I've been out of touch -- by choice, I guess. After losing Dad in
September 2005, this time of year rolls around again, and this year I
am having flashbacks and memories of those last days of caring for him
at home and then at the hospital.
One of the last days he was at home was the day all those people were
in the huge traffic jam heading north away from Katrina. I was at the
house with Dad -- he sat in the family room and looked out the window
where he could see me outside pulling crabgrass out of the flower
beds. I remember he took my hand and whispered to me -- "Thanks,
Daniel, I've been wanting to do that and somehow I just haven't been
able to." So Dad.
I've got Dad stuff in bags and bins and suitcases and file boxes. I've
got chairs in the garage that won't fit in my house. I've got one of
his s****t coats and a ****rt and tie -- had planned on making a
shadow-box thingie . . . and none of it gets sorted, none of it gets
done. "Somehow I just haven't been able to."
I've got piles of grief in my blood in my brain in my soul and somehow
none of it gets sorted, none of it gets done. "Somehow I just haven't
been able to."
And I think of you all every day, all those who are and have been this
group. I haven't been able to bring myself to read even. Sorry.
"Somehow I just haven't been able to."
Somehow. In Dad's case what stopped him from pulling the crabgrass
was cancer. [irony: crab ( =cancer ) +grass ] In my case it's the
creeping crabgrass / cancer of grief -- of needing . . . *what*??? If
I knew I could find it get it do it. I should take time to pay
attention to the grief thing, time to take the time to deal with the
piles visible and invisible. Time to deal with the remorse. I'd give
anything to have had more "thank you's" from Dad, to have the touch of
his hand one more time.
Peace to you and all those you love,
--
Daniel ( deltaechomike@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
)
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