a big update to y'all, but there really isn't much to tell. I have my good days, and bad days, though, the bad seem to outnumber the good. I'm out of surreal-land, where it seemed as if it was happening to someone else, which, I suppose is a good thing, but lordisa, it doesn't feel like it. Everything is hard, you know? He stopped by so often, and I talked to him on the phone so much...I just really, really, really miss him. Aidan's party this Saturday (he's gonna be 10, and is 5'3", LOL) is going to be hard. He always came early to eat and help set up...
I'm just sad, and really uncommunicative right now. Jen went to to a Q & A thing last night, she's becoming a mortician, and today she was talking to me about it, and I just had to cut her off.
My mom is still sick. She caught the flu at the funeral, then a secondary infection, and started running a fever 2 days ago, again. She's getting all her papers in order, while we sort through all my dad's things. Since he was a brittle diabetic, and diagnosed so young, he has a lot of small policies ,instead of one large life insurance policy, though, we found one for $163,000 the other day, which takes a huge load off of my mom's mind. We've gone through all his clothes, and boxed them up for the homeless shelter. I took some of the new sweaters she'd gotten him, that still had the tags on, for the boys. I have his watch, and wear it all the time, though it's broken. I'm never on time anyway, so fuck it, LOL.
I'm adding more to the dogtag tattoo that I got. It's a flaming hot rod wheel, with flames and wings (very Sailor Jerry), for the other side of my forearm, and it will have the quote from Shakespere "It is a wise father that knows his own child", along with "Daddy's girl" on it. Cliche, I know, but fuck it. It fits.
So, that's all about me. I had a pretty good day today, until I got in the car and listened to Tori Amos song, "Winter", which has always reminded me of him, turned it off, and got song by Lifehouse that's about barely breathing, with a broken heart that is still beating, which, though I loathe the band, is pretty much my theme song.
Shitfire, everything about this sucks. I'm just so gogdamn fucking sad, and I MISS him, so much. I tried to prep myself for this, but I guess there is no preparing, yk? I just feel crushed.
d
who has no witty remarks to end this on.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Friday, January 04, 2008
Holy shit, y'all....
...no, this is not a post about the trainwreck of a poptart named Britney.
My dad died.
Seriously.
I initially dropped out of NOMOPO-what-the-fuck-ever, when Doug's aunt died, which was closely followed by my 29 year-old SIL had a major heart attack. WTF, right?
December 15th, 8:30-ish, there was a knock at my front door. My daddy was a big fan of the drop-by vists. I usually got a few a week, in fact, he'd been there the day before. I was coming down the steps to answer the door, thinking "dammit, I told him, not before 9 on the weekends!". Doug answered the door first, and it was my dear, sweet uncle, who lives across the street. As I was sporting ratty pj's, and no bra, I turned around to go back to bed. My uncle says, "No Dani, I need you too"...so I followed him into the kitchen. He says (this conversation will be burned into my brain for the rest of my fucking life), "Your mom and your brother have been trying to get ahold of you. Your mom went into wake up your dad (for his shot of insulin) this morning, and he was gone. Your dad is gone.".
I went into imediate and total shock. Doug went to hug me, and I freaked out, backing up and waving my hands, repeating, "but what HAPPENED??"
I called my grandmother, who lives with my parents, and she filled me in, that he was dead when she went to wake him.
I called Jen. Delaney answered the phone, and put Jen on. I spit out, "my dad died", to which she responded, "which cat?"
Me: "huh?"
Her: "Ruby or HotDog?"
Me: "Not a cat. My DAD"
Her: dead silence, since she was already in the car.
This still all seems sureal, like it's not happening to me, but to someone else. The viewings were tortorous. That kind of pain, it isn't for public consumption. It's not meant to on display. I freaked out when I saw him in the casket, but I lost my ever-lovin' shit, when I had to say goodbye. The funeral home was going to seal the casket that night of the last viewing (which we were informed of, that night) so we had to say our goodbyes then. I was shaking so hard, (little lesson in the ABC's of me coming up)that the little inappropriate voice in my head got to wondering if anyone has ever shaken a body right out of the casket? What happens then? I just kept saying, "if I leave, they'll close the lid. They'll close the lid." I had waited for everyone else to be done, and leave, so I could totally melt down without an audience, asking the funeral home all of the pertinent details, etc., so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone on the way out. As I picked up a basket of flowers, and prepped my run to the Machine Of Evil, in 4 inch heeled boots, no less, the funeral director stopped to ask me something. I yelled "NO, I'M FINE", and like to barrelled the poor woman over ,in my bid for freedom.
