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Joni Mitchell - River |
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I think the loss of a parent is always traumatic. Some people lost a parent before they are even born, usually the father. For others it may come later in life, be it infancy, teenage years, or later. Speaking of fathers in particular, I am sure we all know people who have lost their father due to many reasons...abandonment, pure anger and disagreement, diseases such as Alzheimer's, and death. Death is sort of the odd one out in the list, because unlike these other situations, or even death of a son or daughter, sibling, friend, etc...the death of a parent is a predictable happening in the circle of life. From the moment we are born, it's a fact that we don't think about...but still, it is there. Unless you die yourself before it happens, your parents will. That doesn't change the feelings associated with this loss, though.
I lost my father on April 2, 1999. I had turned 18 a little over a week before, March 23rd. Then I left on what was supposed to be a trip to see friends and relatives in Southern California, San Francisco, and then to Austin, Texas. I was also to look at the campuses of UCLA and UT in Austin, as I was still deciding where I wanted to attend college. My friend Mindy and I spent a few days in Los Angeles, and then she went home. I was to fly to San Francisco the next day and stay with my cousin for a few days and see some people. Now that I look back on it, it was probably better that I did not.
I got a call early in the morning on April 2nd from my mother. She said my dad died in his sleep. She woke up up when she felt something was wrong. Her first instinct was to check on the kids, until she noticed my dad next to her. She moved his arm to wake him up, and while not cold...it was obviously lifeless. She called 911 and the ambulance came, but there was nothing that could be done. He was dead at the age of 48, and I had to find a flight home.
I did finally get to Springfield, and my friend Mindy was there to pick me up. I was still very much in shock. Not the kind of shock where I couldn't do anything, or even that I didn't believe it...it was just as if nothing had changed. When I got home, my older sister, Alicia, was here...as well as my younger siblings.
Life just went on the way it had been for the next couple of days. I had a lot of people calling me, wanting me to talk about everything, but I didn't want to. It was as if I didn't have anything to say. The day afterward, I talked to a friend I was supposed to see in SF online, for hours, and barely mentioned my dad at all. That's what I really needed at the time. I do not at all resent anyone for trying to help me, but for that moment, I needed things to be the way they were before.
Everything changed the night of my father's visitation. As the family, we all got there first. My three older brothers had come in as well. I walked in with my grandma. First through the double-doors that slid open into the chapel, and then between the pews on either side. As I got about halfway up, I could see his name in gold letters on a bouquet of yellow roses to the left of the black onyx coffin. My father owned a trucking business that he started in 1995, and the yellow roses were from his drivers, to symbolize his favorite truck, which happened to be yellow.
That's when the floodgate of emotions started to release. My grandma heard me trying to hold everything in, my mouth shaking and eyes closed. She stopped and asked me if I wanted to sit on the nearest pew. I shook my head and she hugged me. I put my arm around her shoulders as we started to walk closer to the front. My mom was there already and stepped forward to hug me before I got right up to the casket. As I hugged her, my eyes went to the floor. If I had looked forward and down at all, I would have seen him.
My mom asked me if I wanted her to hold my hand and I said no. I then walked right up to him, put my hands on the edge of the casket and saw him for the first time since before I had left for Los Angeles. My dad hated suits, so my mom knew not to put him in one to be buried. She bought a western-style shirt for him. She said it was because when they started dating, in Houston Texas, he used to wear them all the time.
I cried for a minute or so, seeing him there, his hands folded across his stomach and eyes forever closed. Then my older brothers and other family members went up to see him, and my Aunt Beverly took my hand as I went to look at all of the flowers and plants around the chapel that people had sent.
I got through the visitation fine after that, and felt so much better as so many of my friends came to pay their respects and see if I was doing ok. I could not even begin to count the number of people who hugged me that night. And it was also the night I met my other half-sister, Jennifer. She is my dad's daughter, from his first marriage. But she was put up for adoption at the age of three, after her mother took her from my grandma's custody (after her mother and our dad were divorced). It's a long, complex story...that no one really knows the complete facts about, as both of her parents are dead now. She had contacted Dad just weeks before and they had been chatting online and on the phone. But, living in Virginia, she never got to meet him before he died. Fate surely made sure they got to know each other before his passing, and my dad knew that he would soon be a grandpa (April 14th was when my nephew was born...yes, she should not have been flying when she did), but he never got to physically experience it.
