The Visitation

Tuesday morning. It was the morning that we were to go to Bates for the family viewing. The funeral director had warned us that Dad had alot of "structural damage" to his head, so we would need to decide at the private viewing whether or not we would have an open casket. I didn't want to go. I never wanted to see my daddy lifeless, but yet I knew that I needed to. Maybe seeing him would make this seem real--but I didn't want it to be real. I had been trying (without much success) to convince myself for the last few days that this was some horrible mistake, but knew that when I saw his body it would become real to me.
Mom went first. Jeff was with her. I stood back to give her time and was amazed at all of the plants and flowers that had been sent. The stands were already full and they kept bringing more and more in. The flowers were a nice distraction, they somehow gave me a break from realizing why I was really there. Healthy or not, I needed distraction. I wasn't ready. I'd never be ready.
The time came when I approached the casket. My dad looked good. Very handsome. The new tie worked great with the tan jacket and coffe brown shirt. It looked like him. I wasn't sure whether the funeral director overexaggerated how bad his head injuries were or had just done a heck of a job with whatever they do to make someone look like they used to. I studied his face. There was the small bump on his left cheek that had been there as long as I can remember. There was the sunspot on his right ear that I kept telling him he needed to get checked out. There were the winkles under his eyes that we always warned him not to rub when his allergies were bad. There were bushy eyebrows, the smooth complexion. My dad. The ony thing that wasn't right was his mouth. His top lip had a little pucker that I had never noticed before. Looking back at his senior portraits later--you know, the ones you don't smile for--it was there. Why had I never noticed? It occurred to me that I had never seen my dad with his lips together. He was ALWAYS smiling.
That was the beginning of what was to be a long day. The visitation was to start at four. We went back to the farm, had some lunch, and visited with some family. Mom invited me to walk to the mailbox with her, and we laid in her bed for close to an hour opening sympathy cards. Around 3 we took off to go back to Bates. There were several people there when we arrived offering their condolences. The line picked up rather quickly and we stood in awe of how many people's lives my dad had touched for nearly 7 hours. People waited just shy of 2 hours to reach the front of the line. Amazing.
I held up pretty well. There came one point in the evening when I lost it. All of the sudden I found myself face to face with a crabby lady. I don't know who she was, but she was not there for the right reason. Instead of offering to tell how she knew dad she complained that the line was long. I apologized for the wait and thanked her for being there. At that point she glared in my direction and cut ahead to where my mom was, spoke briefly to her and left. Whoa. What just happened? I felt hurt and confused. Did I do something wrong? Tears stung at my eyes and I started shaking. Craig took one look at me and told me that I needed a break--NOW. I went out to the van and stood behind it because it was locked I just cried and let my emotions overtake me for a bit. I missed my dad. I was angry, and hurt, and confused, and somehow this visitation stopped being about my dad, and about her. I wouldn't give her any more of my thoughts that day. I was there for to honor my dad and she could do whatever and it wasn't going to stop me from honoring him any less. I prayed for strength and felt an instant peace. As I headed back inside there was clarity. It just hurt me to know that someone would come there and show disrespect for anyone in the family. It stung because I know that my dad's family was more important than anything to him and if he had seen someone hurt me, it would have hurt him, too.
The end of the line was met with mixed emotions. I was purely exhausted, but couldn't get enough of people telling how they knew my dad and what they would remeber about him.
I laid awake for hours that night trying to write and sort out my thoughts. I had agreed to share some thoughts at the service and couldn't make a sentence. Finally, I shut down my computer and drifted off to sleep. If God wanted me to talk at Dad's service, he was going to have to help me out in the morning, but for now, I needed sleep. I needed to face Wednesday well rested, because that was the day I needed to somehow figure out how to say goodbye.

One month ago today.

One month ago today in the morning I got up to go to work. It was a lovely day--sunny and bright. There wasn't a lot going on at work and by one month ago today in the afternoon I had become very bored. I placed one PICC line and processed orders in ICU to help the staff. I jumped at the chance to assist with an ultrasound guided thoracentesis (that's draining fluid from a lung for the lay person!) and went home early.
One month ago today in the late afternoon I got home from work and found Craig laying all of the landscaping bricks around the house as we had discussed, preparing to trench them in. Then I went in the house and decided to check my e-mail. My laptop was not even booted up when my cell rang. One month ago today at that moment a new journey started. A journey that began with shock and disbelief and is now somewhere between not understanding and profound grief.

One month ago today in the morning my dad got up to go to work. It was a normal day. There was so much to do, and it was a lovely day. One month ago today in the afternoon my dad drove home from work, talked to my mom for a little bit, rummaged through the refrigerator for something to eat and announced that he was going out to clear out the lot behind the barn in preparation for weaning calves. Sure, it was not his favorite job, but it was all part of life on the farm. The plans for dinner out later in the evening had been made. One month ago today late in the afternoon as my dad was hauling his third load of compost to the wagon a new journey began. A journey that led him to the promised eternal life and peace.

