My dad died a year ago, June 6th 2013.
In many ways, his death was a great accomplishment. While dad's life had been filled with unwise decisions, bad luck, even worse health, many missed opportunities and lots of regrets, his death, when it finally came, was a time when I truly saw my father in the best light. His sense of humor and dignity were present at the end until he quietly slipped away from us that morning, surrounded by the smell of coffee and blue, early morning light. For all of our fears about what the end would be like for him, he left at a beautiful and totally mundane moment. I really think he would be proud of that.
I dreamt of him last night, one of those fleeting, fuzzy, inconsequential dreams. An amorphous shape in a bland conversation. It was an hour or so after waking before I realized that shape was my dad. This dream felt like a copy of a copy, a poor imitation or faded reminder that yes, today is a day that I will think of my father. This day has meaning.
It was different from the dream I had last September, three months after dad had been gone. Instead of a fuzzy photograph, that dream-dad was in full surround-sound and HD (just the way he'd like it), and the power of it has stuck with me since. In the dream we were surrounded by many people and noise, a party of some kind. His face, much younger than I knew him except in photographs, was clear and mischievous, full of excitement as he was on the verge of some great adventure. He was being pulled away by unseen opportunists, but kept escaping to come back, look at me and say, through a huge smile and goofy giggles, "I have to go!, I have to go!".
I knew I wouldn't see him again. There would be no lingering for my dad; he has mysteries of the universe to solve and much to see and do with his new found freedom.
On July 17th, 2013 I got a phone call from my dad. Over a month after his death, and two weeks after his memorial service, my mom had left a voice message, not hanging up all the way. I heard her fumbling with the phone for a bit and I don't know what made me listen to the long moments of silence at the end of the call. But there, right before the end, in a clear, sing-song, totally silly yet unmistakable voice was my dad saying my name. "Eeeellliiiiii" Yes it was in the drawn out and dreamy tone of those creepy, ghost-children from the horror films, but that was my dad! He always said my name like that, because well, we loved those creepy, ghost-children from horror films!
What makes that last message, so carefully saved in voicemail, even more amazing is that just a few weeks before, I needed to replace my old cell phone, not fully realizing that by doing so, I'd be losing all the voicemails that I had saved from my dad: the birthday songs, the silly jokes he would leave, the "Elrod's" and "This is your father"s. His voice was gone forever and I had been devastated - until July 17th, when he left me his last voice recording on my new phone. (Thanks, Dad!)
Looking back on the year without my dad, and the pain of the first few months without him, I realize how naive I was then. I thought that after his death, and the memorial, the pain would subside. When he died, I mourned the loss of the physical him, the "him" that was no more. At the memorial, looking at the old pictures and talking with people who knew him, I mourned the collective nostalgia of "him". But those pictures and stories were already in the past, freeze-dried, stuck in time.
The real pain begins when you begin to create new memories without that person in your life. The present moments without My Dad "him" are the hardest.
I often wonder where my dad's soul has gone and what he is up to. I imagine him with an Indiana Jones type hat, exploring every nook and cranny of the universe, discovering the meaning to many great things, and never looking back. I know he is doing it very, very well. And I'm really proud of him.
(By the way, Dad, Godzilla was B-Movie fabulous!)
In many ways, his death was a great accomplishment. While dad's life had been filled with unwise decisions, bad luck, even worse health, many missed opportunities and lots of regrets, his death, when it finally came, was a time when I truly saw my father in the best light. His sense of humor and dignity were present at the end until he quietly slipped away from us that morning, surrounded by the smell of coffee and blue, early morning light. For all of our fears about what the end would be like for him, he left at a beautiful and totally mundane moment. I really think he would be proud of that.
I dreamt of him last night, one of those fleeting, fuzzy, inconsequential dreams. An amorphous shape in a bland conversation. It was an hour or so after waking before I realized that shape was my dad. This dream felt like a copy of a copy, a poor imitation or faded reminder that yes, today is a day that I will think of my father. This day has meaning.
It was different from the dream I had last September, three months after dad had been gone. Instead of a fuzzy photograph, that dream-dad was in full surround-sound and HD (just the way he'd like it), and the power of it has stuck with me since. In the dream we were surrounded by many people and noise, a party of some kind. His face, much younger than I knew him except in photographs, was clear and mischievous, full of excitement as he was on the verge of some great adventure. He was being pulled away by unseen opportunists, but kept escaping to come back, look at me and say, through a huge smile and goofy giggles, "I have to go!, I have to go!".
I knew I wouldn't see him again. There would be no lingering for my dad; he has mysteries of the universe to solve and much to see and do with his new found freedom.
On July 17th, 2013 I got a phone call from my dad. Over a month after his death, and two weeks after his memorial service, my mom had left a voice message, not hanging up all the way. I heard her fumbling with the phone for a bit and I don't know what made me listen to the long moments of silence at the end of the call. But there, right before the end, in a clear, sing-song, totally silly yet unmistakable voice was my dad saying my name. "Eeeellliiiiii" Yes it was in the drawn out and dreamy tone of those creepy, ghost-children from the horror films, but that was my dad! He always said my name like that, because well, we loved those creepy, ghost-children from horror films!
What makes that last message, so carefully saved in voicemail, even more amazing is that just a few weeks before, I needed to replace my old cell phone, not fully realizing that by doing so, I'd be losing all the voicemails that I had saved from my dad: the birthday songs, the silly jokes he would leave, the "Elrod's" and "This is your father"s. His voice was gone forever and I had been devastated - until July 17th, when he left me his last voice recording on my new phone. (Thanks, Dad!)
Looking back on the year without my dad, and the pain of the first few months without him, I realize how naive I was then. I thought that after his death, and the memorial, the pain would subside. When he died, I mourned the loss of the physical him, the "him" that was no more. At the memorial, looking at the old pictures and talking with people who knew him, I mourned the collective nostalgia of "him". But those pictures and stories were already in the past, freeze-dried, stuck in time.
The real pain begins when you begin to create new memories without that person in your life. The present moments without My Dad "him" are the hardest.
- A birthday without his phone call and his signature missing from the birthday card.
- The "Walking with Dinosaurs" event I can't invite him to.
- The new Godzilla movie. Another one!
- And oh, how we need to discuss the new Star Wars fiming!
- By the way, I got tenure, too, Dad. One of us got to be a professor - cool, huh?
I often wonder where my dad's soul has gone and what he is up to. I imagine him with an Indiana Jones type hat, exploring every nook and cranny of the universe, discovering the meaning to many great things, and never looking back. I know he is doing it very, very well. And I'm really proud of him.
(By the way, Dad, Godzilla was B-Movie fabulous!)
Dad, with the nieces and nephew, getting yet another Star Wars fix.
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