I have a few minutes right now between administrative things and going to bed, and I wanted to pop in to say thank you for your comments, emails, and texts.
The father's passing was peaceful. He was asleep the whole time, and gradually just drifted away.
That was comforting to me and mum. I shall not go into sordid details re the brother and sister and what roles they played at this event. But I *CAN* tell you that mum and I are both fine.
We had a chance to talk after the funeral and share stories of happier times - nay, healthier times - when the father was fully present. And we've shared many many moments since, just remembering him and keeping him close to our hearts.
Friends have asked if we're ok, and people are wondering why we haven't cried, like, the BIG cry, you know? We got a little emotional during the wake and funeral, and at the crematorium, but it's not like either of us broke down or anything.
The sister was sweet - she knew that I was closest to dad (of the three of us siblings) and noticed that I had been super strong throughout the entire thing, what with running about getting arrangements seen to and sorting out all the admin. She told BIKSS to watch me like a hawk and not leave my side when he showed up to the cremation. He sat beside me in the "immediate family" row and that got my busybody of an aunt asking some questions which my sister promptly quelled. She doesn't know about us, but she does know that he's one of my oldest friends.
Anyway, mum and I were the closest to my father, especially in the last 5 years that he'd been deteriorating, and so my theory is that over that period of time we had already been slowly grieving the loss of the man who was my father. We had been letting him go over and over again. His passing, in reality, was gradual, even tho the dying was relatively sudden - he got sent to the emergency room at 930 in the morning because his BP was low and by 3.33pm he was no more.
The truth is that over the last decade we had been slowly missing him, we had been slowly saying goodbye to the man we knew as her husband and my father.
The number of hours he was himself grew fewer as the days wore on till there were only snippets and glimpses of him towards the end. Even then, I'm pretty certain it was only the him he had become - the post-dementia version - that we were seeing during those lucid moments.
I say this now because looking back I realise that I had cried numerous times over the last decade, and I remember all the stages, all those feelings. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. And by the time he had begun what would become frequent admissions to hospital, Acceptance.
I hear this a lot - "But surely you're sad right? No matter how prepared you are, you can never be truly prepared. One day it's going to hit you," ...
Instead of saying "I wasn't merely prepared, I started mourning 5 years ago," what I tell them is that my (and mum's) relief on his behalf - that he doesn't have to be unhappy or suffer anymore - far outweighs any sadness we're feeling. And that makes it ok. That helps us let go, and gives us comfort and peace knowing he's in a better place.
And until we meet again, this.
