seeing as how dad’s death will be two months old tomorrow, it seems a fitting time to close this series. i didn’t intend for a series to be produced in the first place; memories and stories and musings kept popping up, and it felt only natural to write about them. i don’t know too many people who’ve witnessed firsthand the death of a close loved one, and as odd and perhaps cruel as it sounds, i felt compelled to expose the rawness and discomfort of such an event. but after discomfort, just like after any storm, there is calm.
but this stillness is not to be misconstrued as a loss of fuel on the subject—in fact, i was just reflecting on dad’s last day this morning on my walk with shaun the dog™. rather, my healing is in a moderate state right now, and i imagine this to be my plateau, my calm, if you will. aside from forgetting dad completely, which would never happen, my emotions have leveled off. i won’t get answers nor have the ability to say anything further to him. dad’s presence isn’t haunting my dreams anymore, and the images i have in my head of his final breath have subdued.
mom is living her life. she’s pretty much buttoned up all the administrative tasks that are attached to losing a significant other. though she has yet to start discarding dad’s old clothes and the mountains of junk he’s accumulated over the years, she’s maintaining the house and the yard as best as she can. she goes to work every day. she’s spending more time with her sisters. emotionally, she is recovering and moving on. she even told me a month ago she was leaving her old life and beginning anew, which, from the sounds of it, involves frequent travel, more than she’s done in the past. she even initiated a recent shopping trip with sissy, an act unheard of before. i’m happy for her. i’m proud of her.
and while mom was off doing responsible things and getting her life in order, me, sissy, and naz did a bit of acting out. we call it self-expression, others may call it reckless disregard for your body. we all got tattoos, and sissy upped the ante by getting her lip pierced. at first, it seemed out of character for me to get a tattoo this late in the game. but at the same time, i’ve been wanting new ink since my first (and only) tattoo i had done when i was 21.
i waited a dozen years to discover art that clearly represented who i am, at this stage in my life. for me, it’s mandatory that the tattoo have meaning before the ink is permanently imprinted into my skin. and when naz showed me an illustration by artist james jean out of L.A., i knew it embodied all the surrealism and bewilderment and the inevitable journey i would pursue since dad left us.
i am that girl; i’d rather not grow up. her maze is my life; truly, a maze is everyone’s life.
mom obviously would never encourage us to go out and get artwork done on our bodies. but she also knows it doesn’t impact who we are as people and wouldn’t disown us for it. she said she never really knew how dad felt about us getting tattoos and piercings. i personally don’t think he’d mind, especially given what my tattoo actually symbolizes. besides, what rules did we have to live by? dad certainly didn’t live life by anyone’s rules but his own.
so dad, my tattoo, my self-expression, my living like i’m always on vacation, my coloring outside of life’s lines—it’s all for you. RIP.
19 August 2010 [2]
years ago, when dad and his older brother jim were younger, they attempted to summon communication with spirits using the ouija board. good ol’ parker brothers’ infamous talking board captivated them long before my cousins and i got a hold of one in the basement and later heard creepy noises. perhaps hearing of dad’s tale incited my own curiosity, or perhaps experimenting with the occult by way of an innocuous game board is simply something teenagers do when they’re too young to date and are bored with trips to the mall.
when my cousins or high school friends and i interrogated the board, we asked it for that week’s lottery numbers or who we were destined to marry. (andrew wade, i’m no longer looking for you. kthxbai.) but dad and jim delved a little further, into territory i wasn’t completely comfortable with.
jim asked how he was going to die. motorcycle accident.
dad asked when he was going to die. 2008.
dad also asked it whom he was going to marry. J-U-A… he removed his hands from the planchette before it could finish. what woman’s name starts with J-U-A, he wondered. for the record, my mother’s name is juanita.
i’m sure they pursued answers to additional eerie questions, but those are the only ones dad ever mentioned. also, i must note that i’m paraphrasing the questions and answers; i don’t know for sure the exact phrasing of either. just know that the board predicted some uncanny accuracies, leaving quite an impression on dad.
