Goodbye for Now- The Remix

(6-11-12) It took me MONTHS to write and finally post this. I had to stop several times. Mostly because I started to write this too soon after. Im glad I did.
I'm leaving it with all its bad grammer,spelling errors and cuss words because I dont want to re-read it.     Hopefully, I can take this blog back up and continue to write about the oddities of my children, which I really enjoy doing. 
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Been a while since I've blogged.  Usually I blog about the children so that our families know what we are up to in our little bubble in the world.
Today I need to reenter my blog, but I need to write about my dad. This will be long, and is probably going to take me a couple days to write. You don't need to read it...misc. Internet person (though, I know that its mainly family and friends whom check this-which is the way I like it)  ...but I need to write it. Im hoping it helps.  Its the pink elephant in my brain's living room, and up till now I haven't said much about it. Just ignored the elephant.....elephant.....elephant....just had a beautiful memory of my dad.   And memory is what Im left with now that dad has passed on from the Earth.

Sept. 20th I think around 6pmish- not exactly sure...I mean...who looks at a clock when they are delivered the worst news of their lives?
Im at the table with Wyatt, going over his homework.  My phone rings. Its my mum. Hi mom. "Where are you?"  Ok...shes about to give me bad news and she wants to make sure Im not driving.  "Im at the table mom, whats up?"
"Daddy died."
"What?"
"Daddy is dead."
"What? Daddy? My Dad?!" *insert stunned stammering here*
Wyatt freaks out "My daddy?! My daddy is dead?!"  "No! Wyatt, your daddy is fine! Stay in the house"
I think mom said some other stuff, explaining, I think this is where she mentioned a quick heart attack...By this time I had stood up and started walking to my front door-destination unknown-
"I dont understand" I told her.
She hung up. She hung up, I know now, because she needed to. I needed her to, too.
I had walked to the side of my front yard and my legs gave out. 
I screamed. I screamed "no" *insert denial*  *insert incoherent swearing*
I slammed my fists into the dirt and I layed on the ground.  I cried until my throat caught fire.
My mom called back.
"Do you understand what Im saying?"
"How did it happen"
"Heart attack... He went very fast Sarah."
"Im coming home right now mom. Right now."
I sloppily hung up and called the one person I know well enough to cry in front of that could be at my house in less than 2 minutes.  Told Donna "My dad is dead, can you come over and watch the kids so I can pack."  "I'll be there right now."  Bless her heart.
Next call, my dear friend Lisa.  I told her what happened, asked her to book my flights for me because processing a flight was too much for my brain to handle. "Heres my credit card number, I dont care about the cost." I told her.   She did it within minutes. Bless her heart.
Next call Red Cross to inform Randy.  Nice folks there at the Red Cross....really.
Next call Tres and his sweet wife, Kim-   Who were rockstars. Hooked me and the kids up with a ride to the airport and agreed to watch our house and feed our fish.  Bless their hearts.  Extra blessings on Tres whom witnessed the death of Emma's Beta fish and replaced it with a more alive one before we got back home.

Lots of calls came in to me that night. I remember calling my dads house a few times. I learned that my dads body stayed in the house for a few hours after his death. I understand...but it still disturbs me. It also disturbs me to know that extended family came over (to say goodbye?) I dont fucking know...all I can process to this day is, extended family saw my father on the floor of our family kitchen and I dont fucking like it.  No. I wont and refuse to understand why it was necessary. I feel like it robbed my father of a measure of dignity. Im mad as hell about it. But... whats done is done I suppose.

 My brain went out of shock mode and into function and act mode?  Bless my brains heart...does that work? Anyway...I packed badly. Summer clothes for the kids as we flew into winter weather. oh well.
I cried. A lot. I smoked. A lot.  I slept none.

When we got to Wisconsin. (By way of Uncle Kim and Mikey pick up. Bless their hearts) I felt mounting unease getting to my dads house.  I walked up our long drive way. My mom came out the back door. I had to stop and turn my back to her, so I could breathe through the tears that threatened. I regrouped. I turned back and hugged my mother.  Had to walk past my dads truck on the way into the house. It was a strange feeling.

Got in the house. Saw my brother. We didnt hug. We know each other well enough to know that if we hugged our careful composure would be shit.

There are lots of details over the next few days. I was thinking of writing all the little things. But. No one is at their best when there is a life changing death in their family.  People get touchy. People get ugly. I did my share of sharp tongue on undeserving people. (Sorry Aunt Patty)

My MIL Cindy and FIL Doc took Wyatt and Emma for me. (Bless their hearts)

My brothers fiance, Miranda (Bless her heart) Made a point to write everything down for us (appointments, things that had to get done, etc) Lord knows, without her keeping a notebook for us all, we would have just stayed in our family kitchen, drinking vodka/rum and staring at the walls.

