I'm tired of being nice. Six hours in a sauna (no air conditioning) is not for me. Plus, I'd really rather go back to bed and rest my brain. Something else has happened with the family bunch. Mom was going to email me but she hasn't. I could phone but sometimes this period of time of not knowing is kind of nice, to be enjoyed a few hours longer. Anyway, I'm usually the last to know. Living so far out of the city bites. I doubt I will ever like this town or this house. The renovations are stalled, not one room is actually done. We still have half a kitchen, no sink yet. I tried meeting men online but it's so worthless. I can't accept that there is not one guy out there (at least) who is just fricking normal and wants someone else in his life. Being alone is not great all the time. So far every guy is some type of dickhead. It would be a nice change to meet a guy who can think with the brain above his waist. Or maybe I just need to stop thinking or caring. I need a vacation from everything. Could I win one somehow? I've run out of things I'm willing to sell or return. I have to phone my Mom now. I'm worried that someone else has died now.

Toodle loo!

Things are over with Eric. As always, nice girls finish last.

I don't exactly miss him but I do feel sad that his life ended, his time ran out. But, I also feel a little angry that he let it happen. Not that he could have done much differently at the end, when it was already too late. But, he could have done something far earlier about his heart. You don't get 80% blockage over night. He also had diabetes yet still ate pretty much the same sugar and grease as always. He made his choices. He didn't get the doctors to really check his heart until he was having chest pains every day. Anyway, it doesn't really matter any more. You can whine about spilled milk but it won't put Humpty Dumpty back together.

It's strange to know he is dead but not feel it. Also, last night, I had creepy feelings that I would see him (as he looked in the hospital) in the hall at the house. Standing there looking dead. Silly, but that's what happens to you when you are alone in the house of renovations and have far too much imagination.

As far as I know the only one of us to get any memorable last words from him was my brother. Dad told him not to feel bad about all the lifting and such he had done. Maybe even Dad was able to look outside himself enough to see that Graham would be thinking about that, feeling guilty and wondering if he could have done things differently. Not that he could. Dad liked to be the martyr, poor me. He would tell other people all about how he had to do it all himself. Never mentioning that he never asked for help, let anyone know he was doing anything that he could use help with. He'd only announce that he needed help when he was done and then he would only tell us to blame us for not being there.

Anyway, no memorable last words for me. Unless you count the usual stuff about how useless I am, how ugly I am and how I will never do well. Ne'er do well. That could be engraved on my tombstone. It feels like my middle name by now. So, that stuff can't count as last words since it became pretty much standard, a given each time he was around me.

I used to wonder if there was some kind of final judgement. I think for each person who believes in each god and religion you do have the kind of final wind up that you are expecting. Not even cause it's real just cause you play it out for yourself. Maybe even before you are fully dead. Of course no one will ever prove that theory. Anyway, I used to wonder if for Dad's final judgement someone would show him how all his words affected his family. Me in particular of course, but not only me. I wondered if he would regret his words and his actions. I'd like to think that he would if he ever could finally understand how difficult he made things for each of us. How hard it was to be his daughter.

Not that I want to sound like a whiner or speak ill of the dead. But, he was my Dad, not yours. So you can't sit in judgement of me cause you don't know. I do seem to feel the need to please more than I would like. But, I find that when I break from that other people act like I am horribly nasty. It's as if nice people have to be door mats and let the world run over them. But I think you can be nice and not be stupid or a door mat either. Being nice is not the same as being simple or stupid.

It's now 4:07 AM. Not a lot of sleeping lately, one way or another. I'm at my sisters house tonight, sleeping on the couch with a view of the street. I like the view, the lights and the darkness. It's peaceful and relaxing at night when there is no traffic. Just the the birds, soon. They aren't even awake yet but they will be soon.

Zack accidentally bent the frames of my glasses, twice yesterday evening. So aggravating to feel like I'm looking out of fishbowl now. I hope to find some place open to fix them today. But, it's a holiday here so likely I will have to stick with them as is till Tuesday. I hear young Zack up now. Too early but he is a kid. I used to be an extra early riser too. I guess I still am but now I'm old enough to put myself back to bed.

Comments

elementalmuse

Sorrow and loss always leaves me speechless. I want to give you a hug and tell you I care.

anonymous - Small Nagging Voice

I can hear the pain, hurt and anger in your recent posts. "So you can't sit in judgment of me cause you don't know."

