Another souvenir for the books (er, blog...)

Today was one of the hardest days that I'll ever face. I said goodbye to my dad. I think it would have been harder if there was a body, but per his wishes, he was cremated. And as selfish as it may sound, I'm grateful for that.

The layout was beautiful. A 16x20 photo of my dad...a close up of his face. And it was altered from an original picture of him holding ZoeJane as a newborn. It's one of my favorite pictures of him. There was an old bright orange skidder (tractor type thing....google is your friend with this one) that he's had since the 80's. It was always a staple in our house. He won it at a company party when he worked for a logging company and we've had it ever since. All the grandchildren (the boys, especially) have loved it. There was a smaller picture of dad, and some other pretties laid out, and in the middle...a perfect rectangle wooden box, holding what is left of my dad.

I kept looking at the big picture of him...looking at his eyes, imagining him giving me shit for being upset and nervous about speaking. And while the preacher was speaking, I kept looking at the box. After 69 years of life and learning, this is what it all comes down to: a simple wooden box.

I managed to make it through the service without crying. I started tearing up a few times listening to the preacher, but I was able to suck it up. My brother spoke and I was good....then I got up to speak and I thought I was going to cry just from facing the crowd, but I managed.

If you read my last post, I had prepared a well laid out eulogy for him...and I started out with what I had written, but quickly veered off track. I choked up three times, but was able to stop, take a breath...look at out the crowd for reassuring faces and keep going. I felt like I had to at least try. I never thought I'd make it through, but I knew I'd regret it if I didn't at least try.

I sat back down and everyone was shocked that I made it through. But then they started a slideshow. Against the Wind by Bob Segar started playing (a song that I know well, as a mix of Bob Segar and Tom Petty were the soundtrack of my childhood) and up pops pictures of my sweet daddy. Daddy with the grand kids, daddy with me, daddy back in his carefree days with his friends and when he was logging. Dayton started crying, and I lost it. They included a picture that I emailed to them of Phoenix's hand laying in his when Phoenix was about a week old. That broke me. I love daddy's hands. I always have.

After the slideshow, we (the family) left the room and had to stand in the hallway to receive people's condolences. People kept coming up to me telling me how great I did and how surprised they were. People seriously had no faith in me to get through it, and I think that's one of the reasons that I was able to. He would have told me to muscle through it just to spite them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PmrkY-EZy74

I love you, daddy.

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).