Turn on the music and dive into a complex sea of thoughts about a variety of things, some of which you’ll guess at and be right about and others will likely be missed by all but one…maybe.
July approaches and with it comes the knowledge my baby turns 16 and it will be two years since Dad walked into the cornfields.
My daughter is torn by the duality of the day and I am not sure I can do anything to fix it.
Her grandfather died on her 14th birthday and so every year she’ll have the celebration of one and the reminder of the other.
I told her they are separate events and promised that had grandpa been aware of the day there is no doubt he would have fought through one more so that his granddaughter wouldn’t be upset.
That is just how he was.
I haven’t told her I told him to let go and that I would take care of things because there is no point in sharing that and who knows if my words had any impact.
It was done because I wanted him to get the rest he earned and because there was nothing more that could be done.
So here comes the heart ache.
There have been moments where people ask me if I feel guilty about certain things and I shake my head no because I don’t.
I don’t feel guilt about quite a few things I have done or participated in because I see that as being associated with social constructs that made no sense to me.
But then again the few things that I feel guilty about hit me hard and if I think about them I always feel the load upon my back.
I feel some guilt for telling Dad it was ok to go because I know it hurt the family but I am my father’s son and followed his instructions to do what needed to be done to take care of the family.
There were no miracles to be had or reasonable avenues that could have been taken to prolong things.
The only steps that could have been taken would have required going against his wishes and that I wouldn’t do.
We spoke before the surgery and I made certain he was absolutely aware of the potential consequences and outcome.
It was his choice and he made it.
Can’t go back and I am not trying to nor am I second guessing it. It is like crying about the pandemic.
Trump botched handling this in every way but I can’t fix that either. All I can do is try to manage this time as best I can and focus on getting to the other side.
So now I gear up for the Facebook memories that are coming in which I’ll see the notes I wrote about the days before hospice and the days in which he went in.
It was rawer than many things I share publicly so I expect reading it will tear the scab off and I’ll remember what was and probably stumble across a few things I had forgotten or just hadn’t noticed.
It is so very strange to me to think he is really not here even though I know it to be true.
It doesn’t feel real.
There were two times last week where I picked up the phone to talk to him about some work stuff.
We weren’t in the same field but the corporate stuff is the same all over even with the variations that apply from business to business and company to company.
His comments about policy and management line of thinking were still pretty spot on.
I never wondered about motives when talking to him about it because you know your parents have your best interests in mind.
It is not that I can’t share any of this with mom because I can but her experience was different.
Not better or worse but different and while I can vent to her I wanted to bounce an idea off of Dad that tied into multiple levels of management and various departments.
We have done it before, but not for more than two years now so all I have are the echoes and lessons.
It is a framework I can work with and though I am certain about his overall messaging and idea the specifics aren’t there.
That isn’t enough to stop me from taking action because I did and I will again. Hell, I haven’t ever been afraid to take a chance but age has helped me remember it doesn’t hurt think about it first.
Though I do wish I could step onto the boat and sail into the sunset and go look for him even though I know he won’t be there.
It is a strange club this missing a parent joint. Sometimes people say things to me and I recognize they just don’t get it.
Kind of reminds me of people who don’t have kids telling me they know what it is like to be a father or mother.
No you don’t.
You may think you do, but you don’t.
And unless you have seen illness take your parent apart you don’t know what that is like either.
Dad didn’t complain about being sick until the end was much closer, at least not to me.
But I knew things had changed when I had to physically move him after Chemo.
I didn’t say anything to him because it would have upset him and there was no reason for that, but I am not going to lie and say it didn’t feel weird.
Once I was the boy he carried. I still remember.
It is not supposed to be reversed but many things aren’t supposed to be and they are so we do the best we can and we go from there.
It is all we can do.
