Life, Death
Last Sunday, April 20, on Easter, my father passed away.
He was 92.5 (almost).
When you consider the age, that’s OLD. No one lives to be 92. (Well, my ex-sister-in-law’s grandmother lived to 106. That’s really unusual.) I have plenty of friends from high school that died years ago. The way that I lived in my 20s, I should also be gone. Life is a crap shoot. You can drink and smoke and make it to 100. You can count calories and and work out and die before you hit middle age.
I moved back to Colorado seven years ago to be near the old man. He fell on his head when he was 82, and his recovery was slow. I didn’t figure him to recover, but he was a tough, old dude with plenty of vinegar and spice. I could definitely see the clock ticking…very quickly. It does for all of us.
I didn’t have to move back here, but I wanted to. My husband was pushing for Florida. Or he would have stayed in Michigan (no way, Jose!). He came begrudgingly, but he’s used to it here now. In addition to my spending more time with my father, my husband spent a lot of time with him and became enamored of him, too. They were a couple of old dudes, more friends than family by marriage. They had shared experiences, since my husband grew up in Minnesota, just like my dad. My dad needed a friend, since all his friends were dead. My dad could tell some real whoppers for stories, and my husband soaked up every tall tale as though they were gospel and not embellished. (Are you kidding me? Huspeks world over are known for embellishing! He should have known better!)
My dad’s decline over the years had been slow. Then it picked up speed. Then everything went to hell all at once. He stopped breathing, went in his sleep. I believe he felt no pain.
There are a lot of things I’ve learned from this loss. Some things I already knew, since my mother passed away 33 years ago. THAT was a shock. Some things I learned from watching/helping others toward their final journeys. Some things from observing the nature of others, how they deal with the grief and stress and loss. Each person deals with it in their own way. There’s no right or wrong.
From all this death, I find myself leaning into life. I have been making better choices when it comes to food and exercise. I want to last longer, not so much for the kids or potential grandkids, but for myself. I might be pushing 70, but I’m not finished with life yet.
Drama, Quiet
When a parent passes away, there are too many emotions to count, even when you know the end is coming. When there are six siblings who are nearly two decades apart (the youngest is 18 years younger than I am, and I’m the oldest), the drama can be overwhelming. We are all strong and that makes grief so much more difficult, in my mind.
There are things I must do with my sibs during this difficult time, but I refuse to be sucked into a vortex of negative “feelings” which serve no useful purpose, at least, not for me.
I find walking helps my brain to clear, so that I can sort out what I need to. Visiting his favorite places, including the “old fishing hole” calmed me a little. In the hustle of every day life, you tend to forget the memories. They are pushed so far back, it’s like they belong to another human being. Then a change of scene or situation brings them all back, rushing to the fore. Like the songs we have chosen to play at the visitation. I hadn’t thought about what we listened to when I was a small child for years and years. Replaying them brought back my small girl memories, happy times. I was reduced to a puddle of tears.
I need the quiet times more than I need anything else right now. And I am actively seeking them out.
My dad lived a long, productive life, and for that I’m thankful. There is much he taught me. Too much to put in a single post. I have written about him before:
Rest in peace, Old Man. See you on the other side.
(P.S. I am writing as fast as I can. Maybe even faster.)
