Saturday, October 17, 2009

Above The Clouds

Last week when I flew out of Regina it was rainy and cloudy. Of course, it didn't take more than a few seconds after take-off for Hannah and I to be flying through sunny skies. And when we flew home it was the same, only in reverse. One second we were surrounded by blue skies with a soft cushion of white stretching out endlessly below us, and the next second we were dropping back down into reality. Only, I'm not most of the time. If I seem fine it's because I'm still up there.

I can't believe he's really gone. Such a trite saying for such a complicated state of being. Oh, I know he's gone. I was with him when he left. It's impossible for me to pretend that none of this ever happened. It happened. But somehow, I've got this feeling that it's all a mistake. That somehow there is still a possibility that it could get fixed and we could get him back. That once again, I am completely over-reacting, and all of this can be put right. Because it feels completely and totally wrong.

And yes, I get that it really has been fixed and I will see him again someday, I get that. I get that he's all right and that all of this is under God's control. But it doesn't help. The only thing that would help is to have my dad back. Not someday. I want him back now. I don't believe he's really gone. And I want him back right now.

We've been trying to write a tribute. We made it through the eulogy, but the tribute is eluding all of us. I think it's because the only things that are racing through our minds are things that are too depressing for a tribute. Mom's things are made up of a "He'll never get to" list. My list is a "no more" list.

No more phone calls with him on the other end making nothing but crunching noises to tease me that he's eating garden cucumbers and I'm not. No more bareback wrestling matches on my bed with my boys. No more fishing trips. No more listening to him hum under his breath while he drives. No more whisker rubs. No more hours spent wandering through the power tool department at Canadian Tire. No more humming a song under my breath to see how long it takes for him to be singing it. No more watching him pull his car into my driveway while my boys jump up and down with excitement beside me. No more having a person to call when I need advice about our van, or plumbing, or how to hang a jolly jumper. No more listening to Ben on the phone for an hour chatting up his grampa. No more bonfires in the backyard. No more Hockey Night in Canada on way too loud because my mom and I are talking through Don Cherry. No more hunts for one of his seven pairs of reading glasses. No more tools spread all over the place with my boys "helping". No more watching my babies sleep peacefully on his chest.

This list goes on forever, and the "He'll never get to" list is just as bad. It might even be sadder. It has things like walking Ang down the aisle and finding out that one of his grandkids accepted the Lord on it.

Of course, none of this really seems real to me yet, so it doesn't hurt as badly as it could. Don't get me wrong. It hurts. The last two weeks have hurt as badly as I could have ever imagined. And if I seem fine, if any of us seem fine, it's only because in that moment it's not real to us. In the moments when it comes crashing back onto us, moments like when we discover a can of beans he bought and won't get to eat, or a stack of movies that we won't get to watch with him, or a picture of him so full of life and happiness, in those moments we are completely shattered and we feel like it will never be okay again.

Which it probably will be. I suppose. But it will never be completely wonderful again. Not the way it was before. Because the thing about my dad is that he made everything funner and happier and more exciting and just... More. He filled up our lives.

I want him back. And I can't believe that he's not coming.

2 comments:

  1. I was thinking of you today. You have so many people who care about you. I hope you got a hug from all of them today. Hug your kids tight. They will help you through. I hope one day soon you will have a happy day again.

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  2. Been thinking of you today, too, Becky. Know that I'm still praying for you.

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