To my Father

Hey Dad!

Been thinking about you a lot today, so I figured I'd write to you and let you know how my day is going.  I had to get up early (for me, anyway) and drive to Pawhuska today.  I was nervous, because I had to appear before a judge and possibly testify.  I remember you telling me about testifying when you had that car accident back in the mid-nineties.  Didn't you get t-boned by a Jenks driving instructor?  I remember it being ridiculous on some level.  Anyway, this wasn't for any kind of accident; it was to settle your estate.  Still, it was a courtroom and I'd never been in one before.

I accidentally turned my alarm off this morning, but ended up being okay; I woke up three minutes after my 'final snooze' deadline all on my own.  Thanks for that.  I had set out a nice shirt, one of your ties, and a jacket to wear.  I understand you're supposed to dress up for court.  I grabbed your tie bar, too; the one with the embossed 'M' on it.  I felt it would be a subtle yet sharp way to let the world know I am your son.  I left the house a little before 8:30 and hit the road.

They've opened the Quicktrip at Highway 75 and Highway 20.  I know how often you made this drive, and know that you would've appreciated having it out here.  I stopped and got coffee.  When I arrived in Pawhuska, I noted the new Mcdonald's was open, too.  You had always complained about the lack of food options in P-town, and I'm sorry you weren't there to take advantage of it.  No matter; I wasn't hungry.  Before long I found myself sitting with my lawyer, going over last minute details and possible questions the judge may ask me.  I remember remarking fondly about the fact that he used a lot of Big Chief tablets to take notes, however it now wore on me, as he wasn't well organized.  I helped him with some math to take care of our final creditors and we went to the courthouse on time.

At the Osage County Courthouse, if you didn't know, the Probate Court time takes place right after domestic dispute cases, stuff like restraining orders.  I sat in the courtroom and listened to a few cases before it was my turn and tried to avoid eye contact.  I felt like I'd tapped into personal phone conversations, and emotions were high.  Before I knew it, it was time for our case.  My palms were sweaty but I walked tall to the front and sat in front of the judge.  He and my lawyer (a former judge himself) had a friendly banter regarding the required information, the judge asked me if everything was in order, and signed off.  Way easier than I expected, and I was relieved.

As I walked out of the court house, the sun came out for a little bit.  Thanks for that, too.  It's been a rough 24 hours as I prepared to lay this last task to rest before moving on in earnest.  I still hear your laugh and still look at my phone, hoping you will call me, though I know that time is now long past.  It's been three months since my world changed, but I'm managing okay.  I have a lot of friends and family that have helped me.  I also have you to talk to, anytime, and for that I am thankful.

Miss you, Dad.  Love you.  I've enclosed a picture of myself and the Mustang; I want you to know I'm taking extra special care of it for you.

Eve

Tomorrow morning, I drive to Pawhuska and appear before a judge.  Dad's estate gets finalized, and the legal side of my father's passing will be completed.  All his bills will be paid, and I will be free to move on from the paperwork, signatures, haggling with creditors, and stresses of fairly splitting what's left between me and my brother.

I got the oil changed in the Mustang last week.  One of the guys at Jiffy Lube asked some questions about the car's history and I mentioned that I wasn't sure, as it belonged to my father and he passed in January.  The guy said, "Oh, that just happened.  I'm sorry to hear that."

What do you mean, it just happened?  Tomorrow marks three months since Dad was found.  It feels like an eternity.  It's like he's been gone for years.  It's something I feel like I've always lived with.  Some mornings I wake up and just sit, not thinking about anything specific except how little I want to interact with the outside world.  I want to run away to some exotic place where I can focus on new experiences and get to know new people so I don't have to dwell on the old familiar aches.

I'm a very empathetic person.  I consider it one of my greatest traits.  In the last three months, I've felt that reservoir deplete and there are times when I don't feel anything for others.  It's not a callous thing; it's like going to take a drink from a glass that is empty.  I don't break down very much any more, but I feel so emotionally lethargic.  I'm dating an awesome girl, and we have great times together, yet there are times I just shut off.  I'm happy when Mom or my brother calls me, but I don't always want to see them, though my heart aches for their company more now that I've been touched by absence.  As I've mentioned before, I feel like I live in a world of contradiction.

At least tomorrow will bring some closure.  I can stop pouring energy into that aspect of the long goodbye and maybe save some of it up again.  Dad's birthday is on May 3rd, Lord knows I'm going to need it then.

Thirty Years

April 7th, 1981.  The Soviet Union was the big scare in the newspapers.  Ronald Reagan was still in the hospital from his assassination attempt. "Rapture" by Blondie was #1 on the radio.  The Tulsa World spoke about a new downtown renovation project for the Brady district.


At 11:45 AM, I was born.  I was only 2 lbs 10 oz and 16 inches long.  Before I entered the world, the doctor told my folks not to even name me due to how early I was, seeing as how I wasn't supposed to be here until early June.  A few hours after I had entered the world at St. Francis Hospital, Dad excused himself from the room and came back a few minutes later, telling Mom that I would be okay; he had a talk with God and had straightened everything out.

