And then there were three

Today marks three months since my father died. The last few weeks have been particularly hard. I don’t know if it is because the first wave of shock has worn off and the reality of forever has begun to sink in or if it is some other phase of the grieving process. But there are times when I have to stop everything I am doing and just sit and cry. There are so many events he has already missed and to think that he will continue to always miss those events is just too much.
Over the weekend my mother began sifting through a bunch of my dad’s clothes and personal things to make more room in the drawers for my stuff. She has tried this before and I have always deterred her. I don’t know if it is because I can’t bear for her to throw away his things or if I don’t want her to deal with the pain. But this weekend she quietly went through his shirts and sweaters and made piles for donations and piles to keep. We went through his coats and shoes, keeping the things that Loren will soon be able to wear. One of the hardest parts was opening the hall closet and finding his judicial robes hanging there. I buried my head in them and just cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. My mother had mentioned that she was going to have them cleaned and then pack them away, but then she decided that she couldn’t wash away my father and will just go ahead and pack them as they are.
Today Devon and I celebrated the day by going to the Hot Springs Pool. I used to go there as a small child with my parents and then later I would go there to swim laps with my dad. I had so many memories as Devon and I walked around the pools and then sat on the steps to splash our feet. My mother has given me my father’s membership to use there since the waiting list is several years long to get one. Although I am grateful and can’t wait to start taking spinning and Tai Chi classes there is a part of me that knows I don’t deserve it. I didn’t work for it, he did. And that goes for so many other things. I now live in his house, sleep in his bed, wear some of his stuff. I did nothing to deserve this sudden elevation in standard of living. He died and I simply slipped in the back door with my three children. I try to comfort myself with the thought that we are helping my mother with her grief. But I know that sometimes there is no way we can measure up to the company she had with him.
Grief is like that. Sometimes you think you are handling it and handling it well and then other times you know it is far bigger than you and will kick your ass before you even know it. So today I am not battling it but rather just trying to live peacefully with it. I tried to look at some pictures of my dad earlier today while Devon was sleeping. I thought maybe seeing his face would help. It was so hard and I could only look at a few before I had to do something else. Below is one of my favorites. It was taken almost two years ago at one of Loren’s home soccer games. Their ritual was for my dad to meet Loren about half way onto the field after the game. They would chat about the game giving high fives for a win or an extra sqeeze for a loss. I can’t remember the details of this game, only that it brings to mind so many other similar images of the two of them.