I needed to go through the stuff in his house and figure out what I want to keep and what goes. It's strange. I thought my dad was perfectly okay. I'm supposed to be thinking about him giving me away at my wedding one day...I'm not supposed to be standing in his abandoned bathroom with my mom, the two of us holding each other, staring at his half used hair products, toothbrush, and comb with hair still in it. I'm not supposed to be walking through out his house, labeling what stays for the estate sale and what is to be given to charity. I'm not supposed to have 24 years of memories with my dad in boxes in my kitchen and bedroom.
We were supposed to have more time than this. It wasn't supposed to be this way.
I've been inside my dad's house twice since he passed. The first time was rough. The door opened, a rush of his smell came through the air, and I was gone. I ran into his bedroom, frantically opened his drawers looking for anything I could hold, held his UCLA sweatshirt up to my face, smelled as deep as I could, collapsed onto the edge of his bed and sobbed until I was too tired to cry. I walked around his house banging countertops, throwing shirts into bags, ran outside, looked to the sky and screamed at him for leaving me and not being here with me, and leaving mom and I with the mess we were in. I screamed that I would never forget him leaving me and never forgive him for leaving me with so much heartache that at times it hurts to actually breathe.
But today...today was different...
We walked by his car and mom gave me the keys and told me to look inside for something special he had kept in there. I looked around, and there it was. A picture of me. The edges were torn, the picture wrinkled and I smiled.
We went inside the house, and that same dad filled air hit me. I cried for a second, but kept going. We went into his bedroom, and I found a box of clothes mom had laid aside for me. She had made a pile of his worn and tattered jeans for a quilt we're planning on making. We went through the box of shirts, called upon memories and laughed at his fashion choices. Good thing he was a very handsome French man that could pull of any look. All of a sudden I hear our neighbor/family friend Lynn call me from the next bedroom with tears in her eyes. She runs in with a pile of stuff in her hands and tell me to brace myself. Mom and I stand there with tears running down our faces looking at the precious handmade things I had made him when a little girl, that he had saved all these years. A handmade envelope covered with little drawings of everything he loved most in the world, such as his remote control, NFL logo, picture of me, his red truck, food, etc. Next was a rainbow coloring of the word Dad. Followed by a hand written note telling him how much his little six year old loved him. And a Father's Day card telling him how he was the only Daddy I ever needed and that we were meant to be together forever.
The day continued on. We laughed at the funny pictures we found, cried at the tender pictures hidden like little treasures all around his house, and smelled his shirts one after another. Pretty soon, I had another box of clothes to keep, a box of priceless pictures, his beautiful cufflinks, a ring he always wore, and other treasures.
There was only one thing bothering me that I needed to know, to finally be able to put the questions to rest. I didn't want to ask it, but sometimes when you're not there to experience everything, the unknown is worse than actually knowing the details. I took a breath, hugged my mom, and asked her what had been haunting me the most.
"Mommy, where was daddy laying on the ground when you walked in and found him?"
I know, no one can probably understand why I would ever want to know that. But when your parent dies, and it's unexpected, you want to know every detail to feel a little closer to them, and sometimes just to stop the what if's from haunting you in the night.
She pointed to the spot and we stared. It was a completely different side of the room that I had thought. A question answered. A step toward closure.
She relived the moments she found him, and we sat and cried. My mom answered a lot of my questions today. She freed me from a lot of what if's. She told me something that was probably the turning point for me today. She told me that in her heart she knew dad had been sick for a long time, he just didn't tell any of us. He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to leave us. He didn't want to worry us. He didn't want to go, even though now we know it truly was his time. With tears in her eyes, mom held my face, and told me there was nothing I could have done. Daddy was sick. Heavenly Father wanted his boy back home again.
No therapist, no books on grieving, no amount of time could have given me what I got today. Peace.
I found precious memories and treasures today. I smiled more than I cried. I laughed in his empty house. I connected with my dad. I healed with my mom. I shared stories of my dad with a friend. And right as mom and I packed up my last box, crying, we held each other. Mom held me tighter and told me to look outside. Right there on the railing of his entry way, a perfect dove landed, and looked at us with peaceful eyes.
I don't know if the ache I feel in my heart will ever truly go away. I'm sure time will heal that ache little by little. I know that I will always miss my dad and long for more time with him. Everything is a learning process and the picture is bigger than just my point of view. The only thing I know for sure is that today was a good day.
