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Aug. 2nd, 2007 04:38 pmWe're in Michigan right now. We flew in yesterday, in a mostly uneventful flight. I have come to the conclusion that the Philadelphia airport hates me and the feeling is mutual, but our planes came and left with no fuss or bother so I can't complain too much. K was an absolute champ, taking a short nap and then happily entertaining herself (it helped that I gave her a bag of potato chips as well as buying her $20 of airplane toys the night before. The toys were largely for my sake; partly because anything that entertains her benefits me, but largely because I can't really do anything to make myself happy right now, but it feels good to make her happy).
So now we're here. It all feels a bit unreal. Most of the relatives aren't arriving until tomorrow and the funeral isn't until Saturday, so we're basically cooling our heels right now. Food has started showing up (I remember a character on a tv show referring to the "grief buffet," which seems very apt).
My mother and I met with the minister yesterday to plan the service. The minister was asking me how I would describe my father, and it took me a little while to get going, like I was having to unpack memories from the bottom of a large stack of boxes. I thought it was because I got almost no sleep Tuesday night and sleep deprivation always fills my brain with fuzzy wool. But as I keep thinking about it and more comes to me, I realized that part of the reason it's taking a while to remember these things is that the man I'm remembering hasn't been around for nearly ten years. My mother said that people kept asking her if she missed him when she put him in the nursing home if she missed him, and the truth of the matter is that she's been missing him for years now. We all have.
I keep writing e-mails, to Ebay customers explaining why their orders are late or why I've stopped selling, to the recruiter who wants to know when I can come in for a job interview, to various friends, that all say "My father died." When I write it, it doesn't seem to have any more emotional impact than saying "I had a ham sandwich for lunch." We're in the very practical stages of death right now, where it's very easy to keep busy and keep yourself from feeling what happened. But periodically it will hit me: my father died. And it's absolutely devastating.
So now we're here. It all feels a bit unreal. Most of the relatives aren't arriving until tomorrow and the funeral isn't until Saturday, so we're basically cooling our heels right now. Food has started showing up (I remember a character on a tv show referring to the "grief buffet," which seems very apt).
My mother and I met with the minister yesterday to plan the service. The minister was asking me how I would describe my father, and it took me a little while to get going, like I was having to unpack memories from the bottom of a large stack of boxes. I thought it was because I got almost no sleep Tuesday night and sleep deprivation always fills my brain with fuzzy wool. But as I keep thinking about it and more comes to me, I realized that part of the reason it's taking a while to remember these things is that the man I'm remembering hasn't been around for nearly ten years. My mother said that people kept asking her if she missed him when she put him in the nursing home if she missed him, and the truth of the matter is that she's been missing him for years now. We all have.
I keep writing e-mails, to Ebay customers explaining why their orders are late or why I've stopped selling, to the recruiter who wants to know when I can come in for a job interview, to various friends, that all say "My father died." When I write it, it doesn't seem to have any more emotional impact than saying "I had a ham sandwich for lunch." We're in the very practical stages of death right now, where it's very easy to keep busy and keep yourself from feeling what happened. But periodically it will hit me: my father died. And it's absolutely devastating.
