Things Can Go From Worse to Worser

I think I mentioned I have to go back to Tennessee for my father's interment. Explanation? Ok.

My father, as stated, was a retired Marine. He put twenty years in the Corps. As a benefit of military service, he can be buried in a national cemetery. Hell, if he wished it, I think he could have been buried in Arlington (I don't know how that works out but don't quote me on that).

Anyway.....

When he was first discovered dead in his bed, the ambulance was called and such. Then detectives and such because I guess it's standard practice to perform an investigation in a death that occurs when someone is not expected to die. My father's health failed fast and we knew it was a matter of time...we didn't know when. I had hoped for a year or two. So, an investigation and we were told an autopsy, which both would delay services.

A medical examine concluded my father's cause of death was a hypertensive heart with secondary cause being his Parkinson's. No autopsy. So services were planned. The viewing was scheduled for Friday evening and the memorial services on Saturday morning.

Back to the national cemetery thing. National cemeteries have rules for burial. I'm sure all cemeteries do but there are more stringent ones with the national ones. There are no burials on the weekend which threw out Saturday and Sunday. And today was a national holiday so that closed Monday. There are also the rule of burying only a limited number of people on a daily basis so there are appointments (it's so damn exclusive that everyone is just dying to get in.....aha ha ha...ahem. yeah). SOOOOO, my dad's schedule time in this Thursday at 9 a.m. with full military honors like the gun salute and such.

My father was dressed in his Marine Corps blues including his white gloves and cover, medals, and parade sword. It brings tears to my eyes as I think about what he looked and felt like. Still having problems dealing with it.

His family (save a person or two like my cousin Sarah) were total dicks to my mother, Emma, and me. I felt like a stranger at my own father's funeral....like I was intruding on a private family event and that I had no right to mourn this man. I don't think I can forgive them for their behaviour. Yes, grief causes people to do strange things but you don't rally together and treat certain people like shit and console others....that sadden my already sad heart.

I spoke on behalf of my siblings and myself, and I am grateful for that moment especially with all the sadness of the weekend. It was not the most eloquent speech I have ever written but I did what I could under the circumstances.

I have had difficulty trying to sum up one man's 54 years in words. First, comes the disbelief and anger that he only got 54 years. Then comes the selfish sadness that I won't see him again. All of it stops me from simply talking about who Papa was in life and is in our hearts and memories

But remembering him only takes realizing he enjoyed the simple things in life:

• Watching a Packer's game while eating a monster of a sandwich
• Finding a good movie to enjoy over and over again to add to his huge collection
• A hat for his head
• Music-especially those perfectly selected artists for the road trips
• Anything with an engine but more like his dream cars...the better
• And his chair.

I believe Jenn, Shawn, and I learned to soak up the joy from the simple things in every day living from Pop's quiet way. Because that was Pa. He wasn't one for huge philosophical talks or great emotional reveals.

He let us know that he was happy by that grin of his mouth or angry, usually at something we, kids had just done wrong, with the tightening of those same lips. And he toughed out the rest-all those rough bits in our lives, his life, in his stoic Marine Corps way.

And Pa was tough. Strict when were kids. He lived by the Corps. I always joked that any recruit at Parris Island had it easier compared to the S kids. He did mellow with age but kept that strong way about him that he used to battle the illness to the end.

I could speak forever about Pa because I have a lifetime of memories of him. Some not so good but others quite extraordinary.

The sum of a man's life is not all the years he puts into it but how he lived them...and how his loved ones remember him. I know each of us has hundreds, if not thousands of memories of the man my siblings and I call Papa.

Our grandfather was correct when he whispered to me yesterday that our Pop was a good man. He was. He is.

Before I go, I leave you with one of my memories.

It was a day in 1978 in Laurel Bay, SC. I remember the happiness in my heart. The excitement of the day. I was holding hands with Pop, and we were walking on a sidewalk or paved mall. I remember looking down at my shadown and feeling so very happy. I was also a little nervous about what I had to do but it didn't matter to me because this was mine and Pop's day. I remember sitting in a chair in front of a large room of people. There were questions about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. I was asked if Papa helped me with my homework. I remember wanting to get the answers right. It was so very important to. And it was over...quick as that.

I was six years old and it was the day my Pop adopted me as his own daughter.

Thank you Pop. I love you. We love you. And we miss you.

...

On the way home, the most horrible thing happened. It was about 2 a.m. and I was driving (around 75 mph on a 70 mph highway). Suddenly in front of me not even 50 feet away there was an animal. I could swear it was a cat, not quite a kitten but not quite a cat. It was walking straight down the road. I didn't have enough time to swerve without causing the car to overturn. I ran over it and yelled out waking my mother. When I told her what I had done just seconds before, I broke down and sobbed so hard. I pulled over on the shoulder and we switched seats. My mother hugged me as we crossed behind the car next to semis zooming past us on the road. I feel miserable about it.

When I was 18 or 19 years old, I swerved to miss an animal in the middle of the road on a trip from my college back to see my boyfriend. I was all over the road before I hit a huge tree at approximately 60 mph. My father yelled at me and told me to just hit the damn thing if I ever get in a situation like that again.

That's all I could hear when I suddenly saw that animal. I imagined the car overturning and flipping down the embankment and killing all three of us. And now I think about that kitten's head splattered open on the road. I imagine some child crying for her lost friend.

And I think about how my father is dead. Everything makes me think about that.

So stupid.

Comments

[carrie]

Nae, I love you and I am here if you need me. Your story about the animal in the road reminded me of the time my mom hit a cat on her way home from work. It was the first time I ever saw my mom cry. I don't know why I was at her house. Maybe we were going to dinner. But I held her til she felt better. And I knew this was a turning point in our relationship.