Nov 13, 2016

It’s the morning of my father’s funeral and it feels so surreal.  I’m in Massachusetts at my sister’s house and it’s nice to be surrounded by her family.  The rest of my brother-in-law’s family is coming, but there’s this ache inside of me; the longing for someone familiar…to me; a hand to hold that isn’t my own.

I keep staring at my clothes; black skirt, black shoes, black undergarments and I can’t pick a top.  It just seems like that shouldn’t be a big deal, just choose.  But, I want to look presentable.  My dad liked when I dressed nicely.  I know I’m supposed to wear all black but I need color.  My dad needs color.  So, I think I may compromise and wear my black sweater with the black and pale white checkered blouse.

It’s just too much black even though this day is a black day.  It will always be a black day.

Nov 15, 2016

I just figured out, we are burying my father exactly one month before I have 2 years clean and sober.   Numbers sometimes impact so many things and I never thought about them until I moved to Spokane.  I left LA on 10-11-12 at 1:11pm, stopped at 7-11 before I got on the 101 freeway.  My clean date is 12-13-14 my dad died 11-9-16 and we are burying him on 11-13-16.  The common denominator is 11.  I’ve been seeing 11 for the past 3 years everywhere.  Each time, or so it seems, that I look at the time, it’s either 11:11 or 1:11.  It’s weird.

Dec 13, 2016

We are getting ready to land at National airport and a long-lost smile crossed my face.  I caught myself and stopped because I wasn’t sure what that feeling was.

I was on my way to the only house I’ve known for the past 42 years, and it will be the first time there will be no one around.  No parent in a facility; no parent in the hospital; no family.  It will just be me and the house.

It may be the catalyst for me to finally accept or understand the reality; my father is gone.

He is never coming home.

Everything in the house that belongs to him; slippers, shampoo, his office area is now deserted. I won’t get in trouble for touching the stapler and he won’t yell at me for playing on his computer.

Now that I can touch everything, the desire is gone. I just don’t seem to care anymore; as if obsolete took on a whole new meaning…and yet to think of giving away or selling his belongings, digs an enormous hole in my gut. To imagine another human being touching my father’s belongings seems unnatural.

I won’t be moving back to the house but there is a strong sense of familiarity. I used to fly back home and the feelings I’d get in my belly, knowing no matter what time it was, my mom would be waiting for me at the front door. I usually came in late so dad was always asleep.  The last time my dad picked me up, he was so excited, he got out and forgot to put the car in park. My dad.

My mom won’t be waiting at the front door for me and my dad won’t be picking me up…anymore.

Life has shifted and either I shift with it or I won’t be able to move forward.   This week will be the catalyst to help me shift and choose the right road.  Good olé Bauer drive will never be the same again…but then again, neither will I.

It seems to me there should be an ample amount of time to prepare for your parent’s future needs; whether a funeral or facility. Having to fit the shoes of my dad after he had his first head injury accident, is not something I knew how to do.  There were no rule books, manuals or instruction guides to tell me what and how to takeover.  There is so much more to my folks than meets the eye; bills, credit cards, cars upkeep, lawn care…the list goes on, ad infinitum.  So many things I never knew that I wish I had.  I was angry at my dad for not telling me these things before his memory got worse.  Thank goodness, I had my sister. She’s raised her family and owned a house, so she knew the things that needed to take place.

My reality was, I felt like I was left in the dark.  And, that was exactly where I was going to stay for a while.  It was safe, for now.