The Souvenir

Saturday at 2pm, family and friends will gather to say their final goodbyes to my dad. Or his ashes. I've never been to a funeral (er, service) where someone was cremated and I'm not sure exactly what to expect (Is it going to be as upsetting as it would be to see his body? Will I still have closure?). I'd really like to say a few words, but 1, I'm not good in front of crowds and 2, it's hard to be optimistic about those public speaking spills when your mother flat out tells you, "I don't think you can do it". Thanks for the vote of confidence there, mom. I'd like to push past the fear of the crowd and the emotions (that I may lose control of) and do it for my dad...but I just don't know. Besides, what do you say about/to someone when it's the last time you get to say it?

I'm not sure what my deal is. I haven't cried since I got the news Tuesday afternoon. I did a lot of crying while he was in the hospital, while I was at the hospital, while I was talking to him and holding his hands. But now, it's almost like I've run out of tears. Maybe I did a good job of psyching myself up for it before he actually passed away. I never felt very optimistic about the outcome. I just knew. I wonder if he knew. I wonder if he knew I was there after he was sedated, I wonder if he heard me.

My dad was the best man I've ever known. He was funny and practical and frustrating and a sarcastic pain in the ass. But he was my daddy. Logically, I always knew the time would come to say goodbye to my dad, but I never imagined it would be at the age of 25. It's terrifying, losing a parent. It's even more terrifying when it's so sudden and you realize that life really can be taken from us at any moment.

It doesn't make sense. My dad was a hard worker. He worked up until the day before he went to the emergency room. He was healthy (so it appeared). He was a man of strong faith. In fact, he baptized me at the age of 12, and Dayton on New Year's day of this year. And just like that...he was snatched away from us. And from gallstone (gallbladder) pancreatitis. I've never even heard of it. It doesn't even sound scary. And it's not like he had this horrible cancer that ate away at him for months on end. No, this bitch came and took him in 11 days. Eleven DAYS (Well, 11 days from onset of symptoms to death. They say that his pancreas had "been sick" for a long time). One of the last things he said to me was "I thought I'd done good...then I come all this way for everything to go all wrong at once". And he was right. First he was diagnosed with kidney stones, then gall stones, then critical pancreatitis, then his lungs filled with fluid, then his kidneys started failing....it was one thing after another. It just isn't fair. Maybe I'm still in shock (yes, this just occurred to me).