good friends; they're the best. I was just confused as to why they'd want to go since one barely knew my Dad and the other never met him at all. I didn't understand that they were offering to come to help *ME*. I still can't seem to get used to the idea that some consideration could be taken for my needs and interests in all this. Of course, I guess I'm the one who's been dragging my feet so in some ways everything has been in consideration of me.
Tick Tock Tick Tock
It's like a cliche though. I'm that annoying brat in the movies who says that the pain sometimes feels better because at least then I feel something. I don't want to forget. I don't want to let him go. I don't want to move on. I feel bad because I don't get the sucker-punch, gut-wrenching pangs very often anymore. And when I do, they're not nearly as intense. My body and mind tries subconsciously to forget about the ordeal. Even now it seems like another lifetime. Like some story I read. I don't feel like the same person who went every day to the Hospital and had to put on rubber gloves and a paper smock just to give my dad a hug. I have trouble remembering details that used to be so clear to me. I have trouble remembering how cold and stiff his hand was, or how hard it was to close his eyes. I have troube recalling the horror the first time I saw him after cremation, that the thing that used to be my Dad now fits in my hand in a container smaller than a milk jug. My mind wants to forget but *I* don't want to forget.
At the same time, I don't want to deal with his funeral. I can procrastinate like a champ and it's so hard to force myself to get things done. I'd probably put it off another 8 months if I could, but even I recognize that it's time. I scheduled this date in January because this was the projected peak time that the Cherry Blossoms would be in bloom. I don't know if that's still the case, but it's about as good a time as any. There is no good time to say goodbye, only less crappy options.
When I mentioned the Funeral (Do I even call it a funeral if it's ashes? Ceremony? Whatever) to some good friends, they immediately offered to come with me. My first thought was "why?" Not that they aren't good friends; they're the best. I was just confused as to why they'd want to go since one barely knew my Dad and the other never met him at all. I didn't understand that they were offering to come to help *ME*. I still can't seem to get used to the idea that some consideration could be taken for my needs and interests in all this. Of course, I guess I'm the one who's been dragging my feet so in some ways everything has been in consideration of me.
Tick Tock Tick Tock