Personal History - In Life and Death, He was Complicated

When and where did your father die? What do you remember about it?

I'm one of those lucky people who still has most of my family still alive and intact later on in life. When my father-in-law died, it was painful, but we were so far away from him and the family that the impact on us was relatively minimal.

In some ways, my father's death was the same. And in other ways, it shook me really hard.

How did he die?

It was expected, and unexpected.  He'd had heart problems for years, that required him to retire, but he kept going. It felt like he would always keep going.

There were some signs though, and Sam and I talked about the possibility and thought through some scenarios. My youngest brother and his wife decided to make a visit out to see them in Maryland where they lived, just because they felt like something was up. He said it was a good visit.

I couldn't financially visit, so we tried to call them. I figured by this point, maybe enough water under the bridge meant we could try again to have some sort of happy father/daughter relationship.

But on the video call, it was painfully apparent that would never happen. I couldn't reach him at all. He wasn't interested in talking or getting to know us or our family, so I finally let that thread of hope go. At least I tried.

He and my mother were planning a trip to Florida for their 50th wedding anniversary coming up in a few weeks - maybe on this trip, Mom would get her chance to go to the tip of Florida and touch the end of the United States, something my father had denied her when they were engaged, and something she'd playfully teased him about for 50 years.

But on May 7th, 2017, my phone started ringing and the Facebook messages started flying. My little sister called - she was worried. Dad was having some issues, seemed really sick. Mom was worried about him, and all I and my siblings could do was call each other.

I put the phone down, and talked to Sam about what to do. The kids started praying.

It wasn't soon after that that my sister called again. It was over, just like that. The ambulance came, but he was gone. He'd left instructions not to resuscitate him (guess where I got my everlasting dislike of hospitals from?) so their hands were tied.

It was over.

I dropped the phone and sobbed for a few minutes. Couldn't help myself.

How was the funeral?

My older brother worked for American Airlines - had been with them his whole career - and the company bought all of us plane tickets to get to and from the funeral. We were staggered at the generosity of it, and I still feel really grateful for that even today.

Sam came with me, and so did two of our kids who were available. We all invaded my younger brother's home, who still lived in Maryland near my mom, and it was so cathartic to be able to see them all again after all these years. We hadn't all been together for about 17 years, so it was incredible to see so much family in one place, with kids and grand-kids.

When we arrived, some of us wanted to go see the body. I felt kind of hesitant, but Sam really wanted to go, so I went with him and the others.

We were warned he might not look too good, since he'd donated some body parts as he'd agreed to do previously, but we were okay with that. As we walked into the parlor and stood over him, I couldn't stop crying - not because he looked bad, but because he looked so good it was hard to believe he was really dead.

The mortuary had really underestimated their jujitsu skills of body preparation. He looked like he could have opened his eyes, jumped up off the bier and said, "Gotcha!" like he used to do when he played a trick on us. But it was no trick. When we left, they took him off for cremation. No more "Gotcha!"

We talked and cried a little while we were there, and then we said a prayer as a family. My sister offered the prayer, and used the word 'complicated' when describing my father - it was a moment of emotional vindication for me, and really helped me feel better from that time forward.

The funeral was beautifully done, and we met a lot of friends we hadn't seen in decades - another wonderful experience. It really closed a lot of doors that were left open over the years, and I really felt like I could say goodbye to Maryland and move on at last.

Do you still feel like you're grieving for him? What was the grieving process like?

I knew there would be aftershocks, and strong feelings afterwards, in the grieving process. What I didn't realize was how 'inappropriate' those feelings would be.

I felt relief, almost glad that he was dead. His presence hung like a cloud over the whole family for so long. After he died, it felt like we were able to somehow get closer to each other, in a way we couldn't do before. And other emotions surfaced that I thought I had successfully processed, but hadn't really. Rage I hadn't felt in years...a really deep anger.

When it started interfering with my current life, I did something about it.

I keep a paper journal that I write in longhand, and one day, I wrote him a letter, where I laid it all out, as if he was standing in front of me. Told him exactly in great detail, everything I was thinking and feeling. I reminded him of everything that had happened, and how I felt about it. Even though I'd done all this emotional work so that I could function as an adult later, a lot of that internal blockage was still there.

Then I closed the book, and slept so good. Better than I had in a very long time.

A few weeks later, I was driving home from somewhere, when I got the impression that I wasn't alone in my car. I even looked over at the seat next to me, but it was empty. Empty, but not empty.

It felt like my dad, sitting with me in the car.

He wanted to apologize - it felt like he got my letter. He was sorry.

I forgave him. I cut that tie of anger that wasn't doing either of us any good. I told him so, out loud.

And then he was gone.

I guess I'm still grieving when I think about him sometimes, or when I read something from my journals or the past that reminds me of how broken we were.

But there were some good times too.

The day he went with me to a party at Church, both of us dressed as hobos.

A campout we did, where he made me breakfast and I saw a deer in person for the first time.

The night he came to one of my high school plays, and told me he enjoyed it and thought I was good.

The day I left for college, after everything was packed in the car, where he ran out right before I left, then handed me a $20 bill, and walked back into the house without a word, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Those were good times. Maybe I didn't get as many of them as other kids, but I still got them, so overall, I'm good. :-)