jim dying in a motorcycle accident was true enough, and you can imagine how the family was sent into a tailspin. this was particularly true for dad given the above outcome of some teenage séances, episodes i’m certain his parents knew nothing about at the time. but i’ll reserve commentary on the matter. i wasn’t alive; truths have been blurred into fiction (and vice versa); and no one will ever know what happened because the two individuals who would know best are no longer with us.
as for dad dying in the year 2008, on the physical level, this is certainly incorrect. dad’s death is not quite two months old, but we’re still firmly planted in the year 2010. perhaps, though, we are left to interpret the beginning stages of death as seen through the eyes of the affected. after all, dad was diagnosed with cancer in late 2008, and a part of me always thought dad essentially died with the delivery of that news. i’m not insinuating he didn’t fight; i’m not implying he gave up. what i am suggesting, however, is a tinge of defeat probably grabbed a hold of his psyche and never left.
not having battled cancer myself, i am only left to wonder what he truly felt inside. how does one whole-heartedly fight the good fight? how does one avoid letting fate take the reigns; how can you stay in control of your health, your livelihood, your destiny? how does one even get up in the morning knowing your days are numbered?
there were days when i thought dad could be stronger. but truthfully, it played out as best as it could. he lived for almost two years with stage four throat cancer, a feat in and of itself, let alone for someone who didn’t value good health when he had it. we rode the highs of some hopeful moments throughout various treatments and operations, until the end when we knew he was just plain exhausted. and all he wanted was to see his dad and jim again.
during those ouija board exploits, dad and jim spoke of the after life and what they anticipated when their respective times would come. one of the pacts they maintained was the attempt for whoever died first to visit the other who remained alive. since jim was the first to go, dad waited for a sign from beyond, but to my knowledge, never received any. maybe jim’s failure to show in supernatural form, be it as an apparition or otherwise, was the idea that clung to dad since 2008 when he was given his diagnosis. the remainder of his time was spent lying in wait—he merely went through the motions of a living person when in truth his spirit had already joined his brother nearly two years prior.
09 August 2010
i fear that the original emotion i had tied to this entry has lost potency as time passed. and without putting myself back in that frame of mind, without undoing some of the healing process, i still crave written documentation on the matter.
dad’s physical presence ceases to exist. his body, the mere vehicle for something transcendent, is literally gone. it’s that simple.
not too long before dad fell into his poorest health, he confirmed with father bill that cremation was a perfectly legitimate burial rite in the eyes of the catholic church. it used to not be, but catholicism is reforming its ways in some aspects. other than financial, i’m not sure what his or mom’s reasons are for requesting cremation, but i know it’s something that i’ve wanted for myself as well. my affinity for the ocean lends itself to having at least a portion of my remains spread across the waves. for memorial purposes, though, having a headstone shared with my one and only will still be in order.
but these ashes, and pardon the slight gruesomeness, mixed with bits of bone; the body that is no more. without question, the whole concept is quite peculiar and unreal.
the funeral home hands over a black plastic box with a bag of dust inside. depending on your tastes and monetary preference, a more ornate encasement can be requested. the family of the deceased can even order lockets and other adornments filled with some of the ashes. to all of us, this idea bordered on creepy and was quickly dismissed. the standard-issue box would suffice since it would be nestled in the ground anyway. we did reserve some of his remains to spread over skamperville. a close buddy of his had designated a few spots for dad, and we knew he wanted it that way. skamperville was his vacation home of sorts; he could now follow in my footsteps and live like he was always on vacation.
but really, think about this. a plastic box. a bag of ashes. i truly did not have a dad anymore. nothing solidified this fact more than that damn box. naz reminded me, though, that i will always have a dad. his body was not of importance. his physical being had grown weary and sick, and it simply could not handle the rigors of the cancer and the subsequent treatments. he had withered down to a paltry 130 or so pounds; his body wasn’t really his own anymore. and despite his body expiring, it wouldn’t erase his memory or the lessons he instilled or the laughter he invoked.
naz is right. cremation can’t take away what i know of my father. in my mind, he’s still just out gassing up the truck and grabbing a pack of smokes anyway.
02 August 2010
