The Memorial

The memorial was nice. I’m glad that it’s over. I learned enough about Dad to elevate my estimation of him. Yet another gift.

Almost everyone was nice, either sharing stories about him or offering condolences, but some people made me tired. The several people who wanted to talk about my parents’ dog who died a few months back were nearly as tiring as the people who wanted to be sad and talk about their dead relatives. I also could not help replying sarcastically to the person who told me not to forget about Mom after this weekend. I mean, seriously, I get that people say stupid things sometimes, but really?

As for me, I’m glad to be out of all black. Bereavement is exhausting. I am thankful to be moving on–grateful to have this space away from needing to be understanding of everyone’s intents and closer to the heart of how I really feel.



I haven’t been sleeping well since Dad died. I wake from vivid dreams to find myself dislodged from space and time. I feel a bit like Kilgore Trout.

Unlike Kilgore, I quickly reemerge into the same chronilogically-ordered present. I work from confusion to disappointment that this has happen yet again as I regain consciousness. 

C and I caught an early-morning flight today in order to help prepare for Dad’s public memorial tomorrow. The lack of sleep has me feeling extra spiky and a bit hollow–sort of like the emotional equivalent of a sea urchin’s shell. But the memorial programs and the playlist are made. The pizzas were picked up. The pictures and mementos of Dad’s life were chosen and put in the car so as not to be forgotten. The important things of today are done, leaving me to confront another night. And so it goes.

And so it goes.