Friday, November 13, 2009

Wishful Thinking

I was supposed to get back from my trip to Seattle yesterday. I wish with everything inside of me that there was a way to fix this so that I could have gone on that trip. I wish he was still here. I wish it a hundred times a day, and today even more than usual. (Don't ask why.)

Last night I spent an hour or so reading some of Dad's blog posts so I could "hear" him talk.

What I really want is to call him on the phone. I want to ask him things. And tell him things. Why can't there be a phone to heaven? Ben thought there was. A little while ago he asked if he could call Grampa because he had something to tell him about some car or something. It broke my heart to have to tell him we couldn't talk to Grampa anymore. Partly because I want to really
REALLY badly.

I want to ask him if he knew he was dying. I know he knew sort of, but I want to know if he knew. And if he was scared. I don't think he was, but I want him to tell me that he wasn't. I want him to tell me he could hear us, hear me singing, feel us holding his hands and stroking his hair. I think he could. But I want him to tell me he could, and that it made him feel better. I want him to tell me what it's like up there and how it was to see his dad again, and what Johnny and Melissa's babies are like. I want him to tell me that he's happy and okay and that everything that hurt is better now and that he understands why it had to be this way. I want him to tell me that because I'm not happy and okay, and I don't understand, and I want to know that someday I will. I think I will, but I want him to tell me that.

And I want to tell him that Hannah is crawling now. And that Sam's new word is "woffy" which seems to mean something along the lines of wobbly/big/little/squishy/tall/short/soft/hard/hot/cold/yucky/weird/strange. And that Ben wants to go to the ocean so that he can go fishing on a boat. And that I'm okay, but that I miss him so much that I physically ache sometimes. I want him to crack some joke to make me laugh, and I want him to make fun of how often I cry, so it won't seem so bad... So it won't feel like this huge consuming hole is more real than he is.

Because sometimes I feel it sucking me in. And I feel like as soon as I let myself get close to the center of my pain its strength, like gravity, will pull me down and I won't be able to break free of it. And I'm tired of struggling against it, but I'm scared of what's down there.

And I hate that there's no way to fix this. For any of us. But a phone call, a phone call would help.

8 comments:

  1. big hugs from me too Becky...I have often wondered what it is like "over there" - please hug your boys for me...

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  2. Oh, Becky. I hear you. I was hoping my posts about my Grandpa wouldn't affect you too much this week. I thought about you when I would write some of them and thought of how much harder it must be to lose a father than a grandfather. So much harder.

    For me it doesn't feel like a hole, but my chest gets tight and I actually ache sometimes when I think about Grandpa leaving us.

    I don't know what else to say but I know you'll be okay. You may never quite feel as whole as you did before he died, but things will get better. You're still in my prayers!!

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  3. I liked the posts about your grampa. They were beautiful.

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  4. I want all of those things, too.

    I want to be there with you.

    I want to hug you.

    But I guess that I'll have to phone you, and it will have to be enough.

    And I love you.

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  5. I just noticed that my comment here didn't post. I think I sometimes forget to hit the "publish comment" button. I know what you mean about "hearing" him talk. I don't know what else I put in my comment. I went right after that and wrote my blog. I, too, wish there was a phone to heaven.

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