Adventures of the Traveling Grief Case

Letter#3 September 18, 2018

Dear Dad,

It’s been 6 weeks since you left us physically and I still wonder when it will feel real.  It’s been almost 8 or 9 since you left us mentally.

Some days I feel ok, but I never stop thinking about you.  It’s like my mind constantly says, “He’s gone” but I still haven’t processed it.  People say I will see signs of you all around.  Maybe I’m just not ready yet.  Maybe it’s still not real. I know there were so many more tears when you were still here. 

The day hospice came to take you to Providence in the ambulance.  That moment I realized you weren’t just going to the hospital.  That time you wouldn’t come home.  That moment I realized you wouldn’t come back.  You would never sit on the couch again or share a cup of coffee and an Allie’s donut.  Or ask if I was hungry or needed some money.  You would never again tell me, “I’m off to the library.  Let me take Dudley” as you grabbed your walker (Dudley your trusty steed) and made your way down the hall to the bathroom.

No more talks of the books I was reading or what I was cooking.  No more pointers on my boxing.  

All these days at hospice mom and I spent.  Watching you lay there, peacefully.  It was like you were sleeping, although we didn’t hear you utter any smart-ass remarks!  And when the nurse joked about tickling your feet, I made sure to let her know you would NOT enjoy that.  In fact, I thought if she even tried you may jump up out of that bed!

Each day we watched as your feet turned more purple.  You stomach slowly deflating and your ribs stuck out.  I would pull the sheets up, so it was not so noticeable.  I would kiss your head, hold your cold hands, tell you how much I love you.  So many times, I cried during those days.

But now it’s like they are stuck.  I know they are inside me, just waiting to come up.  But for now, my life goes on.  I kept reading, working, and cooking. I finally went back to kickboxing.  I kept eating sweets and I felt my gut filling up.  Maybe that’s where my tears are, built up in my stomach.

I thought when you were gone my stomach would fill with knots.  I wouldn’t be able to eat.  I wouldn’t be able to sleep.  Wouldn’t function.  But it’s not.  and I think some days it scares me that life goes on as usual.  That life can actually go on without you here.  That I can have happy moments. Sometimes I call mom on the way home from work and wait for her to say, “want to say hi to your father?” but she doesn’t, and I remember you’re not there.

I want so bad for you to visit me in my dreams.  To see signs, you are still around me.  To feel your spirit and your presence.  But I don’t.  Not yet.  Maybe I’m not ready.  Maybe it’s not time.  Maybe it’s not quite real. 

I made bread today and thought of you.  How you would do it.  I heard your voice in my head. Giving me pointers.  thinking of the time I asked what was in it and you’d say, “some beer, some mayonnaise” I quickly said, never mind.  I don’t want to know. I think of your sayings a lot.  Of your advice and wisdom, although you would probably say it wasn’t wisdom.  You wouldn’t make that much of a fuss.

I’m at the beach.  The air is cool today.  There is a man playing the guitar.  I want to ask if he knows any Johnny Cash, but he looks like more of a rock n roll guy.  Besides, I’m pretty sure I would break down in tears if I were to ask.

I so wanted a beach day, but this wind is chilly. Not sure I can stay much longer.  You would be happy to know that we are spending time with mom.  I check on her every day.  Try to have dinner with her at least once a week.  We even got pedicures together yesterday.  I’m sure she was thrilled I invited her. 

I don’t know how Thanksgiving will be this year.  I know we haven’t cooked together in a few years, but still, I think of it as our holiday.  All the years mom would work and you and I would do the cooking.  

I want to do something special for mom’s birthday this year.  I know it will be her first one in 52 years without you.  Even though you never really did anything special.  Sometimes you would get her a card and she would complain no matter what you did or didn’t do. 

This next year will be full of firsts without you.  I think those will be the hardest.  Those will make it feel real.  If nothing else, we can go to Danny’s.

I think my head doesn’t process quite yet that you are gone.  But my heart….my heart feels it.  It’s like a piece of its missing.  There is an empty space there.  I miss you.  

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As I started this blog series, I started putting this pressure on myself once again to structure it this way and that. My dad always liked the saying KISS – Keep It Simple Stupid! All week I have heard his voice in my head saying it over and over.

So, moving forward I’m just going to share a letter on Sundays and one of my essays on Wednesdays. I don’t need to stress it so much. These letters speak for themselves.

Thanks for reading!