My brother Dave (Bless his heart) knows my hang ups with caskets. Knows my hang ups with viewings. Simply put and in no detail, I hate them. I loathe them. I do everything I can to avoid them. People are smaller without their spirits.   My mother and brother decided that my dad would have wanted a casket and viewing instead of a cremation...so thats what was decided.  Again... my brother...God love him... made a point to inspect my father for me before I went in to see him for the first time.  I had told him, If dad, does not look like my dad, I cant go in. I wont go in. 
My dad looked like my dad. Everything was perfect. Well, except for the fact that he was not breathing. 

The first time I saw my dad.  God I really dont want to write this...
sigh.
k
The first time I saw my dad, I feel like the room was waiting for me to lose my shit. Everyone else had seen this version of my dad already.  I walked to him. I didnt cry. I visually inspected him and concurred with my brother that he looked like he was just sleeping. Really. He did.  I tentatively put my fingers on his hand. In life, I loved my dads hands. Workers hands, you know.  I wrapped my hand around his finger. Cold. But. Well...duh.
I let go. I put my hand on his chest and felt the cold was even stronger. That did it.
"Fuck!" *stomp my heeled foot*
"Fuck!" *grabbed the casket*
Someone grabbed me. Brother? I dont know.
Breathe
Breathe
I pulled everything back into that box in my stomach. Regained my control.  Looked on at my dad again. Smiled. He really did look like my dad.
Walk away.

The wake was.... well. A wake. Lots of people. Lots of people touching me, my brother, my mother. My brother and I tried our best to stay unemotional. Had to. If one tear fell, the whole dam would burst.  One of the hardest things was watching these HUGE men that my dad knew (bikers, auto workers, general tough guys) breaking down at their first look at my father, when you watched them you could see the moment that it sunk in for them. And they would break.  Then they would hug you. Fuck that was hard.

Hundreds of people filed into the funeral home over the course of 2 hours. I didnt know half of them. Apparently, my dad was well loved and respected in our town. (in our family, we know that) I was surprised to find out who knew my father. Who came in to talk to us. It was moving.  I really wish I hadn't been as numb as I was so I could remember more of the faces and talks I had with people. I sort of felt like my body was on auto pilot.

That night. My brother, my mother, Miranda and I are sitting in our family kitchen. My brother says "Im hungry."  Mind you... we hadnt eaten a thing... for days.  "I think Im hungry too"  Funny how you simply dont notice these types of things when you're mourning.  We all descended on a pizza like a pack of wild coyotes. 

Funeral. My MOPS mentor called me the morning of to pray with me over the phone. (Bless her heart)  Our immediate family was able to go in before anyone else to say goodbye. I thought we were all doing well ... you know... considering.  I went to my dad. And as I had the day before, I went to wrap my hand around his index finger. It was different than the day before. I wont go into detail, but to anyone thats tried to do this...you know what Im talking about.  I shook.I felt my knees wobble. And I yelled for my brother.... repeatedly. I turned and he grabbed me. Held me. I cried on him. He gave me a minute to do that...before, very carefully, he whispered in my ear (in the true way of our family) "Sarah, I know you are upset. I know. But Grandma Dinges just got here, shes behind you right now...and you know Dad would tell you to get your shit together."  Yes. Yes he would. I took a deep breath..a few. I straightened my body, detached from my brother. Stuck my chin in the air like I do when Im trying to push away feeling and walked away in search of a sugar packet.   I love my brother.
The service was beautiful. A grand send off for a grand man.  Standing room only in the funeral home...there were people literally standing outside the funeral home just to be there as there was no more room in the building.  We had a "please come up if you'd like to share something about Dave" type thing. My brother from another Mother, Kenny, did.  It was moving, and Im forever grateful that as torn as he was he delivered a beautiful message about Dad.   Miranda read the poem that Dave, Tim and I had contributed and wrote for Dad for Fathers Day a couple years ago.  It broke my brothers and I. It broke everyone in the building. From the end of the 1st paragraph you could hear the sniffling. Miranda made a beautiful delivery of the poem and it was perfect. 

I had the brief thought that I would speak about my dad on this day. But I know I wouldn't have been able to articulate a syllable. I would have liked to say something about all the people that thought my dad a cave-man. A man behind the times. The people that may have thought my dad brusk and a tad crude.   A big "to hell with you" to those people and you know who you are. My Dad did everything a man should do for his family.  He provided for us. We never wanted for a thing.  He taught all of us kids valuable life lessons. He taught us to not be victims. He may never have played sports with us and that was odd to some...but I did learn how to shoot a gun, throws knives and tomahawks and live life from the land if you havent a penny to your name.   So..Id joke...when the zombies attack... You go ahead and throw that football till they naw off your hand.  My brothers and I will be alright. ;)

