Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Hate to turn up out of the blue

I have fallen in love with Adele. Love love love. She's only put out 2 albums. But the 2nd one especially is on repeat in my car. And this song came on tonight, Someone Like You.

The chorus says
I hate to show up
out of the blue
but I couldn't stay away
I couldn't fight it
I had hoped you'd see my face
and that you'd be reminded
that for me
it isn't over.

And that last bit just got me. I can make it about a week before I really miss my Dad. But I can spend time with friends and family and not show it. I can laugh and even meet a guy, and not show it. I can go to church and worship and not show it. I can work diligently for days and not show it.

But for me. It isn't over.

All I could imagine as I drove home with this song on repeat was who's house would I "turn up out of the blue, uninvited" at? I only have a couple of close friends right here in town, and it was late enough that I wouldn't have wanted to bother them. Plus I make excuses on their behalf why I would be a bother.

I wonder if they'd be surprised. If it startles anyone else that for me, it isn't over.

I don't want to wear Daddy's spring jacket.
I don't want to have his pajama pants in my dresser.
I don't want a box of his jeans in my trunk waiting to be turned into a quilt.
I don't want picture frames on my table waiting to be filled for Father's Day.
I don't want to go pick out a headstone and all the details that will go along with that.

I don't want to wonder if people think it's odd that sometimes I talk about him in the present tense. Because the sentence makes sense that way and it actually would sound weirdER if I tried to fix it. I don't want to reference half of my life around After Dad Got Sick, While Dad Was Sick, After Dad Died. (and saying he "passed" somehow sounds too easy, too simple, too not-painful) I don't want to have a 2 monthish haze where I remember pieces and I can't get the vast majority of them into any coherent or chronological order.

And I don't want to forget. That he would have taken care of the yard for Mom. That he would have made sure my sister's dead tree got taken down. That he would have called with a computer question and then hung up without actually saying good bye. And when he called he would say "this is your dad." And how he smiled. Somehow in my memories I don't see my Dad as a really smiley person, but when I gathered my pictures together to make a screensaver and desktop shuffle of him, he is smiling in every single one. A truly happy, content in his life smile.

But there are things I do wish I could forget. Seeing him shuffle around, so uncomfortable, that last day. Helping the hospice nurse shift him around to get him more comfortable. Seeing his swollen ankles in sandals that barely fit so that we could get up to UW to hear what they had to say. How cold his hands were afterwards. The small and medium irritations of family that on a good day roll off your back ..... but not so much then. Having a too vivid imagination and seeing him in that casket in the grave. I've told a couple of people recently, "Now I understand why people want to lay down on top of graves."

A part of me knows this intensity will slowly fade. That the good things and the best moments will always be remembered. That it's ok to cry at random song lyrics about love lost. That it's ok to take the space I need to keep breathing. That for most of what goes on in my head and most of the choices I make, I answer to no one but God and myself; if that hurts you, then right now, that's too dam bad.

But still I wonder. If I showed up at your house
out of the blue
would you see my face
and be reminded?
That for me It isn't over?

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