I was definitely okay.  When I was six, we moved from Claremore to Broken Arrow, Oklahoma to follow Dad's promotion at work.  I celebrated my seventh birthday at McDonald's among new friends, though my mother tells me I was concerned that they would sing Happy Birthday to me.  For as long as I can remember, I've had this deep dislike for the traditional 'Happy Birthday' song and avoided it at all costs, including skipping a few friend's parties.

When I was ten, we were in Springfield, MO at a Food Show.  In the grocery industry, distributors used to have big annual conventions where companies could showcase their newest products and deals could be negotiated in person between grocery operators and suppliers.  1991 lined up with my birthday and we went out to Hemingway's Restaurant at the Bass Pro Shop.  They sang Happy Birthday to me and I was mortified.  I made my parents promise to never do that to me again, though Dad greatly enjoyed teasing me about it every year thereafter.

When I turned sixteen, Dad sold me my first car, his 1988 Merkur Scorpio, for $1.  I absolutely loved that car and drove it until it became too expensive to fix.  There are dozens places along Highway 75 between Tulsa and Topeka, KS that hold memories of me pulling over for various reasons.  When I finally sold it in 2003, I wept.

Most of my birthdays at home were celebrated with going out to dinner (to a place of my choosing, seems like it was always Goldie's) and a movie.  One year we went to Disney World in Orlando.  Once I left home and lived on my own, I kept up that tradition for the most part, now accompanied by a phone call from my brother and parents, and a card from my grandparents.  When I turned 23, Indi organized a surprise birthday party at Hideway Pizza on Cherry Street with my family and friends.  My 28th birthday coincided with our Farewell Party at the VFW on Peoria, as we would shortly be setting out to travel the world.

Looking back, I've had a really good run so far.  I wouldn't change a thing about myself.  I love my family and my friends very much, and everyone has had a hand in shaping me into the man I am now.  I try not to think about the fact that I'm only going to hear from Mom this year, but as I get closer it gets harder.  It's been a long while since I've had 'family celebrations' for my birthday but there's usually still been dinner involved.  Last year, Dad bought mine even though he couldn't afford it and it went straight on his credit card.  I never in a million years thought it would be our last one together.  That's the way it works, though.

I don't work on Thursday, and I think celebrating with dinner and a movie (even if the movie is at my house) is in order.  I have a party planned this coming Saturday, too.  I'm really looking forward to that.

Debt

Tomorrow is April.  It's my 30th birthday month.  I'm not overly concerned with thirty years; just another year, really.  I am happy at my job.  I love my family.  I have many wonderful friends.  I love the house I live in.  So much has gone my way in the last year, though as anyone is aware I've had a lot to struggle with as well.  It's occurred to me several times that I won't be getting a certain phone call this year.

Today I woke up to a call from the lawyer.  Evidently a collections agency has been blowing up his office with calls to settle Dad's biggest debt.  I took the reigns and called them to get things taken care of.  The last year of Dad's life was spent living on one of his credit cards, as he didn't have much income coming in.  The lady on the other end of the phone expressed her cardboard condolences and we set to haggling.  I was able to talk her down a quarter of the debt owed and took it.  After all, it was all true debt.  Dad paid for our last meal together on that card.  I gave the lady the appropriate information and washed my hands of it.

My second task today was to head to the IRS office over off of Highway 169 to get the particulars on the taxes Dad owed for 2009.  I'd never been there before, and I was surprised at how high security the office was.  Guard kiosks, metal detectors, the whole nine yards.  The whole process there was much easier than I expected, as I walked out with the information I needed in about twenty minutes.  Once again, a stranger offered their half-hearted condolences as I wrapped up.  They didn't know my father.  The don't know me.  I remember being irked that a coworker of Dad's was so callous when I was returning some of his work supplies, days after his passing.  Now it seems I've turned a corner, and strangers offering condolences just make me sigh.

Every day brings the final date of closure a bit closer.  I have held onto the administration duties as a duty to my father's memory and have carried out what needs to be done with respect and patience.  Once it's over, I don't know what's going to happen.  Maybe I'll be just fine.  Maybe I'll try to find something to fill that void of responsibility.  I'll be relieved that it's over.  I'll also wish I had something else I could do for Dad.

When my brother and I get together, he's all we talk about.  The good memories, the stories we've heard a hundred times.  There is plenty of laughter.  I still have other people that ask how I'm doing once in awhile.  I'm doing well most of the time, and certainly I'm doing well at work.  It's not the place for such things.  It's still in the emptiness of home when I am abducted by sorrow.  I miss him so much.  And it sucks that new people in my life will never get a chance to meet him.  

Baby Steps

I've gone to two grief counselor sessions and I think I'm done.

I got out of them what I wanted.  I talked about Dad, I talked about my marriage, and was told I'm healing, moving along at a good pace and that I'm reacting normally.  I'll have good days and bad days, but otherwise I check out okay.  Good.

