Another day

I think the sky is mirroring my feelings; it’s been grey and miserable.  My dad  would say that it’s an example of pathetic fallacy, a literary form in which the elements and the feelings of the characters mirror each other.  Jerry has not left me alone since I got that crushing news, and he spends every minute near to me, either on my lap, on my feet, or lying next to my chair — and of course, on my tummy or feet at night.  Anyone who says that animals are dumb really has never spent any time with them.  He communicates his thoughts fairly clearly.  Don is being very supportive as well, and is doing his best to keep my spirits even.  There were no sports last night, so we watched a few shows together and just relaxed, and I spent most of the day dealing with multiple phone calls and messages from family and friends.  There are sports tonight, though, so I think I’ll just go in early and get some sleep in bed instead of in my chair!

My body is reacting to the emotions that I can’t yet express.  Yesterday I went from not wanting any food, to feeling starved (and eating a whole pork chop!  First time in a long while!) to having an attack of nausea.  Today I felt weak and shaky, but I did eat.  It’s the shock, I know; that was so sudden.

His funeral will be held on Wednesday 8 November at 1:30pm ECT/ 12:30pm EST (it’s past time we eliminated this nonsense of changing the time twice a year!) and will be live streamed.  I’ll provide the link once it’s available, which will be the day before the service.  The service will take place at Our Lady of Fatima RC Church, Bushe Street, Curepe, Trinidad and Tobago. 

Thank you all for your expressions of comfort and your kind wishes.  Yes, my dad was a good, kind and loving man and I’m proud to be his daughter.  He wasn’t perfect, and he made mistakes, but he was good at heart and we all knew that we could rely on him for anything.  He’d push us to do our best, he could be strict and not open to negotiation, but I knew, deep in myself that if I found myself in difficulty that he was the first person I’d call.  I spent most of today trying to write a eulogy that could capture him appropriately and it’s taking up a lot of my ability.  It remains incomplete, so I’ve got a lot of work to do.  I’ve asked his friends and our relatives to share some of their memories of him, and what I’ve received so far are some beautiful tributes that bring me to tears.  It’s humbling to know that he was so very loved by so many different people.  I’ve been reminded several times by his sister that we just need to be grateful that we’ve had him as long as we did, and that he’s now free from his failing body.  All good advice.

I’m struggling with some pointless feelings of guilt.  I’ve been repeatedly asked, “so are you coming for the funeral?” To which I’ve replied, “No, I’m not.”  Some people understand and let it drop at that point; one or two have said that we don’t need a double burial, so please stay where you are.  Others have added some pressure to say, “but it’s your dad!  You were so close!” And think that I should be pushing myself to make the trip… one close friend asked, “so why aren’t you going?”  I snapped and said that if they thought for a second before asking, they’d have the answer — I was told that I’m being unreasonable and reactionary.  I’d like to have been there before my dad died, so we could do our game of completing quotations and poems.  I can never do that again.  He will never again ask me to look up an obscure reference to something that he remembered from primary school.  I can’t do anything more for him, ever again in my life.  At the same time, I no longer have to try protecting him from details of my condition or my treatments, because I knew it worried him to hear what I was going through, so I tried keeping details from him.  (He always told me not to do that, he’s the parent, it’s his job to worry, but I just couldn’t subject him to what was going on.)  Plus, given that I can’t manage in heat and high humidity, a trip to Trinidad would be extremely hard on me, added to the travel time there and back again.  Don says that he thinks it’s a bad idea for me to travel, and I reluctantly agree.  It would be ideal, I think, if I could sail there, or if I had a means of flying there in 3 hours instead of 7.  Since those aren’t options, I will celebrate his home-going from my house, and mourn him in my own way.

I’m going to sign off now; I imagine that there will be a few days where I will find that the world feels empty and broken, but I’ll cry when I need to, laugh when it’s possible and do my best to honour his memory.  Good night.