death and all the messy bits
I miss my dad ....
In my eyes he was the quintessential father.... BIG ... STRONG ... DEVOTED .... CARING ... INTELLIGENT ...
It is so hard to accept that he isn't around anymore ....
When I saw him in his coffin I explained to everyone around me that the thing lying there wasn't my father. I couldn't accept that a person who had so much energy for life was so still. It wasn't until I looked down at his hands that I realized it was him. His hands, in life, were so big. When saying goodbyes to me he would always grab my hand and squash it (my dad hated goodbyes I don't think I ever heard him say the word). I was continually saying to him that he was going to break my hand one day. I grabbed his hand in the coffin, I wanted to squeeze life back into it. It was cold, dead, and unrequited to my touch.
The days following his death I searched through his stuff looking for my goodbye. I wanted a letter, something, I needed him to explain to me why, why he left, why for the first time in my life he has hurt me. I was so mad at him. I know death comes to everyone and he had no idea when he went to bed that night that within a few hours he would go. But I know he did fight, through all the pain he was going through he fought for himself and for us, his family.
I have been selfish in my grief. I don't have the words to tell people how I am feeling.
In my eyes he was the quintessential father.... BIG ... STRONG ... DEVOTED .... CARING ... INTELLIGENT ...
It is so hard to accept that he isn't around anymore ....
When I saw him in his coffin I explained to everyone around me that the thing lying there wasn't my father. I couldn't accept that a person who had so much energy for life was so still. It wasn't until I looked down at his hands that I realized it was him. His hands, in life, were so big. When saying goodbyes to me he would always grab my hand and squash it (my dad hated goodbyes I don't think I ever heard him say the word). I was continually saying to him that he was going to break my hand one day. I grabbed his hand in the coffin, I wanted to squeeze life back into it. It was cold, dead, and unrequited to my touch.
The days following his death I searched through his stuff looking for my goodbye. I wanted a letter, something, I needed him to explain to me why, why he left, why for the first time in my life he has hurt me. I was so mad at him. I know death comes to everyone and he had no idea when he went to bed that night that within a few hours he would go. But I know he did fight, through all the pain he was going through he fought for himself and for us, his family.
I have been selfish in my grief. I don't have the words to tell people how I am feeling.