The Burden I Bear…

I woke up one morning when I was 8 and my Dad wasn’t home.  He and my mom were divorced at the time.  Oddly enough, he was the one with custody.  My mom has always been slightly abnormal when it comes to the “being a mom” concept.  That April morning in 1989 was so bizarre.  Dad wasn’t home.  Two of his work buddies were in our living room.  My sister was still asleep.  She was 5.

My Dad was a maintenance supervisor at the apartment complex where we lived.  It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for either of these guys to be sitting at the apartment with my Dad off fixing someone’s broken window or something.  When I asked where he was on that particular morning I was told that he was “out on a call.”  OK then…

Within minutes I was being told to pack a bag for my sister and I.  We were going to spend a night or two with my aunt.  Alright… off to pack up a bag of stuff for sister and I.  My uncle shows up with his big box van and we hang out on our sleeping bags in the back.

What I remember then is that we spent some time at my aunts and people were really attentive.  We thought we were there just to play with my cousin.  Everyone was acting a bit odd but in my family that’s really nothing new.

Then my mom showed up.

Besides the fact that my mom has never liked this side of the family, why would she be coming to get us for a bit from my aunt’s house?  It wasn’t her day.  Strange.

The next 30 minutes changed my life.  She took us to a pond area.  Somewhere pretty.  She had to talk to us.  Something had happened.  Something with Dad.  He was dead.  He wouldn’t be coming home.  We wouldn’t be able to see him anymore. He was… gone… I couldn’t believe it.  I couldn’t stop crying.  Dead?  That’s what happened to the stupid hamster you bought me a year or two ago.  I remember, Dad buried it in the long driveway.  Would we bury Dad in the long driveway?  But…. but…

Soon after telling us, mom brought us back to my aunt’s house.  (I told you she didn’t really understand the whole “being a mom” concept)  Sis walked up to my aunt: “My Dad’s dead!” – innocent, matter of fact, not sad.  She was 5.  What did she know?  She had no idea what “dead” meant.

I, on the other hand, understood.  In fact, I had wished for it.  This was all my fault.  I was the reason he was dead.  All because I was a brat and wanted to take my radio outside and he got mad at me.  He didn’t want it breaking.  I wasn’t allowed to take it outside.  And I told him I hated him.  How could I have said that?  Oh my god, this was all my fault.  How could I tell him I wished he would just die.    Why oh why did I say that?  Why did I have to fight with him?  Why couldn’t I have just behave.  If only I behaved he would still be alive.  This was all my fault. This was all my fault….

I cried and cried to my aunt about all of that.  It had to be my fault because I said it.  And then it happened.  The same day.

I don’t remember sleeping.  I don’t remember eating.  I barely remember talking.  I remember sitting in my uncles lap all curled up.  I remember crying and crying.  I remember people being nice.  Asking if I was OK.  Trying to get me to eat.  Trying to get me to play.  Trying to get my mom to allow us to go to his wake.  Arguing with my mom because she didn’t want us at the funeral either.  We were moved to my Nana’s house.  Would we ever see our own beds again?  What about all of our stuff? What about school?

Where was my mom?

It was decided among my Dad’s family that Sis and I should get the chance to see Dad before they buried him.  We needed to have the chance to say goodbye.  First, they needed to explain what happened.  He had a brain aneurysm.  What?  A vein in his brain popped.  He wasn’t in pain.  He had been watching TV with his girlfriend.  He passed out.  She just thought he was tired.  Then she realized that he wasn’t asleep and that something was wrong.  She called 911.  (How didn’t I hear the ambulance?  How did I sleep through my Dad dying? )  There were complications during the ambulance ride.  They had to pull over.  When they got to the hospital he was put on life support.  He had no brain activity.  We were told he was a “hero,” though.  He was an organ donor.  Because of that his eyes might look weird.  They had donated his eyes.  The lids were sewn shut.

So there we were… 5 and 8… looking at our Dad… in a coffin… with his eyes sewn shut.  And everyone… everyone was looking at us.  Granted, it was just our family at that point, but I could feel their eyes on us.  Watching.  Waiting.  For what?

We didn’t get to go to the funeral.  A huge fight ensued over the fact that we saw him at all.  My mother in all of her infinite wisdom didn’t think we should be at either the viewing or funeral.  Because, really, who needs to say goodbye to their dad when they die anyway…

And through it all… the one thought I had… was … It’s my fault… It’s all my fault…

 

4/8/89 – I love you Dad.

Dad’s Anniversary…

Today was the 19th anniversary of my Dad’s death. I had decided that I would go and visit his grave site. It had been about 15 years (at least) since I last visited. I knew the name of the cemetery and tried to get there on my own… which did not work…

 

Driving around the town was frustrating and I could not seem to understand why the cemetery was not next to the church. What the heck is that!? So, after getting myself in a tizzy, I called my aunt in NH to ask her where the cemetery is. The cemetery office wasn’t answering the phone so I needed her help. Well, she managed to direct me to A cemetery. Unfortunately, it was the wrong one. I only realized this after driving around it for like 10 minutes and thinking “This isn’t what I remember. Where is he?! This is such a shitty little cemetery!!” It was only after all of that when I was a sign with the name of the cemetery on it… completely wrong cemetery.

 

So now I’m in the throes of an all-out emotional breakdown. I call the cemetery office AGAIN and finally the man answers. I tell him that I’m trying to find the cemetery too see my Dad for the first time in many years and I don’t know how to get there or where he even is there… all in one breath while crying. He was very sweet, stayed on the phone with me while I found my way there and asked my Dad’s name and when he passed so he could look him up on the plot map. When I told him who I was trying to see, he said “I know your grandmother, and aunt and uncle… I don’t even need to look at the plot map I know right where he is.” I was slightly shocked, although I hardly should have been. My family lived in this particular town for a ridiculous number of years and was pretty well known by all in it. The nice man told me that he would wait for me to get to the cemetery and he would personally bring me up to my Dad’s site. When we got there, he shook my hand, introduced himself and gave me his business card in case I “need anything or want to discuss maintenance etc issues with the site.” It was nice of him.

 

I was in such a state by the time I finally got to the grave site that I did not expect to be more upset. However, it was one of those types of upset that creeps up on you and you’re suddenly bawling your eyes out and hyperventilating. I talked to him for a bit and put out the flowers I had bought for him. His site looked like the way I remember it and he is in a nice spot. It’s very sunny and on a hill and, well, nice. The cemetery is FAR better than the one I was lost in… haha.

 

I’ve decided that I will visit him more often, I promised him that. When I’m in Dorchester it won’t be a long drive… maybe 20 minutes, if that. I want to take care of the grounds and maybe get some permanent flowers there. He deserves as much. Additionally, it’s good for me to talk to him I think.

 

I’m very sad… but this happens. I’m not sure I ever fully dealt with his death and this is the beginning of getting past it. He would have been 50 this year. I realized that he was 30 when he passed and 22 when I was born. It scares me that I’m almost his age when he passed. I can feel the anxiety grow when I think about that, it takes a few minutes to go away but usually does so quickly.

 

I wasn’t there for all that long today. Maybe 10-20 minutes. I had to get to work and was concerned about my state of mind when I arrived, so I wanted to get there early. Thank God I did, I was definitely still out of it for a bit but recovered swiftly. It’s been a hard day. I am glad that I went though.