December 18, 2008

Hey Fahj,

It’s a good thing the computer defaults the date into these letters when I start typing it because, at this point, I have absolutely no concept of time or days. I hope I don’t forget to go back to work when that time comes. I’d hate to lose that cushy government job of mine that you were so proud of.

Let me tell you, yesterday was a little slice of hell. It seemed like an unusually long period of time between your death and the funeral, especially considering we had more or less come to terms with losing you while you were still in the ICU. (Sidenote: the day after you left us for good, Mom was playing peek-a-boo with Taylor, saying “peek-a-boo! I see you!” and Red said, “tell Grandma to stop talking about the ICU.” I swear she could do stand-up with wit that quick.) I think in that time we may have fooled ourselves into thinking that your funeral wouldn’t be that hard.

Dad, it was that hard. The minute we walked in and went to the front of the church to pray, we saw your urn sitting before the altar and completely lost our shit. Remember that stupid photography contest Red and I had with her Nikon one of the last times we were both home? We were taking turns snapping pictures of pine cones and weeds and flowers. Red ran inside for a moment and, while she was gone, I went out of turn and took the most natural, perfect picture of you sitting on the deck smiling. We printed an 8x10 of that picture, framed it up and put it next to your urn. As much as we hemmed and hawed over which picture to use, I believe we chose the perfect one. It was so YOU. And YOU were perfect.

Somebody made a little cover for your urn (standard funeral home issue and you’re proud we didn’t spend any money on it, right?) that has a picture of a tree and says “Those that plant trees love people other than themselves” or something to that effect, which I think summed up your personality beautifully. You always put us before yourself.

So, yeah, we cried our eyes out and then walked around to look at your many, many floral arrangements and plants and we cried even harder. It’s amazing how many people loved you. I hope you realized that when you were alive and if you didn’t, I hope you were with us at your funeral to see it. You will be dearly missed. In fact, the church was packed full of people, many I can’t remember ever having seen before. Neither Tommy O. nor Dave H. saw your obituary in the paper until that morning and both still made it to the funeral. Dave introduced himself to me and said you were a good man and he wouldn’t have missed it for the world. You wouldn’t believe how many people told me you were a good man and I was all, “Duh!” We knew that better than anyone else.

Beth told me she always said she wouldn’t go to your funeral but, man oh man, I think she was having as hard a time with it as I was. Like she said, she lost a girlfriend. She absolutely adored you, Dad. Everybody who really knew you adored you. I’m the most thankful for those people who took the time to know you well instead of just basing their opinions on the crap lies they may have heard. I believe that’s why I was most comforted by your coworkers and childhood friends and JoAnn and John and his family and Mark…the people I know were there because they loved YOU, not because they wanted to support Mom.

I told Beth and Marie, your county girls, that I really want to keep in touch with them because you liked them so much and it’s what you would have wanted. Beth told me she hopes to get an invitation to the wedding, which she said you were really excited about. I think I’ll send her a save-the-date too. I know you told me not to because you guys never exchanged Christmas cards, but I don’t think you really understood the concept of a save-the-date. Beth will appreciate it, especially in light of this whole shitty death situation.

Along those same lines of keeping in touch, Mike is planning to continue the weekly phone call to John, which makes me happy. I was afraid of falling out of touch with him and, let’s be honest, I’m not the type to comfortably converse with your siblings that often. In person I totally could but, like you, I’m not much of a phone person. I could talk on the phone regularly and/or for long periods of time with you and Red, but that’s about it. Everybody else gives me the phone heebies. Martine told me that we need to maintain that contact and I agree. I also usually don’t understand her so maybe that's not what she said at all.

Speaking of John, the whole family came over yesterday after the funeral and we all sat around the living room for story time. I don’t think there had ever been so many people in the living room at once before. I was almost too exhausted to stay awake through the story time (who knew crying would take that much out of a person?) but it was so comforting. What a little shit you were! He offered to send us more stories via email if we give him our address and to that I say HELL YES! I will cherish any stories about you that I can get my hands on, especially the ones from your younger days, the ones you’ve told me throughout the years but I’ve forgotten because I need to be taking St. John’s wort or whatever it is that helps the memory. And you know the only person better at telling these stories than John would be you yourself. Since you’re no longer an option, Uncle John better bring it.

Mom, Mike, Nic, both Amandas, Taylor and I just sat down together in the living room and Mike read us your will. In it, you stated that you love us all, although you didn’t say it often enough. There was not a doubt in any of our minds about how much you loved us. When you’re as great a parent as you have been, there’s no need to say it. You showed us every single day. You continue to show us even after your death.

People that have lost parents in the past keep telling me that each day will be a little better and they know what I’m going through, but I don’t believe it. How can they know what I am going through when I was the one with the best father in the entire history of the world?

I love you and miss you more today than yesterday,
Angie