Saturday, October 27, 2007
The Littlest Thing
Funny, it's been almost five months, but it only takes the littlest thing to put me in mind of my dad. Yes, the stage must be right; I must not be otherwise grossly preoccupied, but something as simple as watching a television program where a bed-ridden patient calls for a drink of water, something I did for my dad countless times in those last days, can bring that slight tear - that sense that the world is a lesser place.
Being in Indianapolis last weekend reminded me of what a presence my dad was in the lives of so many. He helped and helped. I write this on Friday, the day I have to now tackle bookkeeping - something he used to do for me. Every Friday I get the shakes and spend the bookkeeping morning on edge, nervous, irritable, very sad. I think about how I feel and wonder about those that did not have the benefit of a lifetime of his training - how nervous and irritable are they? I try to pray for them, but sometimes my own grief overwhelms the prayers.
My father was a deeply flawed man, just like all of us. But I cannot find the flaws anymore, I only long for the good. He had his detractors, again, as we all do. I wish to scold them.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am 50 years old; his absence makes me feel like that little kid I was that got lost in the museum. The wonder of my surroundings ceases in the absence of the important other.
I long to eulogize him, but find it impossible. There is simply too much to say and the emotions still are too strong.
I miss you Dad.
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Being in Indianapolis last weekend reminded me of what a presence my dad was in the lives of so many. He helped and helped. I write this on Friday, the day I have to now tackle bookkeeping - something he used to do for me. Every Friday I get the shakes and spend the bookkeeping morning on edge, nervous, irritable, very sad. I think about how I feel and wonder about those that did not have the benefit of a lifetime of his training - how nervous and irritable are they? I try to pray for them, but sometimes my own grief overwhelms the prayers.
My father was a deeply flawed man, just like all of us. But I cannot find the flaws anymore, I only long for the good. He had his detractors, again, as we all do. I wish to scold them.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am 50 years old; his absence makes me feel like that little kid I was that got lost in the museum. The wonder of my surroundings ceases in the absence of the important other.
I long to eulogize him, but find it impossible. There is simply too much to say and the emotions still are too strong.
I miss you Dad.
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