(no subject)
On Saturday, I rode with my mother and oldest sister up to South Carolina where Amy would meet up with her husband for a ride back to her home. While we were there, Amy asked my mother to take us to my father's grave, which is in a cemetary near my grandparents' house.
The grave wasn't even marked. My mother had to guess at where his ashes were. She said she'd meant to scatter the ashes at some point but hadn't been able to bear making the arrangements. She also told us that a baby boy she'd had with my father that died as an infant was buried there (again, no marker).
I sat down where my mother had said he probably was. I introduced myself. I told him bits about my life. I told him what I wanted out of the future and how much I wished he could be here to share it with me. I even told him that it was okay if he died without knowing my mother was pregnant, because I do have a dad that I love very much, and a half brother and a step sister, and they've all been there though he can't. Then I sang a bit of Sugar Magnolia, cried a lot, and got back in the car to drive home.
I don't remember much about Sunday or Monday. I know I wandered the house wringing my hands and shivering. I slept 18 hours on Sunday and 16 hours on Monday. I spent a substantial part of yesterday evening clinging to Clara and bawling my eyes out. My boss has been very good about letting me call out of almost all of this week. I feel completely exhausted and drained.
I thought I'd dealt with this before. I thought I'd come to terms with it. But how can I? How can he be stuck beneath grass on the side of the highway without even a stone to alert the world that a man was unjustly and brutally ripped from the earth, leaving an adopted daughter and a baby on the way? How can I accept that the love of my mother's life, a man whosen presence lit up rooms and still brings beaming smiles to the faces of those who knew him, a spontaneous and intelligent and enigmatic man whose mannerisms and interests I share, a fearless pilot ... how can I accept that my father is dead and I never even got to meet him?
If you're near someone you love right now, give them a tight hug.
The grave wasn't even marked. My mother had to guess at where his ashes were. She said she'd meant to scatter the ashes at some point but hadn't been able to bear making the arrangements. She also told us that a baby boy she'd had with my father that died as an infant was buried there (again, no marker).
I sat down where my mother had said he probably was. I introduced myself. I told him bits about my life. I told him what I wanted out of the future and how much I wished he could be here to share it with me. I even told him that it was okay if he died without knowing my mother was pregnant, because I do have a dad that I love very much, and a half brother and a step sister, and they've all been there though he can't. Then I sang a bit of Sugar Magnolia, cried a lot, and got back in the car to drive home.
I don't remember much about Sunday or Monday. I know I wandered the house wringing my hands and shivering. I slept 18 hours on Sunday and 16 hours on Monday. I spent a substantial part of yesterday evening clinging to Clara and bawling my eyes out. My boss has been very good about letting me call out of almost all of this week. I feel completely exhausted and drained.
I thought I'd dealt with this before. I thought I'd come to terms with it. But how can I? How can he be stuck beneath grass on the side of the highway without even a stone to alert the world that a man was unjustly and brutally ripped from the earth, leaving an adopted daughter and a baby on the way? How can I accept that the love of my mother's life, a man whosen presence lit up rooms and still brings beaming smiles to the faces of those who knew him, a spontaneous and intelligent and enigmatic man whose mannerisms and interests I share, a fearless pilot ... how can I accept that my father is dead and I never even got to meet him?
If you're near someone you love right now, give them a tight hug.