The Death of God, part duex

When I saw him, I cried for a few seconds and immediately walked over to him and told him that he was OK now and I patted his chest and kissed his forehead. I was OK with this at the moment. It was then I realized that my Sister was completely falling apart. I walked away from Dad and went to console her.

After I got Sis calmed down, we started putting the pictures of Dad and the family in the frames the funeral home provided. We sat them up and re-arranged the viewing room a bit to suit our tastes and went outside to wait on Mamaw and Papaw. Them seeing him for the 1st time was by far, the hardest thing I’ve EVER endured. I was completely emotionally drained after that. They both stood at their only child’s casket and wailed. Papaw wailed “Oh God! Oh God!” and “Bless his heart.” over and over. Mamaw just wailed with a few “Oh God!”s thrown in every once and a while. I wanted to jump in there with Dad and die. I didn’t know how much more I could endure. It was killing me. It suddenly stopped and they went to walk around and look at all the flowers. Then the people started flowing in. Tons of them. For nearly 4 hours it was non-stop. In spite of the situation, it was very nice. I saw people I hadn’t seen in many years. It was like a huge family reunion. Some people drove 19 hours to get there. We all sat around and talked; there was a lot of laughter. Dad would have liked that. He hated to see anyone cry - unless he was the one making you do it, LOL.

As the crowd thinned, we prepared to go home. I went back into the room to collect a few things we’d left behind and I had a few minutes alone with him. I always thought I’d be really creeped out being in a room alone with a dead person. It was quite the opposite. I was so completely at ease. I stood over him and held his hands, which were neatly placed on his stomach. I talked to him for a little while and left. When we got back to the house, I perfected the eulogy and then collapsed into a bed and slept all night long. The worst of it for me was over. I’d dreaded seeing him dead for the 1st time years and years before it ever even happened and now it was over.

In lieu of doing a huge ceremony at the funeral home, we opted to have everyone meet at there and follow the hearse to the cemetery. We thought he would have preferred a small service at a mausoleum or something, so that's just what we did. They opened Dad's casket and Sis and I were the only ones who opted to see him one last time. I gave the funeral director a tiny Marshall ball cap like the one Dad used to wear to place in his hands. I kissed his forehead one last time, fussed over him and made sure everything was still "just so" and then I left. That was the last time I ever saw my Dad. I so wanted things to be different with him. Just as I saw that chance, he died. I will never understand, but I will not be angry about this. This was the way it was supposed to be and that's the hardest thing I've ever had to come to terms with. I'm still working on it. Back to the matter at hand.

Sis and I (and the kids) took Mamaw and Papaw's car and they took the rental that we'd all so comically piled into a few days prior. They were directly behind Dad and we were behind them. Upon turning into the cemetery, a hubcap flew off the police escort car and rolled into the cemetery. If that wasn't Dad, nothing ever was. He hated the pigs!! We got a good laugh out of it. We pulled up to the mausoleum and waited for them to get Dad out of the hearse. They carried him in and set it up and then I got up to deliver the eulogy. Short and sweet. Dad would not have wanted it any other way. I held it together and I thought it turned out pretty nice. Everyone commented on how wonderful it was, but that's what everyone says about a eulogy. So I dunno. A minister performed a committal service and said a short prayer. That was it.

After that, they loaded Dad back up and we followed the hearse to the grave site. It was just very close family at this part. They unloaded Dad again and we stood there and watched him be lowered into the ground. Horrible. It was awful. From that point on, all I could think was "My Dad is in a fucking box. In the fucking ground. Fucking rotting." Not a pleasant thought at all.

Then we had to go to this family get together thing. It was really nice, but I was completely exhausted. I was surviving only on Speedway Snickerdoodle Cappuccino and Camel cigarettes by this point. After that was all said and done, Sis and I gathered up the crumb snatchers and went back to the cemetery. The dirt was back in place and the floral arrangements were neatly piled on top of his grave. We took picture after picture, talked, smoked, drank cappuccino, rode around, took more pictures; the kids were knocked out in the car, thank God.

I honestly don't remember what happened after that. I know I ate a sandwich or something and the next thing I remember it was the next day. There were several hours between the sandwich and me going to bed, but I'm pretty sure nothing great happened in them. We weren't all as down as I expected us to be. Shit. I do remember one thing. Mamaw wanted to give Papaw his birthday gifts since she would still be stuck there on his birthday. Everything went great and Mamaw told us to hold on. She went to Dad's room and returned with a jacket she'd bought him for this winter. Dad loved the jacket; he never got to wear it. She told the story and all he'd said about jacket and she handed it to Papaw and he put it on. We all cried like babies. It was touching, yet awful.