My brothers and I, along with a few of my fathers nephews were pall-bearers. The processional line, in a word, was huge.  I lost count of the cars...but that was a huge line of car following my father. It made us all proud. Very proud.  We walked my fathers casket to the site that Dave and I had carefully and thoughtfully selected as Dads final resting place. (Believe me, that was a process and we took our time to find just the right place)  My heart was pounding as we laid him on the rails...and not because we just made a 100 yard hike from the car to the grave.  I think it was because it was the culmination...and everything being in that place represented. This was it, were were actually going to bury my dad.  I vaguely looked around at the people gathering by. I clung to my brothers arm. I felt my other brother and Mother at my back.  Words were said... for the life of me, I cant tell you what they were beyond the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.  It came to a close. My brother Dave pulled my fathers curve pipe and started to fill it with my dads own tobacco. I took my dads straight pipe and did the same while handing my dads 1st "Christmas pipe" to Tim.  We lit our pipes and let the smoke fill the air around us. That smell that we have come to know as our "comfort of home" smell. 
My brother Dave and I, stayed the entire length of time to bury my father. Descending, filling, smoothing, "farm equipment" taking its leave.  We just stayed there.  Now what?
The dirt on dads grave... the guy did a shit job of leveling it out. It was bothering the shit out of me. I asked my brother "Would you be mad if I fixed it?"  "Do what you have to do" he said.  I got on my hands and knees and used my forearms and hands to smooth and even out the dirt of the grave so it looked even and nice.  Oddly, it did make me feel a measure better.

The lunch after.  I hit the bottle. Straight rum.  I tried to look at the faces of the people that were there. To really remember who came.  I tried.  But its strange how little you remember even when you try.

It was suppose to rain on the funeral day. It was a gorgeous day. And a late September day in Wisconsin, thats asking a lot.  The moment that we all got back to the house. Ate something. Finally sat down.  The weather changed and it started to pour.  Hi Dad.

I've learned some things during this process. I had never experienced a death this close to me before. So, now I feel I have a good understanding of what people go through during this time, and I know what Im going to do for people who ever have to go through the same.

1.  Im going to bring food.  For the life of me, I couldn't understand why all these people were trying to feed us?  Oh yeah, cause we literally didnt eat for days, and didnt even notice. But when we did finally notice, it was awesome to not have to cook anything. Lord knows, if we would have had to cook to eat...we simply wouldn't have.

2. The first week... you are numb. I mean ... really numb.  While people who knew dad were crying on us and trying to comfort us, for the most part, we stayed in our numb spot.  We didnt cry back to them (mom excluded, but then, moms a crier... Dave and I are not)  We stayed stone faced, because the magnitude of the emotion we felt was scary to let out of the box.  If we let it out, it either would come out as a "flail on the floor" cry fest-- or a "break shit in the kitchen" throw down.  So. Numb we stayed. People would ask "How are you?"  Really ?  I get it...what else are people going to say?  But we will always respond with "ok"  Are we really? Hell freakin no.  But that is the simple easy way to stay numb and not freakin talk about what we are feeling.
Now... almost 2 months from when dad passed. Im in a position, where I can think about it longer than 2 minutes without tears threatening. So. Now. Would be an excellent time to get a phone call from family to check on us. Cause we aren't as messed up as we were when it just happened. Thus... Im going to (in the future) make a point to call people whom have lost a loved- about 2 to 3 months after the passing.  Take them out of their house (by force if necessary) buy them food... etc.  Because we are in a place to talk about it now and receive feedback. But...we are in a weird place, where we are noticing the loss. This isnt a dream, this is real. And right around the 1 month/2 month mark that settles in...and you get sad..... and need family and friends.  We can accept your comfort now, likely without being blubbering messes.

3. Im going to tell everyone who will listen to TELL YOUR LOVED ONES TO HAVE THEIR SHIT IN ORDER AND EASILY AND READILY ACCESSIBLE. If you dont have your own shit in order. Do it now. DO NOT wait. 'nuff said.

Coming back to this post draft a few months after bullet 3.  It gets easier. Not right away. And the pain never ever goes away. Its a black spot that lives inside of you.  You're never rid of it.  And thats ok. Thats where memories live.

Over and year ago....

Its been over a year since I've made a blog post. I had ended with Randy's deployment, that should probably speak volumes about why I hadn't been able to update. Then life. Then death.   I wrote a post shortly after my dad died. I havent posted it yet. It was about that experience.  It has taken me months to complete it. I hadn't felt like writing anything and writing about that particular experience took time.  I'm still not done. But I think its time to kick back into gear. The kids are growing. Getting wittier, smarter, more devious.  I continue to be far away from family which was the whole reason I had started a blog in the first place. To update family and friends.  Annnnd.... so that when the kids are older and I'm at deaths door and cant remember shit, they can look back at their mothers account of their lives at the time. In the heart of things.  So that maybe even I can look back and say...God I was stupid, what was I thinking ?  Or wow, I could have done THAT differently. Or, wow. I'm a pretty awesome mom.... sporadically.  So. Sorry kids, for reference to your lives the past year, check my Facebook.

Anyway. Thats that.