Thursday my brother and I drove up to Pawhuska to try and get the rest of Dad's stuff stored at my uncle's place.  We sorted through a wall of boxes and retrieved a few errant pieces of furniture and was able to get out of there lacking maybe half a truck full of misc items.  It was a beautiful day and we worked well together.  When we got home, Mom came over and we had one more unpacking/sorting/nostalgia fest before they went home and I went out for St. Patrick's Day.  It was good times with good friends; that kind of environment energizes me and brings me joy, but like anything else the quiet times afterward seem a little more quiet.

Saturday is the start of my work week, having Thurs/Fri off.  Since I don't go in 'til 2, it gives me plenty of time to get up and around, perhaps get a few things done before going into the office.  This morning has seen me spend my time in front of the computer, catching up on the news of my friends, checking weather, and my usual list of websites.  I've had wells of tears in my eyes for no discernible reason.  I occasionally sigh heavily and my lip turns downward, so I grab my cup of coffee and drown whatever unfocused sorrow seems to be weighing on me today.

That's probably the most frustrating thing about grief.  For me, it's rarely, "Oh, Dad gave me this knife when I graduated high school..." and a breakdown occurs.  It's a cloak of sadness and loss that has no specific.  I can't, say, put the knife away and make sure I don't see it all the time.  Most of the time it's nothing in particular, and I have no way of avoiding the mental ghost of my father.  Again, my counselor said that was normal...so that's a good thing I suppose.

After all, yesterday marked two months since I received the phone call.  Two months.  Hard to believe it's only been two months.  I know I'm too hard on myself, but I'm used to being the Strong One.  I don't know what to do on the days I don't even want to try to hide it.

Possession

"Nice car!"

I have lost count of the amount of times someone on the street has looked at Dad's Mustang and make some kind of positive remark about it.  It's six years old but it still turns heads.  I always respond with a thank you and often tag a, "It was my father's" which gets no response.  That's fine.  I don't know why I do it.  It's not like I want strangers to pry into my personal life.  It's not any of their business.  But I thought to myself, what would I say if someone actually asked?

When I looked at the house I live in, the guy showing it to me asked about my moving situation.  I told him that, among other hassles at my old apartment, I needed more space due to some items I'm inheriting from my late father.  He said he was sorry to hear that.  Really, was it necessary for me to mention that my father had just passed away?

There is a trend here.

I have a typed list of people.  Friends, acquaintances, family.  All people that have stepped outside the normal "So sorry to hear about your Dad" and offered their ear or stepped out in some other way to show their support.  I have ways to contact all of them.  But I don't.  Part of me feels like I should be able to maintain now, and not be the hum drum guy.  Part of me also says, "Hey, chump, it hasn't even been two months yet."  It's that battle that grapples with me most of the time.

I was driving home tonight, mostly on autopilot.  The speedometer has some issues, and I made a mental note to get Dad's instrument cluster repaired.  I just had a moment, like a cast had cracked and fallen off of a limb. I realized this isn't Dad's car anymore.  It's my car.  Dad's not going to call and say, "Alright, I need it back now."  Of course I know that.  But part of me doesn't buy it, still.  I don't cry as much as I used to; it's replaced with a feeling like the light bulb burned out suddenly and I can't see to replace it...I just gotta wait for the sunrise.

I have identified this aching need to tell people about my father, and how I'm feeling, and just an overall desire to reach out to people...but I feel paralyzed.  I feel like SUCH a burden and I don't know why.  I have another appointment with my grief counselor next week and I can address that.

Until then, though, I can roll the windows down, blast Deep Purple and Steppenwolf, and remember the face of my father.

Restart

Time is funny.

As I've mentioned before, there are moments when it feels like Dad's been gone a really long time and there are moments where I feel like I just got the phone call.  It's changed a bit.  Instead of fluctuating to where I feel like I just got the news, it's more of a feeling of deep realization that, yeah, he's gone.  I am still working through the legal stuff and that is slowly turning into frustration.  It's not that I don't want to get things accomplished...it's just that I feel like my world stops entirely when I'm dealing with a piece of it.  I still need to get up to Pawhuska and start bringing the rest of his things to Tulsa, too.

Indi and I have settled into a friendship.  It's not weird, though occasionally my heart sighs with what-could-have-beens.  We had such adventures together and that, too, is hard to really digest that it's over.  I've put a lot of thought, consideration, and a bit of action behind entering the dating scene, but it's been difficult.  I am acutely aware that I am still broken and amidst multiple grievings.  The last thing I want is to place someone in the middle of all this, or worse...use them as a crutch or stepping stone.  I wish I could just move on already.  Yeah, I know, it's only been a few months.  Still.  My grief counselor said I was lonely.  Glad that session was free.

I am greatly looking forward to my birthday party next month.  I've been fortunate to have plans on my last few days off, but for some reason it still feels like I don't get out and do anything.  Not sure why that is.  Maybe it's like I wrote earlier, where I'm looking to these friends and events to fill this emptiness, when the only thing that'll fill it is time.