The biggest problem I face is that I am at a loss for words. I can't seem to come up with the right ones to describe how I feel. Does it make sense that I feel like my emotions are frozen?
I miss my Dad, most of the time. But sometimes life becomes so normal that I almost forget that he is gone. Until I go to his house. Then it hits me full in the face. The house is empty. There's stuff there. His cane, His papers, his phone, his van is in the driveway with the air slowly leaking out of the back tire. His flowers are still blooming. Like they haven't been told that there is no one there to bloom for.
I want to go back soon and face up to myself. To clean the house again till it looks as close to normal as it can, because I know most of it has to go. I want to spend a day there by myself and be sad. To say a real goodbye and not be hurried by the details of life like I have been since the day he died.
Going back to the nursing home to visit mom without him the first time was hard, really hard. I could still envision the back of his head while I pushed him in the wheelchair. I could replay our conversations in my mind as we went. I could still hear his agonized cry when we left again, telling me how hard it was on him to see mom that way, and to recognize that she almost never knew him anymore.
I think that was when he gave up on living. He knew that she really didn't know. He knew that we would keep going and keep caring after he was gone, and so he was ready. This world was too much for him. He was tired and wanted to be done here.
I overheard him one day telling Angie that he loves his children but there is no love that is quite as strong as the love of a companion. He was missing mom's affection. It is no longer there. She cannot give it, because her brain doesn't remember.
Old people have become a treasure to me. I love to see the white hair, the crinkles in the faces, the hands with brown spots on them that still show remnants of strength.