Fabric

Going through this process, or whatever part of the process it is that I am going through now, has been interesting. Thank the fates I have the family that I have. Getting through this would have been damn near impossible.

I don’t know how Mom did what she did. Twice a day, every day, to the hospital. I didn’t go anything like that often and it was exhausting. I almost feel human today. It’s still hard and emotionally draining, but nothing like the roller coaster of ‘he’s good this morning, he’s bad this afternoon or he’s having a rational conversation or he’s moaning in pain.’ Like I said, I don’t know how Mom did it.
Been texting with youngest sister about a couple of funeral details and talking about that. I’m old enough to see my parents as people, at least somewhat. I still admire them. I’ve known them for more than fifty years. Not from a neutral viewpoint, to be sure, but for a damn long time. The more I see of them and know of their lives, so different from my own, the more I admire them.

It has been nice texting my sisters, talking to Mom every day. Knowing that my family is going through the same thing I am. Everyone from their own viewpoint, comparing thoughts and experiences. I’ve read that that is how bonds between people are made, shared experiences.

It’s weird to go through this. The fabric of this family has been torn mightily, but going through it together as a family is knitting the fabric anew. The fabric will never be the same. It’s going to be a whole different shape. But it’s still there.

Bereft

Dad died tonight around 5 pm.

In some ways it’s a relief. He’d been suffering for what seems like ages. He asked us several times, “What did I do to deserve this?” ‘Nothing’ was our answer. There is no way on earth that he deserved what he got. He talked to me several times about what he needed to do to escape the hospital. I knew the only way he was going to get out, but couldn’t tell him. But life isn’t fair and things happen the way they happen. Would that people got what they deserved. That would please me.

Mom was there with him, holding his hand to the very end. I don’t think he knew it, but she sure did. It’s often chance that puts you in the right place at the right time. I thank chance that she was there. Maybe he did know that he was not alone. I so hope so. But whether or not he knew, I know, my sisters know, and Mom knows. He was never alone.

Now we have to find a way to honor his life. It won’t be easy. I know that I don’t have the words to say what he has meant to me all my life. And how much I’m going to miss him.