My Father Died Today

Sitting here reading randomly the writing of others on the writing web site to which I below, I have made a few comments and then moved along.  It’s hard to know quite what to do when your mind is stuck in cement, threatening to harden and seal in whatever might be wanting out.  My father died today.  He was a good man.  I hadn’t seen him since, oh, I don’t know when.  August 2000 was the last time of significance.  He lived in Kansas; I moved to Texas.  We said goodbye.  I did not cry.

I’m not crying now either, but there are tears around the edges of my eyes.  I said that in an e-mail to a friend, my only real friend, who also lives in Kansas.  I haven’t seen her in a long while.  Since August 2000.  She lives in Kansas; I moved to Texas.  We said goodbye.  I did not cry.  Anyway, I know she’ll understand about the tears; we were friends for many years, up close and personal.  We went through a lot of shit together.  She wouldn’t use that word, but what the hell?  My father died today.  I think I have some leeway.

I talked to my sister today.  I have two, sisters that is.  I talked to one; she called me to say, “Daddy died today.”  She didn’t use those words, but I knew what she meant; it was clear.  The paternal part of our creation was no longer on the earth.  He’s gone to a far better place.  I haven’t seen this sister in awhile.  I’ll just bet you can already guess when I saw her last.  You’ve got it!  August 2000.  But she doesn’t live in Kansas anymore.  She got married and moved to Wisconsin.  That’s a long way away.  I almost cried when she said she was getting married.  I was so happy for her.  She’d gone through a lot of that s-word; husband left her, she raised her son all alone, and then he died as a very young man– you know your really bad shit like that.  She deserved a little happiness.

While I was talking to my sister, that annoying “beep-beep” chimed in on my cell phone.  I don’t know how to work the call waiting thing, but I wouldn’t have done it anyway.  I was talking to my sister in Wisconsin, a long ways away.  Anyway, when I got off the phone I checked the missed calls.  I know how to do that.  It’s easy.  The person calling was one of my sons.  I sort of have three, but really just two.  It’s a long story.  No, that’s a lie.  It’s actually pretty short but for another time.

Anyway, the person who called was my second oldest son who lives in Kansas with his second wife and second kid, a girl.  Really cute from the pictures.  I haven’t seen her.  She lives in Kansas.  I called my son back.  He answered but the was driving over to the place where my mother lives (in Kansas).  I think he was crying as well.  I didn’t want him to have an accident.  Two deaths in one day would really not be a good thing.  So, I tried to keep it short.  He was a little incoherent which isn’t so unusual.  You see,  he had a bad car accident some years back and he had major head trauma.  They didn’t think he’d live, but he did.  But it sort of scrambled up his emotional system.  The doctors said that happens with head trauma sometimes.  My son kinda’ over-reacts to things like grandfather’s dying and stuff like that.  Of course, this is his first grandfather to die.

He told me he’d call me later.  I asked him to find out when would be a good time for me to call my mother.  I don’t want to wake her if she is sleeping or bother her if she is trying to get things done.  You know those things you have to do when someone dies.  My other sister, not the one I talked to, lives there in Kansas near my mother.  She’s been helping out a lot with stuff, before this and now.  Just as an additional piece of information, my sisters are twins.  They don’t look a thing alike.  We always told my Wisconsin sister she was adopted.  That was mean now that I think about it.

This evening, after I got the dogs fed and my evening chores done; I called my youngest son.  He moved with me to Texas and now lives in another town.  I haven’t seen him for awhile, but it sure as hell has been since August 2000.  In fact, he lived with me and my husband (not my son’s father) when we first moved to Texas and then again later on just a couple of summers ago.  He’s a great guy, and I’m not just saying that because he’s my kid.  He’s pulled himself out of some heavy shit, and he’s making a life for himself finally.  I always knew he could do it.  Anyway, he didn’t answer his cell phone, so I left a message: “It’s your mom. Call me when you can.”  I didn’t think I should leave a message that said, “Hey, haven’t talked to you in ages.  Your grandfather is dead.  Call me later.”  No. I don’t think that would have been a good idea.  It’s 8:00.  He hasn’t called yet.  His cell phone is sometimes messed up, but I always get this nagging fear that he’s back in jail and that’s why he hasn’t called.  Stupid, huh?  He’s finally got his life together.  Mothers worry, I guess.

You think maybe I have some sort of angst thing going on here?  Not about my son not calling, but about my father dying?  Maybe I just wanted to use the word angst in a sentence.  I had to look it up to be sure it meant what I thought it did. It didn’t, but it seems to fit.  Anguish, torment, anxiety, trouble, sorrow, worry, fear are the synonyms in the Thesaurus.  I didn’t look it up in the dictionary.  Okay, pick one.  Sorrow seems the closest, but I don’t really feel anything.  How f***ed up is that!  My father died today, and I don’t feel anything much except glad that he is in a far, far better place.

He’s no longer living in an old broken down body with his mind mostly gone.  He’s doing great up there with God.  Of course, he walked with God while he was down here on the earth, but in recent years, its been a tough walk.  Nursing home, multiple strokes, all kinds of physical maladies.  My father was a good man, a kind man, a very intelligent man.  But most of all, he was a Christian man.  Not just a go to church on Sunday kind of Christian; he was a down in his heart, live by the Word kind of Christian.  He was a do for your neighbor, give others a hand, share the Word with a friend kind of man.  He walked the talk and talked the walk, you could say.  And he sure wouldn’t approve of me using “swear words.”  He whacked me good once when I said “darn it” in a rather emphatic voice.  He thought I had said, “Damn it.”  He was that kind of guy.  Live what you preach, and preach what you live.  So, I don’t feel sad for him.  He’s walking the streets of heaven right now or sitting at the right hand of the Father talking to Jesus, his good, dear friend.

It’s my mother I worry about.  I’ve only seen her twice since August 2000, but I’ve talked to her on the phone.  Not enough some people say, but every once in awhile.  Some years ago, she had to have my father put into a nursing home.  She couldn’t take care of him at home any more.  It was a hard thing for him; a relief for her.  She just knew he would fall some time and she wouldn’t be able to help him up.  To know he was being taken care of was a blessing.  She went to visit him as often as she could get a ride.

Then after awhile, she had to moved into assisted living, a little apartment near a nursing home – not the one my father was originally in, but they moved him over near her.  Good thing?  Maybe.  Whereas before, she had some time to herself; now she was over there every day, all the time.  Good and bad in everything.  Anyway, taking care of him was her life.  Now, what is she going to do?  She’s a Christian, too; not as verbal as my father.  But she lives it in her giving ways, not warm and huggy; but practical giving, doing what needs doing.  She’s always been like that, not taking for herself but always being there for every body else.

I’m getting tired of talking about this.  I think the cement is settling and getting harder – closing in it feels like.  My eyes feel like I’ve been crying a million tears; I haven’t.  My father died today.  I always called him “Daddy.”  Go figure why its my father who died, not my Daddy.