Why 2004 Won't Go Away and other imponderables...

I can't seem to let 2004 end without talking about some of the things that happened during its tenure.
Most imposing was the death of my father.
2004 saw me lose many many things but losing my father was perhaps the most surprising of them all.

The rest of the story is mushy and sad (and written VERY late at night while the author suffers from day 4 of a migraine...continue at your own peril!

For the last 20 years, we've been expecting him to die. His health had been steadlily declining since his diagnosis of cancer in 1984. As bad as it would get at times, he always came back from the brink of death and then life went on as normal until the next infection, accident, disease, heart attack, etc.
So, when in March of 2004, the doctor diagnosed him with kidney failure and dad refused dialysis, he was told he had 6 months to live, we all said, "Of course.", and we went on about our lives.
I always called my dad Timex. His health took a lickin' but he kept on tickin'.
He reminded me of Jason Vorhees. Just when you thought he was dead and you stepped over his body, he would REACH OUT AND GRAB YOUR ANKLE!!!!
Dad just didn't die.
Sometimes, secretly, I thought maybe it would have been better if he did. At times he seemed so miserable and preoccupied with all the medication that he took that he just didn't enjoy life anymore. He stopped reading and spent most of his time watching TV and sleeping.
My mother carried the burden of caretaker and wife. Not only was Dad ill all the time, he was demanding and a great big slob. The idea of cleaning up after yourself was completely foreign to him, so Mom's workload inside and outside of the home was significant.
I wondered if Mom would be better off too, if he died.
I thought these things never truly believing it would happen. I mean, we all KNOW death will happen but we never truly believe it until it does.

When Dad took his last breath in June it didn't hit me.
Sure, my father was dead but what did that mean? I felt sad; I felt loss; but it wasn't a great feeling of utter despair.
"My father is dead." "My dad died." I kept saying these things over and over to myself but my naive, sheltered brain wouldn't absorb this idea.
My father was cremated and his ashes put into an oak box.
"My father's body is now in that box." Again....an odd thought, but not devastating.
I tried to picture those ugly green tattoos he had, one on his forearm and one on his shoulder. Now, they are no more. They are just part of those ashes in that box.
Nothing.
It's beginning to sink in now. Maybe it's the holidays, maybe it's because all of the distractions that protected me are all gone now, but I feel it; the sadness, the loss.

We weren't very close, my dad and I. Sure, I saw him nearly everyday but that was because I was visiting my mother.
His emotional problems, depression and scars from his own problematic childhood prevented him from being Ward Cleaver and I resented him so much for not providing my sisters and I with the perfect childhood.
He didn't have what it took to be a great father. He said things he shouldn't have said, a LOT. He did things he shouldn't have done. He was often too immature to deal with a teenage daughter.
I just couldn't forgive him for these things.
But, there was something that made us close. Closer than with my other sisters.
3 of my older sisters are his stepdaughters, he wasn't there when they were born and they remembered, fondly, a life before his arrival.
1 older sister is his daughter from his first wife and he missed a large chunk of her formitive years because her mother refused him visitation.
When he was finally allowed to see her, it was only for occasional weekends and short periods in the summer.
Oh, of course he loved them all. He never used the word "stepdaughter" when referring to the 3 and always included his other daughter in his life.
But, I was different. I came years later when young, frantic lives had started to settle down. He was there when I was born and then every single day until the day he died.
Until the age of about 7 or 8, I was "Daddy's Girl".
He taught me how to bait a hook, how to throw a football, how to play softball and God only knows why, but he was the one that told me, without a hint of embarrassment, what those weird looking maxi pads were for that we just saw on TV when I asked.

He thought everything I did was wonderful and special. He would tell everyone, "Hey, look at my daughter, isn't she beautiful?!" Even as recent as last year when I took him to the doctor, he said that to the nurse. I was embarrassed, imagining her dilemma, "No, Sir, she's pretty damn hideous. We should also give you an eye exam while you're here." is probably what she wanted to say but instead she smiled and quickly left the room.

But this is also the man that scarred me. He didn't handle my fragile teenage years well and apparently, neither did I. Parents can say things that will stay with you forever, good and bad.
For so many years, I only remembered the bad. It's only recently that the good has come forward and the bad has taken the backseat.
I hate that it didn't come sooner.

The first day of Dad's coma, we know he was aware of what was going on around him. When Mom spoke to him and kissed him on the forehead, he smiled. When I rushed into their house and spoke for the first time next to his bed, he lifted his arm as if to touch me.
That night, when everyone left the room and I was finally alone with him, I knew I had to do something I hadn't done since I was a little girl; I had to tell him I loved him. I had to tell him he had been a good father.
I just couldn't let him die without knowing that.
When I whispered those words into his ear, his lips moved as if to say, "I love you, too."

He took his last breath the next day.

No matter what your relationship is like, the death of a parent is surprising. I don't know if it's biological or spiritual but a part of you dies with them.
The co-collaborator of your existence is no longer a part of this world. It leaves a hole that I'm not sure can ever be filled.

Another thought I have that I was unable to verbalize until tonight, was the idea that the person that was half responsible for my life - blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh - now knows the answer to the eternal question. He KNOWS what lies beyond this dreadful universe.
My father has all the answers.

My Daddy is smarter than your Daddy.

Posted by De at January 5, 2005 02:36 AM