You can't stop a freight train

Vacation! [part five]
(I decided to break this into two entries, because they are two irrelevant things and to be put in the same entry just doesn't make sense.)

Like I said, what had started off as a good day drastically went down hill. Today was the day of my step dad's ex-wife's / step sister's and brother's mother's funeral.

Not a mere couple of days ago my step dad, John, received the news that his ex-wife, Bunny, had suffered a brain aneurism but had survived. After the grueling (what I assume to be) 8 hour surgery, it wasn't looking good for Bunny; half of the right side of her brain was completely dead and the whole left side of her brain was damaged. If that wasn't enough for Bunny, she had also suffered not one, but two strokes during surgery. As the days rolled on, the doctors couldn't get the beats-per-minute of her heart to go up, and they ruled it as a heart attack that probably caused such a slow beat.

With such brain damage the doctors said Bunny will never have her motor skills again. That being she will never have the capability of talking, chewing, eating, or swallowing at that fact. Bunny then, eventually slipped into a coma and at that point the whole left side of her brain completely died and that's when my step family made the wise decision to take her off life support. She died Sunday, November 9th, 2008.

I couldn't help but be ripped back to the day my father died, I was flooded with memories of that dreadful day because it was also a Sunday. I had also woken up, came downstairs, and received such horrid news.

My heart went out to my step sisters and step brothers because they were there for me when I lost my parent. I was going to be there for them and their loss because I know how it feels, I know what they are going through, hopefully my support will help them the way their support helped me.

Though... A part of me did not want to go to the funeral home. I did not want to enter that room with that casket and have not a doubt in my heart that, that is my father in there, dead. I could see it all again, I remembered it all like it was yesterday.

That dreadful Sunday where something had abruptly awoken me from my slumber. Something that made me go downstairs just to receive the word that my father had died. The horror and the guilt, the sadness and the pain, it all felt exactly the same as it did that day. I remembered retreating to my room, never to come out. I remember sitting in my chair, staring blankly out the window as my hands wrote a poem. A poem to my father and about my father. A poem that had finally admitted that I loved my father and not hated him the way that I used to scream so. A poem that had released me of all my guilt. A poem of forgiveness. A poem of apologies. A closure.

I remember going to the florist where I broke down in tears because I was picking out the floral arrangements that were to be exhibited in my fathers casket! His fucking casket, because he was fucking dead and I couldn't even tell the florist what name to put of the banner. Dad? Daddy? Father? He was never a dad to me! The anger, the anger just rushed in my veins but then quickly overcome by guilt. I remember all the emotions that always seemed to hit me all at once like a freight train.

I remember going shopping with Dave because I had not an all black ensemble and even if I did, I wasn't going to wear it to my father's funeral. I wanted an outfit that I was never going to wear again. An outfit I can hide away in my closet as the outfit I wore to my father's funeral. A simple task, or I had thought it was. I couldn't do it, I couldn't pick out the clothes that I was going to wear to my father's funeral! It was all so surreal, like a dream, but not that day. That day, reality hit me... hit me so hard that I was on the floor of JC Penny's sobbing my eyes out.

I remember my desperate search for a newspaper to see my father's obituary, to see if it was all true or just some sick nightmare. It was not.

I remember the funeral. I remember how nice of a day it was and how I longed for the rain. I remember hating the sun, and hating God for having such a nice day for my father's funeral. My father just died, the world should not rejoice in the sun but mourn because I had just lost my father. He's dead and it was not raining.

I remember the room at the funeral home. I remember the surreal look of my dad. How doll-like he looked, so fake, like it wasn't real. I remember how boney his shoulder's were, the hair on his head, the mole on the side of his forehead. I remember his hands, those big, strong hands, with that broken thumbnail... they never changed. I remember that sweater he would usually wear for proper events, those black slacks, and his dress shoes that weren't so "dress" anymore because they were covered in scuff marks, dulled out, and torn a bit. I remember remembering those shoes for as long as I could remember. I remember the hat he always wore that laid by his hands. I remember the pictures that were lined up in his casket. I remember the mints we snuck into his casket, that we hid under his blanket, because he loved those mints, they were his favorite. I remember the flag because he was a soldier. I remember the two flowers that laid on his lap; one from Auron, his grandson and one from his passed godchild, Amber. I remember the stone that sat at the edge: "When someone you love becomes a memory. That memory becomes a treasure."

I also remember how hard he felt. I remember not believing that that was my father, lying in a casket before me. I remember never leaving his side because it appeared as though everyone was ignoring him. I remember everyone chit-chatting with their backs turned to him, but not I. I stood there, I kept him company. I remember the promise I had made to him and how I have faltered on them already. I remember the forgiveness I begged from him, that I still don't feel it.

I remember going to his apartment that had already been cleaned out by family. I arrived too late due to work. I remember the feeling of having no closure 'cause I did not see the way he lived. I wanted to see how he lived. The couch, the dining room, the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, I wanted to see it all but everything was gone! All that was left were marks on the carpet of what used to be there.

I remember the Miracle Grow that was under his sink and how Tina told me that he was excited to bring her tomatoes! I remember the canned soup, the vegetables, the appliances. I remember going into his bedroom and his barren closet and picking out a striped, button-down shirt. I remember my father always wearing button-down shirts, I have not a memory were he wasn't in a button-down shirt. I remember picking through his belongings, desperate to grab hold of memories. I remember all the “I want this” and “I want that.”

I remember the rain finally coming. The gray clouds, the emptiness. I remember driving away from his apartment. I remember finally realizing that he's gone. He is gone forever.

Putting all selfishness aside, I went to the funeral home. I grunted and I bared the pain in my family's eyes because I know what they're going through. I hugged every last one of them and whispered softly into their ears, "I know." That's all I could say, nothing I could do or say will make them feel any better. I was not going to ask how they're doing because I know. I wasn't going to ask if they're going to be alright because I know. I do know, all I could do was hold them and comfort them the best I could. All I could do was be there for them.

And that I did.

Posted on November 13, 2008 2:59 PM | Permalink
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