Since well before my mother passed away in 2007, Dad, like so many other "men of the house" had his chair. It was his "king of the castle" throne and, I'm sure, his place of safety. It sat in the front living room corner angled so that he could see the television and out the window. Any time we went to visit (or just borrow or steal things from him that he was going to throw away anyway), we knew that we would see the hazy image of him sitting there through the window as we pulled into the driveway.
It was always the same. From a place of politeness (that he and Mom taught me), I always called first if I was going over there and, each time, I knew that he had gotten up and unlocked the front door while I was on my way so that he wouldn't have to get up when I got there. It was always such a welcome site to walk in and see him sitting in his throne. "Hey, Guy!", he would always say as I entered the living room. Though it is still a bit rough for me to see, this is what it always looked like:
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| The evening I brought him home from the hospital after his diagnosis. |
The image is grainy and rough, I took it with my cell phone camera (which is not the latest or greatest in technology) right after I got him home to show everyone who followed my "Dad Updates" on facebook that he was finally back in the chair.
I haven't really seen that picture since he died. I've seen the thumbnail of it in my windows menu a few times and quickly passed it. It was too recent...too soon. Now, however, it doesn't bother me that much.
A week ago, Sarah and I went over to the house again with a car full of boxes to fill in the little bit of unused space in his attic. The move to the new/old homestead is going to be a gradual one, which I am grateful for. While we were there, we decided to rearrange the living room furniture. It was still tough to see that empty chair sitting in that corner. Each time we walked in, the "ghost" of him would appear in that recliner because our eyes had become so accustomed to seeing him there. It was time to start making the place our own.
Though I had said that I was going to keep the chair (it was a REALLY comfy chair), when we moved furniture, I saw how threadbare and stained it had become. I decided that it had to go; and, thus, Dad had to go. The chair represented all that he was in the latter years of his life and it was time to let him go once and for all. It was not an easy decision, but Monday is trash night and so I went over there, alone, to purge my father from his house...MY house. I took an old, wooden glider that sat in our living room for years over to replace it (though it had originally came from Mom and Dad's many years ago when I first moved out). I carried Dad's chair out to the curb, did that washing-of-hands pantomime that you see in comedies, and put the glider in its place. That part was done. Pretty cut and dry.
I waited for it to start bothering me. A few days went by and I was expecting a rush of guilt. I started to feel guilty about not feeling guilty. How could I so casually discard the one thing that still carried my father's essence? Am I trying to erase him from existence? Am I a terrible son?
I don't think I am.
The rational part of me has taken over and I move forward, ever so slowly. What would Dad say? Just like the picture had told me before, he would have given his blessing for me to do what I wanted to and just survive. Having no children of my own, I cannot know how it feels to prepare a future for someone who is to come after me. I just have to understand that I don't understand and press on from there.
This past week has been a roller coaster. Getting rid of the chair and putting our own little touches on the house has made being there much easier. One night, however, as Mechele and Luke helped me move a corner hutch into that living room, we found out that another of her sons, Greg, was rushed to the emergency room.
Once again, I found myself in that dreaded ER, mere feet away from that little room I mentioned in a previous article. The all-too-recent memories rushed back as I walked in. I even caught sight of that pretty nurse that sat with us in the little room. I wondered if, had she seen me, she would have remembered. Then again, does she have the sort of job that hardens you and makes you detach? I would bet.
The word came pretty quickly that Greg had allergies to something and that he was alright. This helped the mood quite a bit and we had some laughs with everyone which seemed to, somewhat, cleanse that waiting room a bit more. Still... I don't want to see it again for a while.
By Friday, I was more or less prepared to move a big part of my life into the house. The Friday Gathering, as I have mentioned, is something I live for. It allows me to behave in a juvenile manner and just cut loose the stresses that have been put upon me over the years. I had gotten terribly excited by Thursday looking forward to some of my friends getting to check out my new/old home.
Some of them have been around long enough to have been there when I was living there previously, some were new to the scene. Even my old friend and neighbor, Todd, took the drive up from Akron to hang out with us. I got to try out the new fire pit I dug (no phone books this time) and it seems to have turned out nicely. Mechele stopped by and my aunt and uncle, Oscar and Gigi (yeah..I like calling you that..I know you're reading) put in a brief visit, which I am VERY grateful for. Jeff made some brats on the grill, and much beer and other libations were had. All in all, a very fun evening. I am looking forward to doing it again this week. Things are looking up, right?
Last night, on my way to a party, I got a call letting me know that my friend Deb lost her mother. All of the happy thoughts I have been having immediately ceased and I was transported right back to another Saturday night not too long ago when I was out trying to have fun. I should learn to stop doing that.
My heart goes out to Deb right now because I am still reeling in my own loss. The phases of mourning and feelings all come back to the beginning and stab me in the chest as I think about her just beginning the process of loss. She will have to start the journey that I am nearing the end of... I think. At least the worst part of mine is behind me. She is only turning the key.
So I will now find myself, once again, immersed in the aroma of fresh-cut flowers that, like cousin Joe says, reminds me of death and loss. The service for Deb's mother will be Tuesday evening, just like Dad's. There are too many parallels going on here, and we're all simply going to have to "stop meeting like this."
