8.18.2012

Dad's Funeral Ponderings

Funerals. I didn't keep any physical images from that day. My memory is stronger; the emotions triggered by so many sights:
My brother and his four-year-old son wearing my dad's ties to the funeral; my dad's Winnie the Pooh tie on my nephew sitting crooked and nearly dragging on the ground.
Standing at the wooden pulpit; lined paper folded on below the microphone.  The flowers on top of the casket seeming to reach out to me. While I read my talk, I wanted to take one in my hand to solidify the events of the last few weeks.
Dozens of flowers on my mother's table-her usual bright tablecloth noticeably missing, symbols of support and love. 
Going through my father's clothes and shoes; the homemade blue denim slippers that he's had for my whole life, a heavy finality of the future. I snag a few shirts to craft for memories; so that in some way I can see it and feel like he's physically around still.
Family and neighbors I haven't met or seen in more than ten years; hugging me with condolences, and I just want to slap them and run.
Memories still linger of him.  After Cameron's birth, he was wheeled in the hospital room in a wheelchair and his smile couldn't be wider.  Her blessing day; my family all around but all that seemed to matter was my dad and Cameron.  A few terrifying hospital scares.  Private moments of Cameron and me visiting him a few times on my days off; sitting in the armchair with a book in his hand and an open laptop of writing on the coffee table. Conversations of joy and faith.
It's far too early for him to leave. I wanted to see him age like Andy Griffith. I could see him looking like him as he got older: white hair, smile wrinkles and crows feet around his bright blue eyes.  Cameron shared something special with him; I could sense that from her birth. He deserved to see her grow up, to be there for special moments in school and play. 
My dad worked so hard; he deserved a moment's peace. There are so many of his dreams left untouched and un-achieved.  There are so many unfinished stories and the train set in the spare bedroom will remain as it is with a half done water tower and unpainted mountains.  He deserved so much better than the painful, abrupt end. 
It makes me almost angry to think of all those people out there, who will get their fathers for many years. I still had so much more to do with him. I still had some fences to finish mending. He was supposed to teach me all the silly, random facts he always had up his sleeves.  We had so many more memories to make.





1 comment:

  1. yes, he did. i loved this shell. i love the memories we have and need to write down so our kids will know him like we did.

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