I wrote the following the day after I lost my Dad on 17 November 2011. The sentimental meanderings still have impact and the pain regarding this life event have subsided to a dull yet persistent ache.
"I lost my Dad to cancer yesterday. As I find the words to compose this, I'm thinking about the stuff he left behind. Small and seemingly inconspicuous things like his shoes and clothes will be difficult to part with. He liked sweets and seeing that open package of coffee milk biscuits on top of his dresser is a stark reminder that he was taken so suddenly from us. I could almost smell his presence as I gaze at the closet full of clothes that he neatly kept for the past nine years. It's painful to look at the room he once inhabited without him in it. The boxes of documents he labeled with his handwriting is painful to look at as well because I will never see his penmanship again apart from what has already been written.
I was, unfortunately, not by his bedside when he toughed it out towards the bitter end. My sister reported him struggling to maintain wakefulness despite his semi-comatose condition. His body was failing fast and my flight to New Orleans could not arrive any sooner. I'd have probably booked an even earlier flight but there was no way of knowing that his eventual demise would come unexpectedly in the early evening of Wednesday. My flight arrived the morning of the following Thursday. I deboarded the plane and walked towards the baggage claim area in a languid and almost aimless manner. I was slowed by the mental anguish of knowing that my father had just departed hours earlier.
The red eye flight was restful compared to other red eye flights in the past. I was drowning in sorrow, dread ....and regret. Regret that I took him for granted in the last decade of his life. Regret that I never took his declining health seriously enough, and as a result, regret that I never made a serious effort to talk to him. Even up to the very last time that I was alone with him in the car, waiting for my mother to finish her Wal-Mart shopping, I played the usual role of compliant and non-talkative son. He was even inquisitive about my life in Seattle. It was, as I can determine in hindsight, a frank conversation that I could have taken advantage of. I could have at least voiced my feelings about his current condition and tell him of my concerns. Now all of that is rather moot.
His familiar mannerisms will be missed. His quirky habits will be missed. Even the strange yet practical gifts he gave every Christmas will be missed. The normalcy that he brought to our family life will be sorely missed. In the waning years he naturally exerted progressively less of an influence in our lives as we marched on into middle age. He didn't waver, however, in his concern for financial matters and kept us on our toes so to speak."
It has been a month now since his death. I've struggled everyday since to keep the pain alive and to keep the memories close. I had virtually forgotten him during the last few years that he was alive. Living 2500 miles away tends to have that effect. In stark contrast now, there's not a day that goes by when I don't think of him. I'm still processing this in and expect more heartache to follow. This will be a sad Christmas.
