Tuesday, November 27, 2007

The Day after the Funeral


Yesterday was pretty hard. I didn't know that I would actually have a reaction to being in church for a funeral, but I guess that my upbringing in the Lutheran Church really left its residue on me. There was something so comforting about having my father spoken of and verbally laid to rest (even though he'll be on our shelf for a little while).


There was such a different crowd there than for the visitation. So many of my friends came on Sunday to be there for me; it was really touching. But of course during the workday, only family came to the funeral. It's what I expected, but it was such a more solemn feeling. There was nothing but me and my raw emotions with family everywhere, all of them grieving for their own reasons and not able to be supportive for more than a few minutes. Except Scott and Amy. They were so kind. They waited to help us at the very end and walked us to our car. It was comforting, and Amy was just as sad as we were.


Saturday, November 24, 2007

The Day before the Visitation


I've been putting together picture boards for my dad's visitation tomorrow. It's been difficult. I feel numb, mostly. It's strange to look at someone's entire life with a beginning and ending when it's someone so close. I wish I would have asked him more about his childhood, but he didn't like to talk about it. I don't know if it was "bad," per se, but he never brought it up. His twin does sometimes talk about growing up, and it's interesting to hear, but it always sounds like he's talking about someone I don't know. Here's a picture of my dad and his twin.


Saturday, November 17, 2007


The ironic thing is that once I posted the last blog, my dad finally passed away that night. I got a call from the hospice around 11:45 PM to tell me that he was gone. So maybe I only needed to make my request more well known.

This is the photo of my dad that I'll be putting in the paper for his obituary. I think it's the way he liked to imagine himself, and I think it was the time when he felt most like the person he wanted to be. Fort Snelling won't offer him the burial that he is supposed to get from them, and I'm quite pissed about it. It's the only thing he wanted. So I'm going to see who I can try to persuade over the next few months to make this happen for him. He will be cremated and I guess he'll just hang out with us until we can bury him at Fort Snelling.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Today

My dad and me in 1971. I'm the little one. I think he looks almost exactly like my brother in this picture. We put him into a hospice yesterday where they will care for him until he dies naturally. Until then, he remains drugged on methadone and morphine and an anti-psychotic for when he wakes up and says, "Get me out of here." He talked to me mostly all of Sunday and Monday, asking me to get him up, asking me why we couldn't leave the hospital. Every time I've tried to tell him he can let go and we'll be okay, he gets angry.

I don't understand why it's okay for me to euthanize my dog when she's miserable, but when my father is miserable and frightened and has nothing to look forward to but lying in a bed being unable to move anything but his right hand, I can't do anything for him but drug him. There's something really fucked up about that.

I love you, Dad. I wish I could stop all of this.