Sometimes life makes no sense and we can't comprehend why these things happen to good people. One month ago today all of the tomorrows that I thought I had with my family intact were reduced to dreams and memories. One month ago today, I lost the very best daddy a girl could ever want. Life has changed....I have changed...in so many ways since just one month ago today.

One more time.

Dear Dad,

Oh how I wish that we cold sit down face to face. I have so many questions for you. So many things I never took the time to ask when I had the chance. I miss you so much. Tonight is another one of those nights where I am laying in bed trying to sleep with no luck. I keep thinking about life and how it has changed so much in the last 3 1/2 weeks. I see pictures of you in my head constantly as I try to sleep. You standing there against the gate looking out to the cows in the pasture, one foot up on the 3rd rung from the bottom. You blading off the driveway in your big red tractor last winter--you know, when you totally ruined our good sledding hill, right after all of the sled tracks had been made. You looking me in the eye and asking "are you ready?" just before walking me down the aisle at my wedding. And then comes the pictures of the last few weeks. The image that I never saw but somehow created in my mind of the accident scene. The solemn look on your face during the visitation. The lack of smile and character. Oh dad.

I think that it may be starting to hit me a little bit that this is the way life is now. You're not coming back. The very thought brings tears to my eyes that cannot be stopped. This doesn't seem like the way it was supposed to be. You were supposed to be here when my children are born. You are supposed to be here for the family reunion next summer. And for Christmas. And for....everything.

I know that God has a plan in all of this. His plan is not to make me hurt and push me to my breaking point. My God is not like that. He WILL turn this, too, into good. But then part of my wonders how something that hurts so much could ever be good.

There is comfort in knowing that you're without a doubt in Heaven. Even if I had the power to bring you back, I couldn't do that to you. I know that you are so very happy where you are. It is crazy to think that your joy is in the midst of our great sorrow. I'm so happy for you, Dad. Really, I am. I just wish that you didn't have to leave us to attain it. And I wish that we could hear your voice and see your smile and hear your laughter and hug you just one more time.

With much love and a broken heart,
Mis

It felt good to wake up in my own bed on Monday morning. It was hard to get to sleep, partly because I was overly tired, and partly because I was deep in thought trying to absorb what had just happened. I called my doctor's office to try to get my Thursday appointment moved to Monday, which they did without hesitation. Before my appointment I called a friend to see if she would accompany me in my search to find something to wear to the funeral. After my appointment we scoured the quad cities looking for something to wear. That was one of the hardest things for me. I don't particularly enjoy shopping, but knew that I needed to. I wanted something simple, comfortable, and practical. Becky was such a blessing to me as I mindlessly searched through the racks and then would give up and move on to a different store. Finally I found the perfect skirt, followed by a shirt that may work with it. As I exited the dressing room at Younkers wearing my skirt from another store and the shirt I was contemplating, a complete stranger told me how nice the outfit looked. That was it. Sold. I guess that God knew that my brain was shutting down and I needed someone to make a decision for me. Thank you, fellow Younkers customer, for responding! Thanks even more to Becky for being so patient with me! We also somehow managed to find a skirt suit for my mom so that she wouldn't have to hit the stores back home that had such limited selections.
Becky dropped me off at home and I scurried to get things together to take. Craig was back home from his errands by now and I was eager to get back to my mom. In my absence, Mom, Jeff, and Shelli had picked out the cemetary plot and the Casket spray. I really had kind of wanted to be there for that, but knew that they would pick the very best and prettiest for Dad. When we got back to Osky we went to the flower shop so that I could see the flowers that would be used in the spray. There in a 5 gallon bucket sat a random assortment of fall shaded flowers and dried wheat. It was beautiful, but in my mind I was disappointed because it was such a small grouping. In my absent-mindedness I thought that the flowers in the bucket were the total of the flowers for the spray, not just a sample of the variety. Duh. It made us laugh, though, and laughing has always been a staple in our family, so it felt good.
On Monday evening, we gathered with the extended family again to share some memories of my dad. It was lovely. We laughed, cried, and loved. It was hard not to notice that my dad was missing. These were the kind of moments that he loved.
As I climbed into bed that night the numbness of emotion wore off again, and I felt the raw hurt. I decided that perhaps I should start thinking about what I would say at his funeral service, but there were no words. A sentence could not be made. That would have to wait for another day. Morning would come all too soon and with it bring the time to see what remained on this earth of my daddy--in a way I never wanted to see him. Tomorrow would be a day of firsts and the beginning of lasts. How would I handle it???

--sidenote---I am really debating about whether or not I should continue posting my recollection of these events. It is so important to me to remember as many details as possible in those days, and by putting them to words, the memories start to reveal themselves. It feels so good to write, but I don't want my blog to take a morbid tone. I guess right now I owe myself the opportunity to grieve in this way, so read on if you want...

Day 2

As the minutes turned into hours and that devastating day faded into the next I laid awake. I could hear Mom stirring in her room so I went to check on her. I laid my head on my dad's pillow and my body where he should have been laying. I could smell the scent of his hair and I felt so close to him. My mom and I laid there for nearly 2 hours crying and praying and talking about God and how this all had to be part of His plan and that we shouldn't question why it happened.