To find a bright spot in all of this, I'm pretty sure Deb and I will become closer friends for having experienced these things so close together. That I will be thankful for. I can always use closer friends... there is no limit to how many you can have, which is handy. I guess our generation needs to step up and take over (God help us).
I type this on Sunday evening after actually resting for a while. I think about the two empty houses and all that is to be done with them and I wonder if Deb has a "chair" to sit in and remember. Should I advise her to keep it? Should I have kept Dad's? Just now, I'm starting to regret letting it go.
A week ago, Sarah and I went over to the house again with a car full of boxes to fill in the little bit of unused space in his attic. The move to the new/old homestead is going to be a gradual one, which I am grateful for. While we were there, we decided to rearrange the living room furniture. It was still tough to see that empty chair sitting in that corner. Each time we walked in, the "ghost" of him would appear in that recliner because our eyes had become so accustomed to seeing him there. It was time to start making the place our own.
Though I had said that I was going to keep the chair (it was a REALLY comfy chair), when we moved furniture, I saw how threadbare and stained it had become. I decided that it had to go; and, thus, Dad had to go. The chair represented all that he was in the latter years of his life and it was time to let him go once and for all. It was not an easy decision, but Monday is trash night and so I went over there, alone, to purge my father from his house...MY house. I took an old, wooden glider that sat in our living room for years over to replace it (though it had originally came from Mom and Dad's many years ago when I first moved out). I carried Dad's chair out to the curb, did that washing-of-hands pantomime that you see in comedies, and put the glider in its place. That part was done. Pretty cut and dry.
I waited for it to start bothering me. A few days went by and I was expecting a rush of guilt. I started to feel guilty about not feeling guilty. How could I so casually discard the one thing that still carried my father's essence? Am I trying to erase him from existence? Am I a terrible son?
I don't think I am.
The rational part of me has taken over and I move forward, ever so slowly. What would Dad say? Just like the picture had told me before, he would have given his blessing for me to do what I wanted to and just survive. Having no children of my own, I cannot know how it feels to prepare a future for someone who is to come after me. I just have to understand that I don't understand and press on from there.
This past week has been a roller coaster. Getting rid of the chair and putting our own little touches on the house has made being there much easier. One night, however, as Mechele and Luke helped me move a corner hutch into that living room, we found out that another of her sons, Greg, was rushed to the emergency room.
Once again, I found myself in that dreaded ER, mere feet away from that little room I mentioned in a previous article. The all-too-recent memories rushed back as I walked in. I even caught sight of that pretty nurse that sat with us in the little room. I wondered if, had she seen me, she would have remembered. Then again, does she have the sort of job that hardens you and makes you detach? I would bet.
The word came pretty quickly that Greg had allergies to something and that he was alright. This helped the mood quite a bit and we had some laughs with everyone which seemed to, somewhat, cleanse that waiting room a bit more. Still... I don't want to see it again for a while.
By Friday, I was more or less prepared to move a big part of my life into the house. The Friday Gathering, as I have mentioned, is something I live for. It allows me to behave in a juvenile manner and just cut loose the stresses that have been put upon me over the years. I had gotten terribly excited by Thursday looking forward to some of my friends getting to check out my new/old home.
Some of them have been around long enough to have been there when I was living there previously, some were new to the scene. Even my old friend and neighbor, Todd, took the drive up from Akron to hang out with us. I got to try out the new fire pit I dug (no phone books this time) and it seems to have turned out nicely. Mechele stopped by and my aunt and uncle, Oscar and Gigi (yeah..I like calling you that..I know you're reading) put in a brief visit, which I am VERY grateful for. Jeff made some brats on the grill, and much beer and other libations were had. All in all, a very fun evening. I am looking forward to doing it again this week. Things are looking up, right?
Last night, on my way to a party, I got a call letting me know that my friend Deb lost her mother. All of the happy thoughts I have been having immediately ceased and I was transported right back to another Saturday night not too long ago when I was out trying to have fun. I should learn to stop doing that.
My heart goes out to Deb right now because I am still reeling in my own loss. The phases of mourning and feelings all come back to the beginning and stab me in the chest as I think about her just beginning the process of loss. She will have to start the journey that I am nearing the end of... I think. At least the worst part of mine is behind me. She is only turning the key.
So I will now find myself, once again, immersed in the aroma of fresh-cut flowers that, like cousin Joe says, reminds me of death and loss. The service for Deb's mother will be Tuesday evening, just like Dad's. There are too many parallels going on here, and we're all simply going to have to "stop meeting like this."
To find a bright spot in all of this, I'm pretty sure Deb and I will become closer friends for having experienced these things so close together. That I will be thankful for. I can always use closer friends... there is no limit to how many you can have, which is handy. I guess our generation needs to step up and take over (God help us).
I type this on Sunday evening after actually resting for a while. I think about the two empty houses and all that is to be done with them and I wonder if Deb has a "chair" to sit in and remember. Should I advise her to keep it? Should I have kept Dad's? Just now, I'm starting to regret letting it go.
This is beautiful, very poignant. I feel honored by the talk we had Friday and am grateful for all you shared. As I said, I feel like losing people we love so deeply is something you never "get over" - but you do get through it. And it seems to me that you are processing your feelings and coping in a healthy manner - even if that feels difficult and very painful right now. My thoughts and my heart are with you. - Marcy
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