A mild rant. Blowing off steam in the midst of grief.
My father passed away two days ago. Please see the substantive part of his Obituary, in today's local paper, below. I've traveled a few hours down to the family home and am here with my mother, my sister and brother-in-law, and my brother. We're going to be o.k. and, while aching with grief over the hole our father's (in the case of my mother, husband's) presence has left in our lives, we realize how fortunate we have been to have had such an incredible person in, and influence on, our lives.
I don't know how these things work in the rest of the country, but down here in The Deep South, everybody's got to "come by", and bring food. It's nice. They're nice. They loved and miss my father, too. But, gad, please give us some time alone.
I just want some quiet. I want to not have to "put on a brave face", except with my mother, or not, as the spirit and the moment move us.
I have, in fact, sent out emails to friends and colleagues, and have received in return so many kind words about my father, and caring words about my family. I suppose that this is my internets generation thing: that's the level of communication I want at this moment. Tomorrow's "The Service", then, sigh, there will be another highly-peopled thing at my family house. I'm not telling people not to care and I'm not telling people not to grieve with us, just give us a little space.
Of course, by doing this anonymously to the world-at-large, I'm kind of getting my cake and eating it, too: I'm telling everybody, and nobody, at the same time. Just getting it off my chest. And, of course I know how sad it would be for someone to die and nobody care. That would be tragic, indeed.
Anyway, if you can take anything practical out of this, please consider giving the family a little space. It's all a touchy situation, I know, but sometimes the family just wants to be alone. Well, this family member does. What I'd really like, besides all of this grief kabuki to be done with, and quiet moments with my mom, is to sit around someone's back yard, just 2, 3 or 4 friends around, with a cooler of "cold ones", or a pitcher of margaritas, at hand, and talk into the evening, relaxed and sad, but working through it, and smiling, too . . .
By the way, when I got divorced, I wish I'd had a smidgen of the attention and sympathy I'm receiving now from relatives and friends. My (former) wife's no longer being in my life also left a hole and I grieved so very much then, too.
My father's obituary, excerpted. Please feel free to email me if you wish for the whole thing, including his name. I very much feel proud in "broadcasting" the kind of person he was, but feel a little oogy about putting his name out there. I know who he was, as does my family and all those whose lives he was a part of, which is the important thing.
(My father) of (town in Alabama) passed away at his
home on Friday, July 18, 2008. He was two months from his
86th birthday and three weeks from his 60th wedding anniversary
with his surviving wife, (my mom).
(My father) attended the University of Alabama, served his
country as a Merchant Marine during WWII, and following the
war, attended night school at Catholic University's Columbus
School of Law in Washington, D.C. while working days as a clerk
with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, where he met (my mother).
He practiced law for decades as a member of the Virginia,
Maryland and District of Columbia Bars, even after moving
with his family to his beloved South Alabama. (He) touched
innumerable lives throughout his life and will remain known and
loved for his unparalleled selflessness, kindness and dedication
to living the Golden Rule. A life-long Methodist, he sought and
taught to look for the best in people, no matter their station or
circumstance.
In addition to (my mom), he is survived by . . .
I miss my dad so terribly much, but am so very fortunate to have had
a father who lived so long and to whom I could look up to.