Dad
Don left for a golf trip yesterday. Before he left he went to the bank, picked up the clothes from the cleaners...the dog's food from the vet...and ran other errands. I was a little surprised that he did all of this. He said that he ran the errands but I had to clean out a closet this weekend as a trade off. I would have rather ran the errands.
You just don't go into a closet and start throwing things away. You have to pick everything up...look at them...decide if the items can be tossed or if they need to be kept. A lot went into trash bags...make up that, I swear, was from 1980...ribbons and paper that had been saved for years; six calculators that didn't work and nine remote controls that I don't even remember what they were originally intended for.
In all of this mess, I found photos...photos from years ago when the snow storm hit in 1993. Kyle was playing with our Dalmatian, Tyson, in the snow and Don was shoveling the snow off of our driveway. Those photos are priceless. I can't believe they were stuck in the back of a closet.
We were stuck in this house for five days without power or heat...freezing and starving. We put everything that would burn into the fireplace and the three of us slept so close to the fire it was dangerous. Jason was stranded at a friends house...our phone didn't work...we had no water...it was horrible. Looking back it was probably one of the best memories of my life. We had a great time...no TV...played cards...slept next to each other for body heat. It's funny now.
I also found an old journal of mine. I write daily, but for some reason had forgotten about this one...or lost it...or just put it away. This one was the journal of when my father died. Needless to say I started reading and never made it back to cleaning the closet. I had forgotten so much.
According to my notes (I'm copying the actual notes that I had written in my journal 7 years ago...I could never remember the actual events) the call came from Chris around 10:40 p.m. I was already asleep. Chris didn't make any sense at all...hysterical...crying...something about 911 and, "I think my Daddy's dead."
I told Don what Chris had said and he and I got dressed, put the dogs up, and drove to Momma and Daddy's house. I didn't think it was serious, Daddy had been in and out of the hospital three times since January but it was never serious. I guess I just never thought anything would ever happen to him.
We pulled up into their driveway and there were ambulances, EMT trucks and fire trucks everywhere. Everyone had responded to the 911 call. Lawrence came out to the car and told us to "just go to the hospital." I asked him how Daddy was. He answered, "they're working on him...just go to the hospital."
I thought my heart would burst before we got to the hospital. Don dropped me off and went to park the car. I walked up to the desk and said, I'll never forget this, "They just brought my Father in and I think he may be dead." The young lady asked if he was in the ambulance that just arrived and I answered, "yes." She didn't say a word...she just led me back to a room with a plaque which read "The Quiet Room."
I still didn't think it was serious. We sat there for about fifteen minutes when Don and Mother came in and told us he was gone. It was eerie. Chris lost it...melodramatic basket case. Charles cried. Milton and I cried and looked at each other as if not knowing what to do. Mother was crying but had more composure than I would have imagined. We sat that way for over an hour until the coroner could fill out the paperwork and obtain the signatures. We left at 12:15 a.m.
When we got home Don told me not to call the kids until tomorrow. I wanted to call them then...I wanted them to have time to digest this before they sarted driving home. I called Kyle and then Jason. I went to bed at 4 a.m.
I didn't sleep and got up at 6 and went to Mother's. We had to get things organized before going to the funeral home to make the arrangements. I walked into Mom's house and could already feel the emptiness. Charles was there, and then Chris and Hula arrived. We scheduled an appointment at Love's for 10 a.m.
Neighbors started stopping by, bringing food and sympathy, but after a few hours I realized we had to get things together. I told Mom that we had to pick Daddy out something to wear. She wasn't in any position to help so I went into his bedroom by myself. When I saw his things in his room it overwhelmed me. I opened his closet and started going through his clothes...and lost it. I went over and laid on his bed and cried my heart out.
When I got it out of my system I had to go get Mom to help with the clothes selection. We picked out brown pants, a beige blazer and a white shirt. Mom got new underwear out of his bureau drawer and a tie that Chris had bought him. She asked if he needed shoes...I said, "no."
Charles called me outside and said to find Daddy's teeth. Daddy had taken them out after brushing them before he died. Milton got them and put them in Daddy's jacket pocket, the jacket that he would be buried in, and when Mom got ready we left for Love's.
We had to give the information for his obituary then go pick out the casket. I thought I would vomit right then...right there. It was like picking out a car. This one looks good...I don't like the color...too expensive...not enough room. It was nauseating. We finally picked one we could afford, one he would fit into (Daddy's chest size was wide), and one they thought he would like. Then we had to decide on the service itself, the time, the music, the flowers, and the burial site. I thought this was the worse time of my life...but that was yet to come.
I went home to wait on the kids and Charles and Mother went to the cemetary to put stakes on the gravesite where they wanted him buried. We went back to Mom's and when we came home later it occured to me that the minister deliving Daddy's eulogy didn't know anything about him. (The Witherow's had recommended a minister.) I started writing the eulogy the minister would give the next day. That......was the worse time of my life.
The family arrived at the same time. Everyone stayed at the back of the room...not wanting to move. I took Mom's arm and walked her over to the casket. He didn't look like my Daddy. His hair was gray and not covered by a hat. His skin was pale...not the tanned face I knew...and his body was just laying there...not powerful and strong. That wasn't my Father.
I don't remember much of what happened later. I was in a kind of trance I suppose, but on the way to Mom's house after the funeral, Don and I (unbelievable luck) pulled up behind the hearse carrying my Father's body. I stared at those white roses...shaking on his casket...and watched as it drove away.
