Sunday, June 27, 2010
I guess my grieving muscles haven't been getting much exercise. They're really screaming from the workout.
My dad has been disconnected from life support as of this morning. We've spent the day realizing that our world isn't going to be the same as it was when he was walking and talking among us.
Grief is so darn personal. You can't talk to another friend whose father has died and gain any insight into what it's going to feel like when your father dies. You can't listen to your siblings cry and understand what it is they cry for. All you know is that this saying goodbye is just about the most painful thing you've experienced so far.
So you write a tentative obituary and reflect on what you want to say about your dad so people will understand how great he was. You laugh and bicker and banter with the nurses. In the background your father lies as he has during many family gatherings: snoring loudly, mouth open.
What more can I say? Thanks for all the lessons. Thanks for your sacrifices. I'm sorry your dad died when you were young and that you missed a lot of your childhood. I'm going to miss you like hell. I love you.
Fly away, Dad. I'll catch up with you later.