We stayed an extra day before returning home. It was a LONG trip home. Sis and I stayed with Papaw for a week before coming here. We cleaned, painted, goofed off, cooked, cleaned some more, and cut a mat out of the cat's ass. I took over baby duty for a few nights so she could have the 1st full night's sleep she'd had since 2 months before her baby was born. I enjoyed the hell out of it even though I was exhausted afterward. I smoked like a freight train the entire time.

Sis spent one night here and went on to see her Mom in AR. I was alone for one day. One terrifying day. I'd not been alone since it happened. The kid was spending some time with dick-face's family, as was he, and I was freaking out. I stayed busy the entire time. I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. I ironed. I did more laundry. I scrubbed the floors - I mean I got down on my hands and knees with a bucket and a sponge and scrubbed. I scrubbed out all the bathtubs, sinks, and toilets. I ironed drapes. I ironed the tablecloth. I went and went until I could stay awake no longer. I sat down on the couch it was late the next afternoon when I finally awoke.

And here I am, well over a month since Dad died. I am OK most of the time. There's a catch 22 to being a stay at home Mom in all of this. I'm always "on" so I don't really get a chance to grieve my loss; I cannot freak the fuck out in front of a 3 year old. On the other hand, I feel closer each day to a complete emotional meltdown because of that. I don't want to grieve, but I know I HAVE to. The thing is (and this carries so much guilt with it) that I don't really know exactly WHAT to grieve. Yes, he was my Dad, but I don't feel like I ever really knew him. I don't feel guilty for that because Dad never really let me get to know him like I wanted to. I loved him, but he made it so hard to like him. He knew I loved him. Even if I had called to bitch him out, I always made damn sure that he knew I loved him. So many times I recall saying "Now dammit, you pissed me off, but I want you to know that I love you anyway. You know that, right?" He always answered with an emphatic "Yes. And I'm your Dad and I love you, too." In spite of that, I never knew him as my grandparents did or as my sister did. I feel somehow...cheated? I had a few good times with Dad, I really did. But what I remember the most is Dad in the last 15 or so years. What I remember sucks. I remember the bi-polar, drug addict that made his and everyone else's life a living hell. I so want to forget it, but the logical side of me knows that no one is perfect and no matter how much you love someone, you're going to have some down right shitty memories of them. I guess I just wish those weren't the majority of what I have...and they are. I feel like I'm doing him an injustice or something.

Which leads me to my next ... tirade. For those past 15 or so years, I've always thought that Dad was the one missing out. Not me. He missed so much. I'm not much, but I am his daughter, and I always thought he missed out on not knowing me. Now that he's dead, I'm left with a crippling guilt that I was the one who missed out. That I should have done things differently. I thought I couldn't let myself get too close; I always knew Dad would die young...but that's the very fucking reason I should have tried to be closer to him, and I only see that now that he's dead. I am SO mad at myself. I try hard not to be. But I am.

Six weeks before he died, I called up to the house to speak to Mamaw. Dad answered the phone. I nearly hung up when he answered, but I thought "don't be an ass. Talk to him. He's your Dad." I can't say that I've ever made a better decision in my life. Dad talked to me. Not about being God, or government plots against him, or even aliens....Dad TALKED to me. Normally. He asked about me and dick-face and about the kid...wanted to know ALL kinds of details. He asked about Sis and her dick-face and their new baby... My face literally hurt from smiling. My heart danced with joy. I had a 15 minute NORMAL conversation with my Dad. The 1st in years. For the first time in nearly 20 years, I had a thread hope that he'd be OK. I let him in...and as they always were before, my hopes were dashed; this time worse than ever.

I felt no guilt for a few weeks after his death. As the days pass, my mind reels and now there are things I feel guilty for. Nothing was left unsaid between Dad and I, and for that, I'm so very grateful. But there are other things that nag at me and eat away at my conscious. I've not slept much since I've been home. My mind won't stop long enough to let me.

In closing, I'm going to tell everyone to mend the broken fences with your loved ones while you still can. I promise if you don't, you're going to feel like a real piece of shit when you have to put them in the ground. I guarantee it.