Once More With Something

I’m pretty sure there will come a time when I don’t know exactly how many days it has been since my father passed away, but that time hasn’t come yet.  I woke up this morning and reminded myself that it’s been 60 days that he’s been gone. Someday I’m going to lose count of the days but I’m not sure if that will make me feel better or worse.

Over the last two months I’ve told a lot of stories about my father but I have a whole bunch of stray memories that don’t really have stories attached to them, they are just…things he did. I suppose I could build some mythology around them but that feels like cheating; I’ll get to them at some point.  Lately I keep thinking of the small things he used to do , like mailing me The Mets season preview every year, or putting clips from (sometimes pornographic) movies on to mix tapes and I wish I could experience these things one more time. That’s the hardest part about all of this: wanting to have coffee at his house one more time, wanting to see one more Mets game, wanting to hear one more bit of porn film between songs, wanting to say once more that I’m grateful for everything and knowing that I can’t.

I think healing is accepting that I had all of the time I really needed but I just haven’t make it there yet.

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6 Comments

Filed under Betheboy Dad Stories

6 responses to “Once More With Something

  1. My grandpa died a year ago this past November and I still get the urge to call him once a week or so, and think of him every time I cross the street. I think it just gets to a point where when you think of the person you’ve lost, you smile instead of wanting to cry.

  2. Healing is (unfortunately) a very, very long process. Things that trigger grief for me:

    1. Any Alzheimer’s Disease commercials (my grandpa was borderline AD/Dementia).
    2. Centinela Pet Feed stores (I used to get Murphy’s toys there).
    3. Cinnamon Toast Crunch (Joey used to sing the jingle all the time in high school).
    4. Twinkies (Whiskey got those for his birthday every year).

    I still count Whiskey’s and Murphy’s birthdays every year. I still address my grandpa’s and Joey’s graves as though they’re standing right in front of me.

    Give it time.

  3. This brought tears to my eyes. And makes me want to call my dad for a cup of coffee, while I have the time.

    What you said about having all the time you really needed is so profound and beautiful.

    Thank you for your insights and your beautiful words. If it’s at all possible, your dad is reading them.

  4. I appreciate what Green said (as Nina did) and yet I still find when I think of my grandma (who died in 1992) there are times when I still tear up, even when I’m smiling.

    Grief is a brutal beautiful thing. I admire the relationship you had with your dad and know you will carry that with you always. Wonderful.

  5. i find it a little bizarre that so much of me was wrapped up in who my dad was. i still think about the things i want to do one more time, even the taking him to chemo one more time or cussing out everyone within range in the emergency room when they told me i couldn’t go back to where my dad was.

    acceptance is a good word you used for it, b/c really that’s our only choice.

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