Dad, I can still hear your voice, the sounds of your presence. I still feel like I can JUST walk over to the cave, poke my head out, and see you sleeping, or watching tv, or doing something on your phone. I still expect the random notification on my phone to be you sending along another meme or “funny of the day” or whatever via FB messenger, and I still expect those texts from you either needing me or trying to give mom a break but not realizing I’m not even home at the moment.
It still feels weird to take Daisey out the front door in the mornings instead of how I always took her through the garage from the cave. To realize it’s been over 4 months since I set foot on that treadmill–first cuz of whatever benign “craziness” of Thanksgiving into early December and then all that stuff mid-month and toward Christmas, and now I can’t bring myself to use it without you there in the cave for me to check on and keep an ear out for.
It’s really weird that that van is no longer in the driveway, and to my knowledge, never will be again. I never had much attachment to it, but you were so proud of that thing and loved that ramp, and allllll that, even with my complaints about you buying it sight-unseen and all that, even after doing the same with the previous one. But all those times these last couple years of looking out the front window and seeing it sitting there from you and Mom just pulling in, and seeing what I’d see of “the usual routine” for getting you back into the house.
It’s such a weird/bittersweet/something feeling to handle that bag of Shrimp earlier this afternoon, recalling/knowing it’s been there from you getting it that day you and Mom went to Giant Eagle. It’s there because YOU got it, because YOU wanted it, because you wanted to get something for us both instead of just me happening to pick something up and ‘sharing’ it.
Seeing Daisey lay on Mom…she often seems quite content, and normal (for her); does the same thing with perking her head up and whacking her with that tail when I walk in and start talking to her, winding her up. But it’s not the same as it was with you.
There’s this huge freaking hole in life where you’re supposed to be. Where we expected you to be, yet.
46 hours and some minutes left of 2021. I’d already COUNTED us being together into 2022 and beyond. It was just a “given.” “Remission,” you had such a great day for your birthday; and the first THanksgiving in so many years where you felt really good.
We were talking about getting Amy and Steve up for a visit…y’all have heard plenty about one another but never been in the same space in person. All that dumb furniture and such on the patio…despite Mom and my resisting, we should be preparing for gatherings at your behest. The ROMEO club, just having people over. Amanda and Anthony bringing Tanner over.
You were talking increasingly of trying to do some traveling, and while it would’ve been inconvenient, it was on the agenda, it was something we were looking to make happen.
Maybe we didn’t “hang out” “all the time” or spend a LOT of time together, actively-interacting…but it was always such a special thing, such an important thing, these last few years–that we were in the same house.
We didn’t HAVE TO be talking/etc. We were simply together. I’d do my thing, Mom hers, you yours, the pets theirs, and we’d come together and cross paths and such, but we were never falling over each other or crowding one another (except Daisey shoving your legs off the chair while you slept).
Like that song says, “I know the road you walked was anything but easy / You picked up your share of scars along the way / Oh, but now you’re standing in the sun, you’ve fought your fight and your race is run / The pain is all a million miles away…” Life was never “easy” for you. And I know that affected so much of stuff in these recent years. I know I took for granted these last several years my own capabilities. It was always easier to not think much about your recent limitations. You were still YOU! We were still together. And the routine stuff that I couldn’t have even picgtured 4 1/2 years ago just WAS.
And I know that where you are, this is all moot. You’re past it all. YOU fought your fight. YOUR race is run. ANd right now, it’s all great for you, you’re who and what and how you should be, your pain is a million miles away.
It’s those of us left behind, missing your active, tangible prsence, that grieve. For what’s been lost. For what I wasn’t ready for. To not be able to literally just walk into the other room and be with you, see your smile, hear your words.
You’ve always been there. No matter what I thought, no matter what I felt, no matter what problems I had, you were there. No matter the other losses and huge changes, you were there.
And now you’re not.
And you’re exactly who I wish I could just sit and BE with to process.
So I sit and type in tears at this stupid computer, to post to some stupid blog and put myself/this/us/whatever out there, cuz what ELSE can I do?
I miss you, I still need you, and even if the rest of this whole stupid world continues on, mine is not what it was, what I want, and is just missing you.