The Dreaded Day
Well, today is the day we celebrate my father's life and lay him to rest. Well, send him off to the crematory. We have been gathering small items to "send off with Dad." That's the euphemism we use. We do not face realities very well in my family and pick gentle terms for the greusome things in life. I am the only one who's ever called things as I really see them and was labeled "brutally honest" as a result.
It's been a mixed blessing putting the service off until family could get here from out of state. On the one hand, we've had time to prepare a send-off that's truly worthy of the man my father is/was. But we've also been in this state of suspended reality for over a week. I wonder when it's really going to sink in that Dad is gone and never coming back, that he'll only exist now in our hearts and memories.
In many ways, it was easier when my sister, Lisa, died. She was 19 and it was completely unexpected. She was struck by a car around ten o'clock on a Monday evening, was disconnected from life support around 1 AM on Tuesday and (euphemism alert) "sent off" on Friday. Lisa's service is still a complete blur to me. It was almost 25 years ago but the memory of the phone call at 10:30, the drive to meet my in-laws to drop Mike off and the drive to the hospital, the moment when we put our precious mementos in the casket...those memories are all crystal clear. But what happened afterward, the gathering at the house and the first few days, are nowhere to be found in my memory. But it all happened quickly. There was no chance for the anxiety to build.
Not so with my father's death. Although his death is also "sudden," we had less than two weeks from the moment hope vanished in Dr. Poretta's office until Dad died, we've had over a week to plan, to fret, to support each other, to argue and piss each other off, to create new wounds and try to heal old ones. The tension is palpable.
When I was 13, my 55 year-old aunt, Grace, died unexpectedly. Two months later, her mother...my dad's mother, also died. I'd been so traumatized by Aunt Grace's death and funeral that I sould not bring myself to attend my father's mother's service. My mother tells me I can't claim that same trauma this time...we all have to do it. I've always regretted I didn't attend my grandmother's service. I will attend Dad's. It will be very difficult.
A little Xanax. A little weedy chemical, if needed. A lot of tissues. No gathering at the house...I always thought that was cruel, to expect the grieving family to host something just after the interment... We'll go to a restaurant my folks used to frequent with whoever wants to attend. We'll remember my dad.
I'll always remember...
It's been a mixed blessing putting the service off until family could get here from out of state. On the one hand, we've had time to prepare a send-off that's truly worthy of the man my father is/was. But we've also been in this state of suspended reality for over a week. I wonder when it's really going to sink in that Dad is gone and never coming back, that he'll only exist now in our hearts and memories.
In many ways, it was easier when my sister, Lisa, died. She was 19 and it was completely unexpected. She was struck by a car around ten o'clock on a Monday evening, was disconnected from life support around 1 AM on Tuesday and (euphemism alert) "sent off" on Friday. Lisa's service is still a complete blur to me. It was almost 25 years ago but the memory of the phone call at 10:30, the drive to meet my in-laws to drop Mike off and the drive to the hospital, the moment when we put our precious mementos in the casket...those memories are all crystal clear. But what happened afterward, the gathering at the house and the first few days, are nowhere to be found in my memory. But it all happened quickly. There was no chance for the anxiety to build.
Not so with my father's death. Although his death is also "sudden," we had less than two weeks from the moment hope vanished in Dr. Poretta's office until Dad died, we've had over a week to plan, to fret, to support each other, to argue and piss each other off, to create new wounds and try to heal old ones. The tension is palpable.
When I was 13, my 55 year-old aunt, Grace, died unexpectedly. Two months later, her mother...my dad's mother, also died. I'd been so traumatized by Aunt Grace's death and funeral that I sould not bring myself to attend my father's mother's service. My mother tells me I can't claim that same trauma this time...we all have to do it. I've always regretted I didn't attend my grandmother's service. I will attend Dad's. It will be very difficult.
A little Xanax. A little weedy chemical, if needed. A lot of tissues. No gathering at the house...I always thought that was cruel, to expect the grieving family to host something just after the interment... We'll go to a restaurant my folks used to frequent with whoever wants to attend. We'll remember my dad.
I'll always remember...
posted by Cheryl at
3/19/2006 11:54:00 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home