It's been two years since my father died. Everyone says the first year is the hardest. I don't know how true that is. The first year was punctuated with tiny moments of relief – oh, I got through the first Fathers Day/birthday/Christmas without dad! The second year was harder in a way, as the loss settled in and became just a part of who I am. With the Alzheimers, I feel like we have been grieving tiny losses and missing my dad for years, ever since his diagnoses, as he slowly lost himself bit by bit. I don't feel like I miss him any less now. Differently, perhaps.
On some perfect sunny days, I still think "I need to call Dad and have him meet me at Huts for lunch!" and then I realize all over again that he is gone, and the stark reality is that the opportunity to meet him for lunch has been gone for many more years. I miss stealing pens from his desk (or front pocket; I had no shame!). I missed him when I was at the hospital with Drew, waiting for whatever procedure was going on to be over. Dad was a champion waiter in stressful situations. He always had a book, and he could sit for hours, never being annoying or talking too much, just being there steady as granite, there just in case you needed a cup of coffee or a walk. His presence was a comfort always, and I feel so much less grounded waiting on my own.
There are still a handful of songs I can't listen to while driving.
I pass both the Alzheimers home where he died and his sculpture on MoPac daily. I remember that last weekend of his life; the weekend of waiting. Of how ready we all felt we were before he passed and how totally unprepared and shocked we all felt after. I remember my friends gentle love and care for me and their tears on my behalf, and the love in the room at dads memorial.
After all this time, I still can't quite wrap my head around how someone can be there one minute and gone the next. Where did the essence of who he was GO? What happens in the vacuum left behind? I tell Drew & Zak that as long as we remember Granddaddy and his love he is still with us.
Some days I am more convincing than others.
On some perfect sunny days, I still think "I need to call Dad and have him meet me at Huts for lunch!" and then I realize all over again that he is gone, and the stark reality is that the opportunity to meet him for lunch has been gone for many more years. I miss stealing pens from his desk (or front pocket; I had no shame!). I missed him when I was at the hospital with Drew, waiting for whatever procedure was going on to be over. Dad was a champion waiter in stressful situations. He always had a book, and he could sit for hours, never being annoying or talking too much, just being there steady as granite, there just in case you needed a cup of coffee or a walk. His presence was a comfort always, and I feel so much less grounded waiting on my own.
There are still a handful of songs I can't listen to while driving.
I pass both the Alzheimers home where he died and his sculpture on MoPac daily. I remember that last weekend of his life; the weekend of waiting. Of how ready we all felt we were before he passed and how totally unprepared and shocked we all felt after. I remember my friends gentle love and care for me and their tears on my behalf, and the love in the room at dads memorial.
After all this time, I still can't quite wrap my head around how someone can be there one minute and gone the next. Where did the essence of who he was GO? What happens in the vacuum left behind? I tell Drew & Zak that as long as we remember Granddaddy and his love he is still with us.
Some days I am more convincing than others.
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