From 13 January 2008

We are in the midst of a giant purge of the clutter that amasses when life proceeds in the same location for over a decade. We've been through clothing, toys, games, and even photos. But today I came across this letter I wrote to a former friend with whom I had lost touch a couple of years before Dad's death. It is both as heartwrenching and as true as I was the day I sat writing it and crying - as evidenced by the ink blots on the page from the tears that fell as I wrote, and which increase in number towards the end. 


Though I am not entirely sure why, I am compelled to write you again. With the passing of each day/week/month/ and year, I do grow more certain that you are gone from my life forever. Which brings me to the reason for this letter.

My beloved father is dead.

Without any sort of warning, I lost the first man I loved in this life.
He died exactly the way he would have wanted.
In fact, he had even said it many times.
The only part of his death that I can take issue with is the timing.
He was 62 years old, and by all accounts, heatlhy. 
He died alone, working on the tree farm. 
There was no gruesome accident, he simply fell down dead - "dropped dead," literally.
He made no attempt to call for help, his cell phone was still in its pocket.
His eyes were still open as he lay on the leaves in the cold rain. 
My sister's boyfriend found him, and stayed there with him in the pouring rain until help arrived.

Daddy was long gone before we ever realized anything was wrong. By the time he was found, he had probably been dead two or three hours. I am glad for Daddy that he was never forced to endure illness or loss of strength or be subjected to the torment of hospitalization. Those things would have robbed me of him just as surely as death has, though not as swiftly. But I am so heartbroken for myself, my mother, my sisters, our friends, but most especially our children. 

A loss like this should be felt deeply - 
I know that, I but didn't know that it would slice into my soul. 
I feel like an orphan.
I know how ridiculous that sounds. 
I am a grown woman. 
I have lived outside my parents' home for well more than half of my life. 

But my Daddy is gone.

There have been very few people in my life with whom I felt completely safe. 
I have come to realize I may never feel that way with a peer, but I always knew that I was safe with Daddy.

I cannot tell you how many people have said that they won't know who to turn to now that he is gone. Well, guess what? I don't know either. I'm obviously not even a good person to ask.
I have to face the fact that the only may who ever actually loved me unconditionally is gone.
DEAD.Most people can't even say the word, but I can.
My Daddy taught me to respect life and death.
And birth. And trees. And hard work. And a hundred-million other things.
I should make a list. I should start right now. Because part of what is absolutely killing me about this whole situation is that I now have a two and a half year old boy child who understood how special his Poppa was. And his Poppa loved him and was so proud of him and wanted so much to teach him so many things.

Now not only do I have to try to teach him as much of that as I can, I have to teach him about Poppa - because he own't get to know him himself. 
He is too young to remember him. He'll only know what he is told.

I had to learn from our attorney that Poppa planned to teach his only grandson to fish. This year, Dad had bought a new rifle and his first hunting license. He enjoyed the men in the hunting club at the farm so much that he built a shooting house and went with them. When we had to choose pallbearers, we asked the hunters to do the honors. As it turned out, we didn't need their services after all. My sisters and I, with the help of our husbands/boyfriend, carried Dad's casket ourselves. I truly am almost as proud of us for the non-traditional way we handled the death events as I am for the non-traditional ways we have all given birth. 

I think Daddy would be, too. 

Mom flew one of Dad's few surviving Vietnam buddies across the country to play Taps on his bugle as Daddy was buried. Not until he played the first note did I realize that I have never before attended a funeral where Taps was played. There were so many military funerals for the day we buried Daddy that the Army could not send two men to fold the flag. I'm glad. The men who held Daddy's flag high as the bugle played knew my Daddy.

And loved him.