Monthly Archives: March 2015

day.one.hundred.seventy.eight.

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slumber.

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day.one.hundred.sixty.eight.

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how can a human body produce so many tears?  a constant stream flowing down one’s cheek.  non stop.  to say goodbye is not an easy endeavor. to remember a life, your father’s life, is cause for celebration. my heart did not have room for celebration today.  joy, yes. laughs were shared, but tears were overwhelming. so many people have shared how dad affected their lives.  i wouldn’t know where to start.  i remember so much.  may i never forget.

to begin that point in my life where i now need to remember.  there will not be any new memories made with him.  to begin the rest of my life without him.  without dad.  i cannot understand this.  i’m even lying here on his and mom’s bed. he will never lay here again. i go into his closet to pick out a shirt or sweater, even his slippers. things he will never wear again.

people talked of his laugh today.  a snorty laugh.  one i can replicate easily.  but a laugh we will not hear again.

i drove by the restaurant he, mom and i last ate in together.  the last one.  i could barely drive with tears overwhelming.

those words, never again.  so cut and dry. so gritty. so final. so harsh. never again will i see him. hear him. hug him. never again.

laying your dad to rest is the most hard thing i could experience. so harsh. but i am grateful my brother and sister and i, along with countless extended family members could share this. share it with mom. how broken must her heart be!  God give her peace. allow her to rest. may we all rest. may we remember things we didn’t know existed. may we relish in hope. to live knowing there is hope!

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day.one.hundred.sixty.four.

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dad’s closet.  it’s weird walking into a house that he lived in.  i am kind of grateful i did not grow up in this house so i don’t have a million memories piercing my heart and mind. but i was not looking forward to this day.  walking in to his house and seeing photos of him. seeing a rack of his hats.  seeing his closet (with the sweater he was wearing when i said goodbye last). seeing his side of the bed.  seeing his handwriting on papers in the office.  seeing him.  he is everywhere. truly, it is haunting.

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day.one.hundred.sixty.three.

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sights on the big apple.  we took a detour today!

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day.one.hundred.sixty.

Dad loves golf. It’s a passion he and my mom shared.  About a month ago he received a care package made by people a part of a cancer support group. In this care package was this golf cart toy and other golf paraphernalia.  I know he was touched by the gesture.  He let my son keep the golf cart. I wonder now where the rest of the stuff went. I’m fearing going to their house in a few days, seeing his stuff. touching the things he did just a short while ago and never will again.  imageHere is a link to his well written obituary.

day.one.hundred.fifty.nine.

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goodbye, dad.  i cannot fathom the fact that i will not see you again here on earth. never again.  how does someone live their life after death? my poor mother.

it was what i feared. i was awoken by my phone ringing at 1:56 am this morning.  “mom’s cell,” the phone lit up. i knew what she was about to say.  the words a mother never wants to tell her children. he passed away. and with that my life has changed drastically.  i will never see him again.  how could i sleep after that?  i lay there in bed trying to think of every memory i have of him. praise GOD there are too many to count.  the few photos i have of him, shown above, do not pale in comparison to the amount of memories i have of this kind, quiet, humble man.  a true servant of Christ.

he’s gone.

goodbye, dad.  i know i will see you again.

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day.one.hundred.fifty.eight.

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my dad is under hospice care at the hospital. it is time. oh, to hold his hand one last time!  but soon he will be holding the hands of our savior and how much more do i wish that upon him than anything.

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day.one.hundred.fifty.one

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my dad is dying. i hate that sentence. i hate that i am actually mouthing these words to people who ask how he is doing. my dad is dying.  mom wrote today to say they think it won’t be long now. here is am, an icy 600 miles away from them and am bawling like a baby. a baby girl who wants her daddy. my dad is dying.  soon we will be eternities apart.  this is it.  what i have been screaming and begging for not to happen.

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