Lessons Death has Taught.

This blog post has been floating around in my head for the little over one month since my fathers death and I was sincerely hoping that perhaps putting it into writing would make it stop bringing me to tears especially since it hits the hardest when I'm at work.

I never thought that Saturday evening that I would be telling my father good bye for the last time. I left his bedside as he lay dying in the hospital a day earlier than planned so that I could prepare for an important meeting that I had hoped would lead to an interview. I remember his raspy voice as he said what I was and still am certain was 'go on, don't worry about me.' My response was 'I'll see you on Friday.' That next week was a three day weekend for me because I'd requested a day off work. As expected I went to work on Monday to start the first of a four day week and at 9:45 pm the thought crossed my mind that my father was dying, it was like the realization hit me all at once, it left my breathless but I bit back the tears and continued my work, because thats just how I cope. At 7 am the Tuesday, May 18th I received a call from my adopted aunt that my father had died at 9:45 pm Monday night.

My birth family didn't call me, not even to ensure that I had been informed. If it hadn't been for Pam I never would have known. I made it through an increasingly tense week and weekend and then finally, on Monday I broke down. He had been dead for one week. I finally found out about his wake and as the time came to go I increasingly dreaded it, as much as I wanted to be there for his sake, my religion does not support mourning the dead in such a manner, you are not supposed to gather and weep over their ashes as they are spread, you are to spread them in a place they have requested and then you are to move on to celebrating their life. I wound up not going, in part because of my religion, in part because of the fact that the people I would have been riding with would likely have been drinking beforehand. I still feel horrible about it.

I still haven't really gotten over it, but it has reaffirmed one thing, love goes on beyond the veil, it alone bridges the gap between life and death and lifts one closer to their personal god(dess). I still love him and miss him deeply despite the fact that he was rarely around to begin with. Just knowing that he will never walk me down the aisle, we will never again go camping, or fishing or just plain shooting things. I find it difficult to cry though, in part because he hated crying, he felt it was a waste of energy. I still often times find the pressure building within to just cry, or perhaps scream.

I have nothing left of him but memories, his worldly possessions meager though they were have likely been distributed amongst the rest of the family. As such I am left to simply cherish the memories of a man lost. Though he was no great contributer to humanity, indeed many would look upon him with distaste, he was my father and his actions did shape my world view. My world seems smaller somehow without him despite the growing possibilities that await behind newly opened doors. I continue to pass through these doors in part each step taken a tribute to him. He loved me in his own way, it is a shame it took his death to make me see it.