I have, just this moment, decided what to do with the voicemail still on my phone, unlistened to, from my dad on February 9, 2010. I'm going to listen to it on the 9th, let dear brother record it, and then.... let it go.
Today is the SuperBowl, and it too is an emotional day. My dad loved football and the SuperBowl. I like to think he would've rooted for the Packers, but he could have gone either way. I personally hate the Steelers, and am glad my reverse psychology mindtrick worked on them again this year. (Thank God.) I just felt sad that Dad wasn't here to see the game. When the horse races are held later in the year, I will feel the same way again. I really enjoyed our rituals on these occasions.
Paul noticed my moodiness. I'm always surprised when he notices; he catches these things more often that not. I guess, being 35 now, my face probably gives away my emotions more than I realize. I'm glad we have each other.
I'm glad I have this place to dump my emotions when reflection gives way to despair. I have employed some positive coping skills, and have recognized some fallacious thoughts at times, and I know I am doing okay. Sometimes I just really miss him.
I was thinking the other night about his clothes and shoes. At some point, will we box them up? Give them to Goodwill? Put them in boxes? If so I know we will keep the bear charm. I wonder when we will do this. I will be okay when we do. He is not his clothes. Maybe we will keep some things. G Moss kept her hubby's clothing for a VERY long time, and never actually disposed of his cologne or other toiletries.
Oh hey.. Masterpiece Theatre is running a biographical show on Alistaire Cooke. I remember riding in the car with dad, near the B Mall, when it was announced on the radio that Cooke had died. I'm going to watch this... I would watch it anyway, but it appeals particularly in light of my mood. Dad even made a reference to the Muppet, Alistaire Cookie. Dad loved biography and always encouraged us to read the histories of great people. Blah blah blah.... off to watch. For dad and for me. Seems like a fitting thing to do after the SuperBowl.
I love you, Dad. I miss you.
I knew we were about the same age. I'm 34. Here's a {{hug}} for you, to help your through all you're going through. I'm not close to either one of my parents, so I don't know how things will be with me when they go. I don't know what to say but hang in there. Ittle be otay. The way I would try to think is, What would (family member) feel to see me so upset over him/her? Would he/she ask me not to be so sad? - Things like that. I believe in an afterlife, in ghosts, too. Maybe ghosts have a really hard time appearing to people (or I'm certain they'd be doing it more often). I imagine myself as a ghost, helplessly watching, say, my son grieve for me. I know I'd want to tell him not to, that I'm OK (in my own afterlife way), and to live his life and be as happy as he can be. To remember the good times and all the useful things I taught him, and not to be so sad. I'd try to make him laugh.
ReplyDeleteI'm actually still 34, my birthday is March 10th. I just round up whenever there is a big birthday to get used to it. Ha ha! The times I have gone to the cemetary, I have specifically stated that we are okay. That's what he seemed to care about most in life. We are, we just wish he were around. I think about what we did after my mom's funeral, and that was to get back into the routine of life. He was saddened, but he kept going. That's what we have done also and thank God for it.
ReplyDeleteYou give spot-on advice. Exactly right. Thanks, Rana.
You're welcome. All we can do is live and remember. Live the life that is left to you, and remember the ones who are no longer here — their love and teachings and help. Oh, and remember that it's OK to feel sad, too. It's good to take time and let that out, too. Talk to people like family or friends, or even a therapist if needed. Nothing wrong with that. :-)
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