THIS MORNING
… it was so quiet
Tuesday Mar. 25, 2014
This morning – off to typical Tuesday start at 4AM, finishing touches on my newsletter in advance of 7AM publishing …
Yesterday was the first since my dad died that I didn’t go ...
First day I didn’t go there. First day I didn’t walk among his things. First day away from it, first day not doing all those things that are done. Clothes, bedding and towels went to the Goodwill. Eyeglasses (11 pairs) will help 3rd world folks see better, notifications to everybody he did business with, every government department notified, every one of them need forms filled and requirements met – which will take a long time.
For now, it was a day off, a day away.
While I did take care of some matters with his affairs, it was the first day that I didn’t go through any of this things, ignored those boxes of paper, didn’t visit the condo – nothing but a call from a bureaucrat, one call made and a message left …
Strange, this lift off the shoulders doesn’t feel lighter. Friends support me, tell me things will be fine. It will be better soon, they say. Some say they know. They understand. They’ve been through it. I understand their kindness and appreciate it – but seriously, they can’t understand because they are not me, and he was not their father. I’m not exceptional (OK, maybe a little), but I am absolutely unique in that no other person enjoyed that relationship with him. Nobody else held his head in his hands at the end. Nobody trucked him to and fro to appointments all those years, shopped for his groceries, advocated for him (sometimes yelling at bureaucrats and sundry assorted idiots was involved) , fetched and carried for him and sometimes grew weary of him … but not often.
I got lots out of it.
So did he.
Sure, he was living somewhat vicariously through me, but he was no social slouch himself. As I work through his things there are pictures, notes, greeting cards, ticket stubs and receipts aplenty as evidence he has quite the social whirl of his own and certainly a wide circle of friends where he lived . . .
This morning I’ll make another trip – bring back some boxes, check the mail, continue the trail of crumbs that lead and weave through his memories, and mine.
Things.
Thoughts.
Ones that run through my head in the wee quiet hours of this morning.
Not every morning, but many . . .
Mark Kolke
198,136
column written/ published from Calgary
morning walk: -10C / 14F, light overcast, good traction – Gusta and I had a good sprint up the hill, short loop back … must get going on a busy day ...
Reader feedback / comments always welcome:
Hey Mark, my thoughts are with you, TK, Edmonton, AB