Finally around 3:30 AM I drifted off into a twilight sleep. I heard every creek in the old farm house and starting at 5 I heard the neighbor's rooster. The closest neighbor to my parents is 1/2 mile away but that dang rooster had some umph behind his cock-a-doodle-doo. In all the nights that I have spent at my parent's house I have never heard a rooster.

Sunday morning we sorted through pictures trying to find the perfect one for the obituary. I sat down with my sister and her laptop to write the obituary. That is where I felt my mind numb. On some level I knew what I was doing, but on another it was just the start of many things that I've done over the last couple of weeks that make me feel like I'm living someone else's life. We went through Dad's closet and found a suitcoat, pants and shirt. The suitcoat had a small coffee stain on the collar and sleeve. My dad never could eat or drink anything without spilling just a little. :)

We quickly ran to Penney's to get dad a new tie. We thought that he deserved something new to wear even though it seemed silly in some respects. When we reluctantly arrived at the funeral home and began making plans for the service. It was surprisingly not that difficult. The worst part? When the funeral director gently told us that dad had a lot of structural damage to his face and that we may not be able to have an open casket. I got an image in my mind at that moment that haunts me. In my delusional mind this planning was not being done for MY dad.
After the planning was done we retreated back to the farm, but before the extended family arrived there was something that we all wanted, yet did not want, to do.
As we walked back behind the barn--all together as what was left of my family--the first thing to catch my eye was the tractor. The fender was all bent up, the muffler bent off to the side, steering wheel broken, but had clearly been cleaned up a bit. I couldn't help but kick the tires of that dang tractor. It had taken so much from me, but yet, it seemed somewhat sacred. That seat was the last place my daddy sat, and that steering wheel was the last thing he touched. The keys were in the ignition and caught my eye. I took one key off of the ring and put it in my pocket. Knowing that dad turned that key shortly before he left us drew me to it. It felt good to have my fingers wrapped around the same thing that his fingers were on.
As Sunday drew to a close we headed back to Davenport to get our home in order to be gone for a while.
Somehow, we had made it through a full day without Dad.

The worst day of my life...

Writing is my outlet. It helps me understand my thoughts and emotions. It helps me feel more connected with God. It forces me to put some of my thoughts into words. I wouldn't normally post anything so personal, but I feel like sharing. Here's a little peek into my thoughts...

The searing pain of loss is so fresh on my heart I can't even pretend to compose myself at times. Less than two weeks ago on Saturday, September 12, 2009 my life was completely turned inside out. What started off being a boring Saturday afternoon ended up being what is the worst day of my life to date. My mom called and I knew instantly from the sound of her voice that what she had to say could not be good. After about 15 seconds on the phone I learned that my dad was pinned under a tractor and the paramedics could not find a pulse. I knew at that instant that he was gone. The only words I could say were "NO and NOT MY DADDY!" My head fought with my heart trying to convince me that there had been a big mistake, but in my heart, I knew.
We gathered up the essentials for a nights stay and rushed the 2 hours and 15 minutes home. Craig is not one to speed and I was thankful that he was rational because I most certainly was not. We had to stop for gas and it seemed to take an eternity to pump. As we continued on our way we got caught up in conversation and somehow missed our exit. I was almost glad in a way because I didn't want to face reality. My sister called and said that they had taken my dad's lifeless body from the farm, and that everyone was meeting at the house. When we finally got there I hugged my mom and just cried, then found my sister sitting on the steps. We sat there and cried and hugged and shared our disbelief. How could my dad be gone? I need him. He had so much life to live yet. I felt weak and like I had just been beaten down. Craig left to pick up Maddie in Osky and I worried about his safety. I moved into the family room and began to talk with my aunts and uncles that had also arrived. I found my brother and hugged him. Out of instinct I looked around for my dad, but, of course, he wasn't there. The thought of it made me literally sick to my stomach.

To be continued....(when I am not in desperate need of some serious sleep)...

I lay here awake at 6 am pouring through the events of the last few days. Not wanting to believe it, overwhelmed, and with a broken heart. Tomorrow Iwill see my dad for the first time since his accident on Saturday. Tomorrow will be the first time that I can't look my dad in the eyes or see his ready smile. I know that it is just his body, an empty shell of the man that meant so much to me. I know that this is only a temporary separation and cling to the promise that we will meet again, but reeling from the fact I never got to say goodbye. I never got to tell him that I love him one last time. I never got to tell him thank you for being the greatest example of a life lived by faith that I have ever known. Yet, I know he knew. And, although it came at much too high a price, I am thankful. Thankful that death came to him instantly. Without pain or fear. Exactly as God himself had planned since the beginning of time, and thankful that he has already stood before the Almighty and granted permanant citizenship in heaven, where I will see him again. Thankful that I was given nearly 34 years with my daddy, and they were good ones. Thankful that we went on vacation with him this summer and that we met him and my mom for dinner just 2 weeks ago. Thankful that the funeral planning is done and that the only things left to do are order the casket spray and find something to wear for the service and find a way to somehow say not goodbye forever but "see you in a litte while." Thankful and tired and so so sad.