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 checkhis 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 proove 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.