Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

This song, from "Phantom of the Opera" always made my mom bawl after my grandfather died. Of course I missed him. He was an amazing man. My son has his first name. I cried too, but not like my mom. Now I understand her pain.

My dad died last Saturday. It wasn't a surprise. They had released him from care the Monday before, and the hospice nurse that took care of him should be sainted. I thank God that he wasn't humiliated for long. I thought I was doing great, helping out, cracking jokes, doing what needed to be done. Then I hit the wall. After the funeral on Wednesday, I went into his office and sobbed uncontrollably. I finally understood why my mom wasn't in the mood to celebrate Christmas in 1997, or anything else.

I'm sad for my mom, who has become a widow at a time when they should be traveling and having fun without kids. They loved their grandkids so much, but were limited in time spent with them because my dad was so sick.

I’m sad for my son, who is having the hardest time out of all the grandkids because he knew my dad the longest, and he understands that death is final. I’m sad for my sister’s baby, who will never be able to feel the gentleness of Pop-Pop’s embrace.

I couldn’t believe it, but Tuesday night, after the wake, we were still in the funeral home. I started to get up because we were getting ready to leave, and I actually turned to look for him. This really sucks.

No matter how much time you have, it isn’t enough. I sat by his side for three days before he died, and for countless visits before that, KNOWING that my time with him was limited, KNOWING that I would regret not saying things, or asking questions, or talking at all, but I couldn’t think of anything. My brain was a total blank. He had left nothing to question. My dad, the master planner, had typed up 20 pages of instructions for what to do when he died. He needed to know that we were all set. I knew he loved me because he let me take care of him. At least I have the peace that he knew I loved him.