Post by Admin on Apr 15, 2020 7:32:26 GMT
My father died March 21 2020. I keep having to go back and check the date on the calendar because, near a month later, and it doesn't feel real. It wasn't Covid but a brain hemorrhage. He was 76 years old, and had dementia for a few years. He died in California and I am in Texas. I cannot go over there for a funeral (not that one could be held), can't be there to be with my family. I can't hug my brother or my stepmother. I'm stuck somewhere having to come to terms with the fact there will be no closure, not for a long time.
My father was one of the smartest people I have ever met. That's not daughter bias talking--he was known to anyone who met him as insanely intelligent. That made it even more pronounced once his mental clarity started going. But even until the last time we spoke, I could see little glimpses of the man who raised me, even while most of that mind was elsewhere.
Everything he did, he did with full energy. Sometimes it was more successful than others. I remember when he tried to brew beer. I was probably about four or five. The bottles were left to ferment underneath the house. I don't remember much but I remember the sound of the pops as the bottles exploded one by one. He must have sealed them too tightly or something. Then there was the time in high school when he decided to build the awning of our porch by himself. It looked great until one midnight when the whole thing came crashing down. It being California, we thought it was an earthquake. But even the glorious failures never deterred him from trying his hand at...well, anything. I can still taste the homemade peppermint ice cream we would make where one of us would have to sit on top of this giant ice cream machine to hold the lid down while someone else turned the crank. It had little pieces of crushed red and white candies inside and it was yummy.
Ice cream was his deal. That was his favorite thing ever, anything ice cream. His favorite was chocolate ice cream with pineapple topping. I wish I could say I will fondly taste that sundae and think of him but, lets face it, that combo cannot be consumed fondly. I don't know what he saw in that. The last ice cream we ate was a Korean soft serve eaten inside this fish-shaped waffle. I think he liked it. It was the weekend of my daughter's 8th birthday and she loved getting to introduce him to a new ice cream.
As that visit was coming to an end, my stepmother broke the news to me that it would probably be my dad's last trip out here because his dementia was worsening and travel was getting too hard. She was right about it being the last trip but I don't think either of us knew how it would be so. We were going to go out there to visit during the summer time. Now she's hoping to have a memorial this summer when we can all travel. I don't know how realistic that is anymore.
So I am here, and the grief sneaks up now and then, usually around 2am and keeping me from sleeping.
I am here, they are there, and I'm going to have to accept that.
Good night, Dad. We miss you and we always will.
My father was one of the smartest people I have ever met. That's not daughter bias talking--he was known to anyone who met him as insanely intelligent. That made it even more pronounced once his mental clarity started going. But even until the last time we spoke, I could see little glimpses of the man who raised me, even while most of that mind was elsewhere.
Everything he did, he did with full energy. Sometimes it was more successful than others. I remember when he tried to brew beer. I was probably about four or five. The bottles were left to ferment underneath the house. I don't remember much but I remember the sound of the pops as the bottles exploded one by one. He must have sealed them too tightly or something. Then there was the time in high school when he decided to build the awning of our porch by himself. It looked great until one midnight when the whole thing came crashing down. It being California, we thought it was an earthquake. But even the glorious failures never deterred him from trying his hand at...well, anything. I can still taste the homemade peppermint ice cream we would make where one of us would have to sit on top of this giant ice cream machine to hold the lid down while someone else turned the crank. It had little pieces of crushed red and white candies inside and it was yummy.
Ice cream was his deal. That was his favorite thing ever, anything ice cream. His favorite was chocolate ice cream with pineapple topping. I wish I could say I will fondly taste that sundae and think of him but, lets face it, that combo cannot be consumed fondly. I don't know what he saw in that. The last ice cream we ate was a Korean soft serve eaten inside this fish-shaped waffle. I think he liked it. It was the weekend of my daughter's 8th birthday and she loved getting to introduce him to a new ice cream.
As that visit was coming to an end, my stepmother broke the news to me that it would probably be my dad's last trip out here because his dementia was worsening and travel was getting too hard. She was right about it being the last trip but I don't think either of us knew how it would be so. We were going to go out there to visit during the summer time. Now she's hoping to have a memorial this summer when we can all travel. I don't know how realistic that is anymore.
So I am here, and the grief sneaks up now and then, usually around 2am and keeping me from sleeping.
I am here, they are there, and I'm going to have to accept that.
Good night, Dad. We miss you and we always will.