10 or 11 Days
It is just after midnight on Friday night/Saturday morning.
10 days since Dad's death, 11 days since I hugged him that one last time in his hospital bed and put my head on his chest and said goodbye. It wasn't really him breathing anymore...it was just the ventilator pumping air into his lungs and letting it out.
The most painful, expressive emotions for me have mostly passed. But there is still this great pain just below the surface. It's not as sharp, but this one doesn't come and go...it just lingers, tugs, throbs.
I'll have to get back to the real world soon. Back home to NJ. Back to cutting the grass...walking the dog in the park by my house...Back to work. Back to e-mail, and project plans, and conference calls and deadlines and voice-mails. Back to the real world.
I call it the "real world" because where I am now - both physically and emotionally - is still so surreal. I can't shake that feeling. I can't comprehend that I won't see my father in the flesh ever again. No more calling him, talking to him, marveling at him. No more quiet evenings for Amy and I with Mom and Dad talking until we doze off one by one.
I keep feeling like I'll hear that garage door any minute and it will be him. He's going to walk in the door soon...I just know it. No, I don't. It's over. He's not coming back. Really, he's not. I keep telling myself that but I just won't sink in.
I only have one more full day here before I need to go home to NJ. So, what will it be like to go home? To go to work? Should I bring pictures of him? Will it be like sitting Shiva, only in the office? Will I be able to re-focus on work?
What will it be like to come back here to Mom's house? There are pictures of Dad everywhere now, and he is always smiling. Seeing them makes me smile for a moment, and then the pain returns. I miss that smile terribly.
We're visiting the grave tomorrow morning. Mom really likes the site we chose: under a nice maple tree. Dad always liked seeing lots of green...I think he would have liked the tree, too. I just wish I could show him - and see him smile one more time.
10 days since Dad's death, 11 days since I hugged him that one last time in his hospital bed and put my head on his chest and said goodbye. It wasn't really him breathing anymore...it was just the ventilator pumping air into his lungs and letting it out.
The most painful, expressive emotions for me have mostly passed. But there is still this great pain just below the surface. It's not as sharp, but this one doesn't come and go...it just lingers, tugs, throbs.
I'll have to get back to the real world soon. Back home to NJ. Back to cutting the grass...walking the dog in the park by my house...Back to work. Back to e-mail, and project plans, and conference calls and deadlines and voice-mails. Back to the real world.
I call it the "real world" because where I am now - both physically and emotionally - is still so surreal. I can't shake that feeling. I can't comprehend that I won't see my father in the flesh ever again. No more calling him, talking to him, marveling at him. No more quiet evenings for Amy and I with Mom and Dad talking until we doze off one by one.
I keep feeling like I'll hear that garage door any minute and it will be him. He's going to walk in the door soon...I just know it. No, I don't. It's over. He's not coming back. Really, he's not. I keep telling myself that but I just won't sink in.
I only have one more full day here before I need to go home to NJ. So, what will it be like to go home? To go to work? Should I bring pictures of him? Will it be like sitting Shiva, only in the office? Will I be able to re-focus on work?
What will it be like to come back here to Mom's house? There are pictures of Dad everywhere now, and he is always smiling. Seeing them makes me smile for a moment, and then the pain returns. I miss that smile terribly.
We're visiting the grave tomorrow morning. Mom really likes the site we chose: under a nice maple tree. Dad always liked seeing lots of green...I think he would have liked the tree, too. I just wish I could show him - and see him smile one more time.
posted by Nadav Kaufman at 6/10/2006 12:22:00 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home