So, woke up yesterday to bad dreams. One where I was being chased so I was trying to run away and hide. And one where I was in school, but I couldn't remember anything and felt lost and alone.
I've had both kinds of dreams before, but not like these. I think perhaps they mean something.
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Five Phone Calls and a Funeral Parlor
Seven weeks ago today, I called my Pop to try to cheer him up because he had just recently found out his health was failing. Walter and Beth, two friends of my parents from Texas who vacation in the island each year, were coming to visit. They were lost and my Mom was outside trying to flag them down. I made my dad laugh when I said something to the effect that because they were from Texas, they were prone to not listening to other people very well.
Six weeks ago today, I called my folks on their cell phone. My Mum responded that she'd have to call me back because she was driving behind the ambulance. She had to call 911 because my Dad's ALS had caused his legs to swell.
Three days later I was planning to go to Disneyland with Lauri-Ann and propose. My Mum called early in the morning. My Dad was being moved to the ICU and it looked bad. His blood pressure had dropped. I spoke to him briefly on the phone and he sounded as pained and low as I've ever heard him in my life. But he said he wasn't going yet.
I didn't know what to do. A few hours later, my dad had stabilized a bit. When I mentioned our previous plans, my mom and Pop told me to promise them I would go to Disneyland and bring them some good news. So, we did and I got hitched. Afterward, we called my folks in the ICU and gave them the news. I will forever be grateful to have been able to give them the gift of that good news.
Five weeks ago today, I flew to Kauai to visit my Pop in the ICU. He was weak and shaky and the ALS had made swallowing difficult and breathing painful. I held his hand and rubbed his feet and watched the monitor above his head, knowing none of the numbers were good. The rental car keyfob had a PANIC button and I really wanted to push that button a great deal over the next four days.
Four weeks ago today, I was just going to sleep about 3:30am. My Mum called two hours or so later and left a message on my machine. Call her back on the cell. I knew what it was...but very very much didn't want to make that call. But I did. My pop passed away. I stayed numb for about three hours. I called several people my mum needed to call...I talked to various family members...I made plans to fly to Kauai the next day to spend time with my mum.
Oddly enough, I thought I should put something here on my trusty SG journal. I found a nice picture of my father and I and put up the simple post you see below. Then I, to put it in the parlance of the street, lost my shit.
There's a kind of separation that occurs with grief. In the back of my head as I was sobbing uncontrollably, I couldn't help but marvel at how much like throwing up it was. Bowed over, snot and tears streaming down your face...just when you think it's over, another uncontrollable wave hits. I've cried before...I've cried since. But sobbing was a first.
Two days later we had lunch with Walt and Beth from Texas. They were on their way home from their month-long stay. Very nice people.
About three weeks ago, we went to the mortuary to pick up my father's ashes. In the front viewing area an open casket service was taking place. Um, let me just say...Whoever's Grandma that was looked peaceful...but waxy. And they were playing the kind of canned, cheesy organ music you'd think they'd play at something like this. All I know is when I go, they're playing 'Highway to Hell.'
My mum signed some papers and we got handed a shopping bag full of...my dad. Yes, it's as strange as it sounds. Sure, he was in a very nicely wrapped urn, but still...ashes to ashes apparently.
My father wanted his ashes to be scattered in the ocean, near his favorite lighthouse. My mum and I are going to do that this November 12, on what would have been their 40th wedding anniversary. Until then, when anyone asks where my father's current resting place is, we tell them he's on the coffee table.
I've had both kinds of dreams before, but not like these. I think perhaps they mean something.
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Five Phone Calls and a Funeral Parlor
Seven weeks ago today, I called my Pop to try to cheer him up because he had just recently found out his health was failing. Walter and Beth, two friends of my parents from Texas who vacation in the island each year, were coming to visit. They were lost and my Mom was outside trying to flag them down. I made my dad laugh when I said something to the effect that because they were from Texas, they were prone to not listening to other people very well.
Six weeks ago today, I called my folks on their cell phone. My Mum responded that she'd have to call me back because she was driving behind the ambulance. She had to call 911 because my Dad's ALS had caused his legs to swell.
Three days later I was planning to go to Disneyland with Lauri-Ann and propose. My Mum called early in the morning. My Dad was being moved to the ICU and it looked bad. His blood pressure had dropped. I spoke to him briefly on the phone and he sounded as pained and low as I've ever heard him in my life. But he said he wasn't going yet.
I didn't know what to do. A few hours later, my dad had stabilized a bit. When I mentioned our previous plans, my mom and Pop told me to promise them I would go to Disneyland and bring them some good news. So, we did and I got hitched. Afterward, we called my folks in the ICU and gave them the news. I will forever be grateful to have been able to give them the gift of that good news.
Five weeks ago today, I flew to Kauai to visit my Pop in the ICU. He was weak and shaky and the ALS had made swallowing difficult and breathing painful. I held his hand and rubbed his feet and watched the monitor above his head, knowing none of the numbers were good. The rental car keyfob had a PANIC button and I really wanted to push that button a great deal over the next four days.
Four weeks ago today, I was just going to sleep about 3:30am. My Mum called two hours or so later and left a message on my machine. Call her back on the cell. I knew what it was...but very very much didn't want to make that call. But I did. My pop passed away. I stayed numb for about three hours. I called several people my mum needed to call...I talked to various family members...I made plans to fly to Kauai the next day to spend time with my mum.
Oddly enough, I thought I should put something here on my trusty SG journal. I found a nice picture of my father and I and put up the simple post you see below. Then I, to put it in the parlance of the street, lost my shit.
There's a kind of separation that occurs with grief. In the back of my head as I was sobbing uncontrollably, I couldn't help but marvel at how much like throwing up it was. Bowed over, snot and tears streaming down your face...just when you think it's over, another uncontrollable wave hits. I've cried before...I've cried since. But sobbing was a first.
Two days later we had lunch with Walt and Beth from Texas. They were on their way home from their month-long stay. Very nice people.
About three weeks ago, we went to the mortuary to pick up my father's ashes. In the front viewing area an open casket service was taking place. Um, let me just say...Whoever's Grandma that was looked peaceful...but waxy. And they were playing the kind of canned, cheesy organ music you'd think they'd play at something like this. All I know is when I go, they're playing 'Highway to Hell.'
My mum signed some papers and we got handed a shopping bag full of...my dad. Yes, it's as strange as it sounds. Sure, he was in a very nicely wrapped urn, but still...ashes to ashes apparently.
My father wanted his ashes to be scattered in the ocean, near his favorite lighthouse. My mum and I are going to do that this November 12, on what would have been their 40th wedding anniversary. Until then, when anyone asks where my father's current resting place is, we tell them he's on the coffee table.
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Even though we had a really up and down relationship i still find myself thinking ' i must tell my dad about that' when something happens that he would have appreciated.
And sometimes i wish i had somewhere to go where he 'was' so that i could tell him. [ dropping round to my mum's to have a chat with my dad would make me feel silly, even though my mum would understand, but just having to explain what i was doing would make me not do it]
*deleted a load of stuff *
Hugs
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