I don't think your response is inappropriate from what I have heard. It is inappropriate for your extended family to interfere with your unique grieving process. You ARE grieving the loss of your father. It is just different for you. He left you when you lost respect for him, long before his attack. He died slowly with every nasty comment. The sadness for you is that he didn't come back to you before he died. He now has no ability to be the dad you wanted desperately for him to be.

Sadly, you carry a small version of his voice in the back of your head and it is likely that every time you falter in something, you will hear this nasty voice.

With faith and hope, this voice will slowly fade.

Tim R, author of The PBGs Path ( http://pbgs.blogspot.com email: Terminalman90{at}gmail{dot}com)

me

That was really insightful. I have been thinking of that over and over these past days. Told my Mom about it too. I'm so glad you posted. Let me stop feeling bad for not feeling what I thought was 'right'. I went to his memorial service and heard people who knew him through the Lions club, business, golf buddies, etc talk about what a great guy he was. Someone called him a teddy bear. Another said how he never got angry and was always fair, listened, etc. He was never those things with or for me. But I don't feel angry anymore. Just kind of sad that he missed out on being a better part of my life and me with him. His choice as he was the adult when I was just a kid. Later it was just too late, too much water under that bridge and he just never seemed to want anything different. My Mom said there were times when he regretted how things were and he tried to talk to me. But I expect they were too few and far between. How can any daughter know that was a day he wanted to change when it seemed just like any of the other days before and after. I think people have to know what they want to change before they can hope for any success at it. I don't think he knew. He always made me feel I was the one at fault, never good enough. If we didn't get along I was too sensitive. If he was mad it was somehow my fault, etc. You can't break a pattern you've put so much time into building in just one minute here and there.

My dad isn't officially signed off yet. But, he is dead. He was dead before I left for Ottawa, I think. I told Eric that I thought he would live but I think I was indulging in a bit of denial. When I saw him I felt nothing. He had a face but he wasn't there.

Today (sometime) they may take his body off life support. They put tape over his eyes so he would look less like a corpse when we saw him last night. I thought it was nice that they keep him shaved. What an icky job, shaving the faces of the dead. Sounds like a horror movie title.

I don't know why people feel the need to visit dead people. Do they think the conversation will be good? Do they wonder what dead people look like? I, myself, had no curiousity about any of it. Peer and family pressure and now I have seen a corpse. I did not touch it, however. It stinks.

It's amazing how much of a funeral and related service are about pleasing other people. It's really annoying me immensely that my Mother is thinking about what will please other people when it isn't their dad/ husband that is dead. Let them rot. Last night she started discussing what I would wear. I will wear whatever I feel like wearing. If I want to I'll wear flaming red. Go to hell if you don't like it.

Anyway, they are all kind of annoyed with me. I'm not being the proper deadside daughter. I think I should take out my brain and just give it to them. No one really likes when you have a mind of your own.

You might think things would be better once he is officially dead. But, no. I can see it will just get uglier. Our own brand of Survivor.

My Dad is quite likely going to die soon, any day now. Don't worry about sending sympathy, condolences or anything of that sort. You don't know him. For me it's a lot more personal.

People think the dying become almost holy. As if, while dying, they change and become a better person all of a sudden. You can't talk badly about them, you must visit them and you should really, really hold their hand.

Well, my Dad was not a nice, happy, friendly Dad. His dying hasn't changed that. I don't want to hold his hand. I don't want to go in and see him now that he is becoming a pile of meat rather than a human being. Sure, I can stick my hand inside a turkey each Thanksgiving and pull out the little bag of goodies. That doesn't mean I want to do the same sort of ghoulish thing with my Dad. So, I am visiting him (second time will be today after work) but I am not going to touch him.

What do you believe about death? That gets tested each time someone close to us (physically or emotionally) dies. I still believe in reincarnation. I still believe the body becomes about as useful as roadkill once the person inside is gone. I still think the best body disposal method is compost in the family garden rather than taking up space in a graveyard plot. I'd much rather have my remains sucked up by worms and trees than rotting away in an expensive box.

Am I grossing you out? Am I being too blunt? Do you not want to think about death in such a practical way? Too bad. Death is part of life. There is no getting away from it. Death is always there, waiting at the end. That, I very strongly believe.

I'm not afraid of death. I'm just in no hurry to get there. I'd miss too many things. Every ordinary day, new inventions and ideas, seeing the tulips each Spring and so on.

Anyway, my Dad wants to be cremated. It looks like he will soon have his wish. I don't think I will miss him. But I'm doing my best to be a good daughter now, in these last days. Not for him, not for myself especially, but for my brother and sisters who seem to expect something grand and dramatic and perfect. As if now that he is about to kick off forever we should honour him for the things he did right.