The funeral the next day, I got through without crying. As the family, we were in a room to the left of everyone, if looking from the front of the chapel. We watched everyone walk by the casket and say goodbye, and then after everyone left, we had to go. The one memory that I remember clearer than anything else was sitting on the front pew and watching my mother standing over the casket. She leaned over to kiss my dad one last kiss, and our Uncle Russell (my Grandma's brother) came up behind her and put his left arm around her as they looked upon him. Later, we found out that they were discussing the grave arrangement. My Aunt Phillis died in 1997 and is buried in front of my great grandfather, then to the left of her will be Uncle Russell...then mom, then Dad. Uncle Russell told her when they are all dead and buried, she will be a rose between two thorns :)
I was standing back as everyone else said their goodbyes but Jennifer and my father's youngest brother. Mom looked at me and I walked to her and put my arms around her neck, holding her as I stared at my father for the last time, not saying a word. She finally asked if I wanted to say bye. With my head rested on her shoulder, I looked at him and just said "Bye." Everything I had ever wanted to say came out with one word. Somehow, I knew that he knew what I was thinking. I broke down at that point, as my mom's sister, Aunt Bev again, took me in her arms and told me to let it all out. I was instantly reminded of six years prior, when my great grandmother died, and we came here from NC for her funeral. I was in sixth grade then...and I also did not break down until the last time I would see my beloved Grandma Cooper. She gave me a tissue then and knelt down to hug me, telling me to let it all out.
Jennifer could not say goodbye, so my Uncle Eric was the last person to do so. We watched them close the casket, and they loaded it into the hearse. We got into the black cadillacs the funeral home has for family behind the hearse and made our way to the cemetery, 30 minutes or so from the funeral home. Many people were already there, and many more were behind us.
The cemetery was not difficult, as I had thought it would be. My father was a veteran and got all of the military honors he deserved. One of the moments I will never forget is when my siblings and I...Matthew, Scott, Kevin, Alicia, Jennifer, Me, Joseph, and Emily...were all standing up. We were holding hands, and it dawned on me that despite that fact that only four of us were biologically his...he had eight children who called him, simply "Dad" -- What more could one ask for at their burial?
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I write about this now, because I tend to remember these things more around holidays and anniversaries. Today I visited the little country church where my father and much of my family are buried. I took a large bouquet of flowers to his grave, as well as to my Uncle Jack and 89yo Great Great Aunt Hester, who both passed this year. As for my other family members, I simply pulled single flowers from my father's bouquet for each of their graves...just as I did the day my father was buried.
When I see my dad's gravestone, I revert back to how I felt the first time I saw him in the casket. I wonder so many things...mainly, is he proud of me? Would he approve of Jason, or even my being gay? I came out to my mother when I was seventeen, but my father did not know before he died. However, I cannot help but think that my father, God, fate, etc...has had a hand in what my life has become. If my father had not died, I likely would never have gotten back in touch with Jason and had such a wonderful relationship...or even moved back to North Carolina and went to Duke. It's hard to say where I would be if the events I have written about did not happen. And now, over 2½ years later, I can believe that there is a plan for our lives...that things do work out for the best...and, in the end, there is a reason for everything.
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If all of this isn't bad enough, she comes over to drink our alcohol. I make great drinks, and she has had them before. I only use the best when making drinks. Only Belvedere vodka will do. But this stuff is like $60 for 1.5 liters. You do not DRINK Belvedere...you sip it. But when SHE has my Cosmos, she drinks them down like they are Coca Cola or something. I just want to pull her poorly-bleached hair out by its black roots and stuff it in her face to stop her from drinking more. Unfortunately, she is Jason's friend...so he stops me from doing these things or refusing her more drinks. I wish I weren't so kind-hearted and considerate of others' feelings.
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My latest user icon?
Last night we went to the game and watched the boys kick Georgia Tech's ass...HELL YEAH!! I needed that, even after two days of classes...it didn't feel like I was back at school. I still felt bored like I was at my Mom's, but not anymore! Sure, there was a foul every other minute (literally!), but that's cool. OH, and how much do Dunleavy and Duhon ROCK?? I miss Battier, but the boys are doing ok without ya, Shane!
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