I had Doug drop me off at home before he picked up the boyos. Upon arrival, I walked into my kitchen, and just started sobbing. I'm not even sure if that's what you call it. if the neighbors were in their yard, I'm sure they thought I was killing a farm animal in there.
This sadness, it's just so pervasive. I'm so sad. All the time. I miss him dreadfully. The holidays...the christmas freak retired I think, this year. How can the holidays ever hold the magic for me, that they used to, when ever year, it'll bring home the day I lost my daddy?
I was tremendously lucky. I know that. He was a rockin' ass dad. A lot of folks don't have that at all. I had it for 32 years. At the moment, that sentiment is ashes in my damn mouth.
My dad died.
Seriously.
I initially dropped out of NOMOPO-what-the-fuck-ever, when Doug's aunt died, which was closely followed by my 29 year-old SIL had a major heart attack. WTF, right?
December 15th, 8:30-ish, there was a knock at my front door. My daddy was a big fan of the drop-by vists. I usually got a few a week, in fact, he'd been there the day before. I was coming down the steps to answer the door, thinking "dammit, I told him, not before 9 on the weekends!". Doug answered the door first, and it was my dear, sweet uncle, who lives across the street. As I was sporting ratty pj's, and no bra, I turned around to go back to bed. My uncle says, "No Dani, I need you too"...so I followed him into the kitchen. He says (this conversation will be burned into my brain for the rest of my fucking life), "Your mom and your brother have been trying to get ahold of you. Your mom went into wake up your dad (for his shot of insulin) this morning, and he was gone. Your dad is gone.".
I went into imediate and total shock. Doug went to hug me, and I freaked out, backing up and waving my hands, repeating, "but what HAPPENED??"
I called my grandmother, who lives with my parents, and she filled me in, that he was dead when she went to wake him.
I called Jen. Delaney answered the phone, and put Jen on. I spit out, "my dad died", to which she responded, "which cat?"
Me: "huh?"
Her: "Ruby or HotDog?"
Me: "Not a cat. My DAD"
Her: dead silence, since she was already in the car.
This still all seems sureal, like it's not happening to me, but to someone else. The viewings were tortorous. That kind of pain, it isn't for public consumption. It's not meant to on display. I freaked out when I saw him in the casket, but I lost my ever-lovin' shit, when I had to say goodbye. The funeral home was going to seal the casket that night of the last viewing (which we were informed of, that night) so we had to say our goodbyes then. I was shaking so hard, (little lesson in the ABC's of me coming up)that the little inappropriate voice in my head got to wondering if anyone has ever shaken a body right out of the casket? What happens then? I just kept saying, "if I leave, they'll close the lid. They'll close the lid." I had waited for everyone else to be done, and leave, so I could totally melt down without an audience, asking the funeral home all of the pertinent details, etc., so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone on the way out. As I picked up a basket of flowers, and prepped my run to the Machine Of Evil, in 4 inch heeled boots, no less, the funeral director stopped to ask me something. I yelled "NO, I'M FINE", and like to barrelled the poor woman over ,in my bid for freedom.
I had Doug drop me off at home before he picked up the boyos. Upon arrival, I walked into my kitchen, and just started sobbing. I'm not even sure if that's what you call it. if the neighbors were in their yard, I'm sure they thought I was killing a farm animal in there.
This sadness, it's just so pervasive. I'm so sad. All the time. I miss him dreadfully. The holidays...the christmas freak retired I think, this year. How can the holidays ever hold the magic for me, that they used to, when ever year, it'll bring home the day I lost my daddy?
I was tremendously lucky. I know that. He was a rockin' ass dad. A lot of folks don't have that at all. I had it for 32 years. At the moment, that sentiment is ashes in my damn mouth.
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