Mid-day today saw Mom & me sifting through Dad’s closet and dividing everything into three piles: things that fit C, things to donate, and things to keep. It felt like it took an eternity to go through everything, so when C and I dropped off all the donations in minutes I felt let down. If was as if the effort was outsized for results that were so barren.
I have not slept well or enough for the past five nights, and I am someone who relies on sleep. I feel tired and scratchy, like an old, threadbare towel after it’s been hung out in the sun to dry.
Last night I wrote a notification of Dad’s death for Mom. The responses all seem to warm her heart. Some have been very special to me, but even reading those, I can’t help but feel tired. I want to hear what the all the people who knew Dad in all his different roles and capacities have to say. I am eager for all stories. But just not now. Now I am working overtime to craft and stabilize this new version of life while I simultaneously sharpen and entrench everything in our past. I want to remember all the good and the bad as only I can before I invite everyone else in.
Tomorrow we are having an intimate service: Mom, me, C & a close family friend from church. I wonder what will happen. A week or so ago I told a friend that my eyes hurt from all the tears I haven’t cried. I hurt for Dad’s pain, and now that he’s no longer in it I simply can’t imagine crying. This is not to say I don’t occassionally have the impulse. I just have yet to follow through.