The Little Chat

I went to visit my dad today at Fort Sam for the first time since he died.

I have a leeeeetle confession to make: I think it was harder than the days following his death.

I've been putting it off and putting it off, maybe because my mind kept trying to convince me that if I didn't go to his gravesite then he isn't really gone. This is just one long vacation where we haven't seen each other in a while. We lived in Los Angeles for eight years, how is this any different?

The decision was made for me as I went down to the AT&T Center to get some Groupon Spurs tickets (which was, by the way, an AWESOME deal!). As I turned off the loop on to AT&T Drive, I notice a sign that says Fort Sam Houston is "thatta way!" and thought it was time.

Every single time I say I am going to go, something comes up. The kids, husband-man, school, life in general But today? Nothing but air on the menu. Air and laundry, and we all know how I feel about laundry. I love air, hate laundry. I digress.

After picking up my Spurs tickets, I opt to stop at a nearby HEB for some flowers. I chose the most ghetto HEB I could find, unintentionally, and fear for our lives as I rush in, grab some flowers and a Coke Zero, and rush back out to the door to the van. After plugging in the Fort Sam address into Gartha (ol' trusty Garmin), locate Dad's section and plot number, and we head on our way. When we got to the cemetery, we drive for what feels like days to get to the back where Dad is at. I drive past landscapers, construction workers, and fellow mourners toting flowers for their loved ones.

When I finally pull into Dad's section, I notice that the grounds crew are busy at the far end of the lot preparing sites for more of the departed. It's loud, but it's a crystal clear day with a TON of wind, so they aren't too annoying. I sit down with Dad and talk. I cry. There are still so many things I wish I could do/say/change. I took a few pictures with my iPhone and wish I had brought my regular camera. Cameron kept trying to rob grave site teddy bears (hey, YOU try convincing a toddler that the bear in front of her is not a toy and is for someone else. That she can't see.) but we muddled through. Eventually the bribe of half a blueberry mini-bagel (we call it a doughnut) had her sitting in my lap. 

One thing I noticed, disliked, and probably cried over is how many of Dad's 
"neighbors" were older. As in "born in 1910" old. I suddenly grew very upset that my dad wasn't old. MY dad didn't deserve to go. It is not fair that my dad, a hard worker, is gone. I will never see him again. I grew angry that all these people were able to live long lives.

I turned mad. I got mad that God took away MY dad, so young, so much more to live for. I got mad that Dad never told anyone he was feeling sick, or that he was concerned something was wrong. 

I'm sorry to say that the anger I stockpiled lasted throughout the day. I was not a pleasant person. I cried in the car line waiting to pick up Ess from school. It took all of what was in me to keep a happy face on for her teacher. I still don't feel very happy about anything right now. I feel like a tool, like a whiney baby. But... it is what I feel and I am not apologizing for that. 

So I blubbered home crying most of the way. Thank goodness for emergency tissues.

Hopefully that will ebb here soon, it's exhausting and pretty sad. :( Every single time I think about him never getting to really know See or see me graduate college finally... I tear up.

Comments

[Brooke]

Lynn, I don't know what pain you must be in, but I just want to say that this post made me cry. YOu are such a dear friend, and it hurts me to know that you are feeling so much pain. YOu are an amazing person, and I am sure you were an amazing daughter. And your father must have been just as amazing, as he was one of the people that raised you.

<3 you.

[Amber]

OH mama :( Im so sorry... I lost my grandpa when I was 13 and its been the same... lots of tears... still. And I have two pictures that go house, after house after house... always put up... I miss him daily, and often get angry that he also died so young. 54 if I remember correctly... WAY too young. And I resent that fact that he will never meet my boys that I know he would be so proud of... So, Im sorry and I feel for you... I wish there was something I could do to help... just hang in there, and know im always here to talk...