I've been to his grave many times. It doesn't get any easier. Reading all of this makes it seem like it happened yesterday. I miss his yelling, his hardness, his opinionated self. I miss someone taking care of me and never questioning why he had to do so. Tonight I miss my Father.
You just don't go into a closet and start throwing things away. You have to pick everything up...look at them...decide if the items can be tossed or if they need to be kept. A lot went into trash bags...make up that, I swear, was from 1980...ribbons and paper that had been saved for years; six calculators that didn't work and nine remote controls that I don't even remember what they were originally intended for.
In all of this mess, I found photos...photos from years ago when the snow storm hit in 1993. Kyle was playing with our Dalmatian, Tyson, in the snow and Don was shoveling the snow off of our driveway. Those photos are priceless. I can't believe they were stuck in the back of a closet.
We were stuck in this house for five days without power or heat...freezing and starving. We put everything that would burn into the fireplace and the three of us slept so close to the fire it was dangerous. Jason was stranded at a friends house...our phone didn't work...we had no water...it was horrible. Looking back it was probably one of the best memories of my life. We had a great time...no TV...played cards...slept next to each other for body heat. It's funny now.
I also found an old journal of mine. I write daily, but for some reason had forgotten about this one...or lost it...or just put it away. This one was the journal of when my father died. Needless to say I started reading and never made it back to cleaning the closet. I had forgotten so much.
According to my notes (I'm copying the actual notes that I had written in my journal 7 years ago...I could never remember the actual events) the call came from Chris around 10:40 p.m. I was already asleep. Chris didn't make any sense at all...hysterical...crying...something about 911 and, "I think my Daddy's dead."
I told Don what Chris had said and he and I got dressed, put the dogs up, and drove to Momma and Daddy's house. I didn't think it was serious, Daddy had been in and out of the hospital three times since January but it was never serious. I guess I just never thought anything would ever happen to him.
We pulled up into their driveway and there were ambulances, EMT trucks and fire trucks everywhere. Everyone had responded to the 911 call. Lawrence came out to the car and told us to "just go to the hospital." I asked him how Daddy was. He answered, "they're working on him...just go to the hospital."
I thought my heart would burst before we got to the hospital. Don dropped me off and went to park the car. I walked up to the desk and said, I'll never forget this, "They just brought my Father in and I think he may be dead." The young lady asked if he was in the ambulance that just arrived and I answered, "yes." She didn't say a word...she just led me back to a room with a plaque which read "The Quiet Room."
I still didn't think it was serious. We sat there for about fifteen minutes when Don and Mother came in and told us he was gone. It was eerie. Chris lost it...melodramatic basket case. Charles cried. Milton and I cried and looked at each other as if not knowing what to do. Mother was crying but had more composure than I would have imagined. We sat that way for over an hour until the coroner could fill out the paperwork and obtain the signatures. We left at 12:15 a.m.
When we got home Don told me not to call the kids until tomorrow. I wanted to call them then...I wanted them to have time to digest this before they sarted driving home. I called Kyle and then Jason. I went to bed at 4 a.m.
I didn't sleep and got up at 6 and went to Mother's. We had to get things organized before going to the funeral home to make the arrangements. I walked into Mom's house and could already feel the emptiness. Charles was there, and then Chris and Hula arrived. We scheduled an appointment at Love's for 10 a.m.
Neighbors started stopping by, bringing food and sympathy, but after a few hours I realized we had to get things together. I told Mom that we had to pick Daddy out something to wear. She wasn't in any position to help so I went into his bedroom by myself. When I saw his things in his room it overwhelmed me. I opened his closet and started going through his clothes...and lost it. I went over and laid on his bed and cried my heart out.
When I got it out of my system I had to go get Mom to help with the clothes selection. We picked out brown pants, a beige blazer and a white shirt. Mom got new underwear out of his bureau drawer and a tie that Chris had bought him. She asked if he needed shoes...I said, "no."
Charles called me outside and said to find Daddy's teeth. Daddy had taken them out after brushing them before he died. Milton got them and put them in Daddy's jacket pocket, the jacket that he would be buried in, and when Mom got ready we left for Love's.
We had to give the information for his obituary then go pick out the casket. I thought I would vomit right then...right there. It was like picking out a car. This one looks good...I don't like the color...too expensive...not enough room. It was nauseating. We finally picked one we could afford, one he would fit into (Daddy's chest size was wide), and one they thought he would like. Then we had to decide on the service itself, the time, the music, the flowers, and the burial site. I thought this was the worse time of my life...but that was yet to come.
I went home to wait on the kids and Charles and Mother went to the cemetary to put stakes on the gravesite where they wanted him buried. We went back to Mom's and when we came home later it occured to me that the minister deliving Daddy's eulogy didn't know anything about him. (The Witherow's had recommended a minister.) I started writing the eulogy the minister would give the next day. That......was the worse time of my life.
The family arrived at the same time. Everyone stayed at the back of the room...not wanting to move. I took Mom's arm and walked her over to the casket. He didn't look like my Daddy. His hair was gray and not covered by a hat. His skin was pale...not the tanned face I knew...and his body was just laying there...not powerful and strong. That wasn't my Father.
I don't remember much of what happened later. I was in a kind of trance I suppose, but on the way to Mom's house after the funeral, Don and I (unbelievable luck) pulled up behind the hearse carrying my Father's body. I stared at those white roses...shaking on his casket...and watched as it drove away.
I've been to his grave many times. It doesn't get any easier. Reading all of this makes it seem like it happened yesterday. I miss his yelling, his hardness, his opinionated self. I miss someone taking care of me and never questioning why he had to do so. Tonight I miss my Father.
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