Emotions ooze, wheeze, plod, siege, poke into and peak past my innards since Dad’s passing two weeks ago. Loss (many different kinds) anger, sadness, frustration, gratitude, joy, liberation, disbelief, quirky humor, black humor, horror, compassion, love, and (I know I said this already) - loss.   Vivid surreal and unreal scenes play like bad dreams behind my eyes. My heart feels pummeled, puffy - yet powerful.

I am tired.

I have taken long indulgent naps, watched the birds, reveled in the lush green spring, nuzzled the children, rested my head on Paul’s chest, tossed and turned, cleaned, cooked, and climbed. The rock feels good beneath my hands; the sun a blessing on my face. My arms are weak from a winter of post-surgery healing but my dog, my nose, and my lungs are happy to be outside. Summer remains elusive after a tumultuous spring of snow, hail, and rain. I gobble up the bits of sun between storms and wish for more energy to play and work. My thighs and shoulders are sunburned in patches after a Sunday afternoon mountain bike ride. Itchy bug bites polka-dot my legs, my head of hair hasn’t been cut for eight months and my bubble gum colored toenails are chipped and begging for a pedicure. There are bills to pay, shows to get ready for, projects to begin at the studio, thank-you-notes to write, a bulging e-mail “inbox” to reckon with, the hummingbird feeder to fill and plants to plant. Photos and video footage from the Nestle chocolate sculpture commission need to be edited and published (yes…I have gotten all of your requests and understand your curiosity to see results of the project). Giant industrious carpenter ants moved into my little cabin during the six week absence while I tended my folks and completed the chocolate commission.   I am squeamish when it comes to squishing BIG ants. Armed with my little purple vacuum cleaner; I am waging war to reclaim my space. I can hardly express how good it feels to be home in my little cabin at the end of a road near the top of a mountain. Retreat and rejuvenation accompanied by the patter of rain on my tin roof.

My father did not want a memorial service. We will travel to his childhood home in Nebraska – perhaps next spring – to bury his ashes. The ashes from my parents’ little dog Taz will journey from their current perch near Dad’s favorite recliner to Nebraska with us since Dad wanted Taz to be buried alongside him. My family is grateful for the exceptional care Chris Remely professionally and kindly bestowed upon us. The young owner of the hundred-year-old Dokken Nelson Funeral Home (and Howard’s high school classmate) Chris met several times with my father and us during the weeks preceding Dad’s death. Chris’s grace, concern and care were far beyond our expectations. We are thankful.

The sun is sleeping-in after an impressive rainstorm. The sky on the horizon is heavy like my father’s eyelids; unblinking. Dad loved the birds. Today they are singing with a post-storm celebratory vigor. My heart is like the morning; a light grey-white fog stimulated by the soft patter of raindrops. Heartened by the birds’ song, humbled by the force of the storm; I drink from the moisture laden lush green life - thankful as a farmer for the promise of life-after-the-storm.

Dad passed peacefully yesterday afternoon.

His strength is impressive. The sheer grit and power of Dad’s will was a marvel to witness – yet excruciating. A wrestling match dragged on for several days and nights. Dad’s grip on life and desire for control was an unprecedented opponent for his cancer-ridden body. His grit and determination won round after round even as his body weakened. Only with the help of accumulative medication did the wrestling subside.

Mom, Robin and I were talking and touching Dad when he died while lying under his two favorite pale blue and cream afghans (crocheted by mom). He was on the hospital bed in the TV room next to the sliding patio door where a cool breeze blew. Edye (his kind attentive Hospice nurse) arrived to clean and dress Dad. We had a silent respectful procession on the wrap-around-deck he spent so much time enjoying - from the covered porch at his favorite sit’n spot outside the TV room, past the little wild bunny feeding spot, several bird feeders, the barbeque, and his proudly pruned yard.

Looking up from my computer just now, the rain has subsided. I see a hint of blue on the horizon – the color of my father’s eyes. I can’t see them in the early morning light but I hear a gaggle of Canadian Geese crescendo and fade – a fitting tribute to the man we loved. 

Dad is listening to the Lawrence Welk show. The crease in his brow softened since we put the video tape in a few minutes ago. He has not eaten food for 7 days. He is not drinking water. His condition “took a turn” on Friday as his body began the final stages of shutting down. Paul and I arrived straight from the airport late Saturday night after completing the Nestle chocolate sculpture commission in Wisconsin. Robin and I are taking shifts; Dad is in the TV room next to the living room where we can keep watch.  He spent most of the last weeks in his old blue easy chair but it grew uncomfortable for him so a hospital bed was delivered earlier today. 

written early Monday morning...

Mom and Dad had a much-needed quiet day at home.  They are both understandably exhausted.  Just over a week has passed since last Saturday when I drove Dad home from his two-night stay at the hospital.  Since then Hospice care began, Howard and his family arrived from Minnesota, Robin arrived from Tennessee, the kitchen floor was ripped up and new flooring installed (Dad insisted), Dad’s older brother Keith came from Nebraska for a visit with his daughter.  Carl (Dad’s brother) and his wife (my aunt MaryJane) arrived.  Meetings were held in our home with the funeral home director.  Documents were signed.  A washing machine leaked into the basement.  Meals were given by friends and appreciated by my family.  A skit was performed by the grandchildren and their new friends (my boyfriend’s children).    Rounds of nausea, pain, and itching skin (a condition of jaundice) are being controlled with carefully recorded medications.  Stories have been woven with laughter and tears.

The most difficult moments lately are the “goodbyes.”   Saturday at noon, Keith left for the airport under Lacy’s close watch looking somehow smaller than when he arrived; his blue eyes soft with sadness.  Later the same day - Howard, Tiffany and the girls drove away sobbing after homemade cards were given to grandpa, photos were taken and hugs shared in a tangle of oxygen and IV cords.  Yesterday Carl and MaryJane left for Nebraska after we shared a scrumptious ham dinner and apple pie prepared by friends.