The Goodbye Tour

Well, I've been living now for two months without my Dad.  It still seems surreal and sometimes the shock of it just catches me off guard all over again.  A lot of people ask how I'm doing, how my Mom's doing, how my brother is doing.  I'm still amazed at the kindness of people and I hope I can continually be more mindful to acknowledge others' grief because the remembrances and thoughtfulness really does bring comfort to me.

A little more than a month ago my sister-in-law, Lisa (my brother's wife), and I were emailing back and forth and I mentioned that my brother and I are both of the mindset to "Keep Calm and Carry On."  She said that we are an interesting bit of human study for her and we are more alike than different in that way.  That is true.  We get that from my Dad, but my Mom is of stronger stock than anyone might realize--especially her.  She spent 51 years of marriage, and her life since the age of 18, loving the same man.  Then, in a matter of seconds she watched him die right in front of her and suddenly she was forced into a new and different phase of her life.  She is an extraordinary example of peace in the midst of sorrow, strength in the face of the unknown, and comfort in the lives of those around her who are also grieving the loss of her husband. The recurring conversation she and I have had centers around how very, very blessed we are to have lost Dad the way we did (suddenly, without pain or fading away) and our blessed hope that we will see Him again one day as we know where he is right now.  Our hearts are saddened to think of everyone who believes that death on this earth is the end.  It isn't the end, it's only the beginning.  The real question is where you will spend eternity.

So, the title of this post is "The Goodbye Tour."  If you were a faithful "Everybody Loves Raymond" viewer then you might recognize that reference.  It has a bit of a different connotation here.  On one of the "Raymond" episodes Robert and Amy were leaving a party and he was making fun of her because she couldn't leave a party without going around to everyone to say good bye.  This "goodbye tour," as he termed it, took quite a bit of time.  Well, my Mom and I weren't leaving a party but we did go on a "goodbye tour" of our own on behalf of my Dad.  He died so suddenly that he didn't get to say goodbye to anyone--not even her.  The day after his funeral Mom was ready to start taking care of business in the community and letting people other than friends and family know that he had passed away.  I was really just along for the ride and my job was to "Drive Miss Daisy" and lend support.

The first place we stopped was the bank where he did all of his business inside the bank.  My Dad was never one for drive-throughs of any variety.  From the time I was a little girl we went inside the bank, inside Wendy's (his favorite fast food place), inside anywhere else that gave you the option to drive through.  He said it was because he wanted to be face to face and look in the eye of anyone with whom he was conducting business.  Personally, I think a bit of it was to do with the fact that he couldn't hear very well in the drive through, something he wouldn't really admit.  Anyway, I can't say that I ever recall going through a drive through with my Dad.  We always went inside and he was always friendly and talkative with everyone.  When we went to the bank we waited to speak with someone at one of the desks, rather than the tellers, because we needed to also take care of some business.  The girl we spoke with--I say "girl" because she was younger than me--clearly remembered my Dad.  She said he came in frequently...true...and he had just been in the week before...true, because he and Mom were supposed to be traveling to Louisiana the day he died.  Dad didn't believe in ATM cards--never had one, never wanted one--so he always went to the bank to get cash before taking a trip out of town.  This girl said that from the time he realized her last name ended with "hl" he was always coming into the bank and telling her new surnames of celebrities and well-known people that he had discovered whose name also ended in "hl."  You see, my Dad's interaction with and thoughts of people didn't just begin and end in what they could do for him, but he took a personal interest in them.  I guarantee you that not only was he searching for new names he had found to take to this girl, he was also praying for her.  That was just his way.

Our next stop was the grocery store where he would secretly pay for people's groceries on a regular basis.  (If you aren't familiar with that part of my Dad's history then you'll just have to go back and read my previous post about my piece of his funeral.  I explain it there).  We went to the manager's desk and spoke with both store managers.  We explained that my Dad had passed away and Mom showed them his picture.  They recognized him and were so very sad to hear he had died.  We told them we wanted to settle up any accounts for groceries that he hadn't yet paid for but he had already taken care of that and there weren't any open accounts.  Mom and I picked up and paid for a few items we needed while we were there and as we were walking out the door one of the managers handed us a ham and told us once again how sorry he was for our loss.  A ham for condolences.  Isn't that kind?  His legacy lives on because our friend who played the piano at his funeral donated the check she received to the grocery store to be able to help with someone else's groceries.  Dad would have loved that.  He had talked about wanting to take some of his white shirts to one of the managers at the store because he had to wear white shirts and looked like he needed some more to wear.  Mom and I had them cleaned and then took them back to the store the next week.  He was very appreciative.

Our next stop was to Dad's barber.  Now, you might think a man's relationship with his barber is no big thing.  But to my Dad, his relationship with everyone was a big thing.  His barber had already received a call--actually from an old friend of mine who's father also goes to the same barber--but he was still overcome with emotion when we stopped in to see him.  There we were in a barber shop, that was desperately in need of a woman's touch, and I'm watching as my Mom comforts Dad's barber as he sheds tears of sorrow.  I think they were tears of sorrow, but they could also be tears shed by someone losing a very good customer.  My Dad went to get his hair cut every three weeks.  I'm just joking about that...but not the part about Dad getting a haircut every three weeks.  That part is very true.

All in all, our goodbye tour brought a lot of healing for my Mom and me.  It was wonderful to hear the stories about my Dad that we wouldn't have heard otherwise and it was nice to see that my Dad's presence in people's every day lives would be missed.  Of course, we miss him because he's part of us but to have others who just knew him as he went about his business of being himself miss him is special indeed.

A parting thought that I might write about more later.  This may seem odd to some but I ponder odd things at times.  My parents were 32 and 40 years old when I was born.  I remember during the years approaching the exact age that my Mom was when I was born I thought about how many years of her life she lived before I was a part of it.  As an egocentric child of two parents it's easy to wonder how they ever lived without me, but they lived many years of their lives before I was ever a part of it.  I've been thinking about my Dad in that way since I turned 40 years old last July.  My Dad lived 40 years, 8 months and 4 days before I became part of who he was.  A little while after my Dad passed away I realized that I didn't make it to the age my Dad was when I was born before he was gone from my life. I know that's deep and maybe it's irrelevant to most who would read it.  It's just interesting to me as I reflect back on my life to think of how long my Dad lived without me in his life and now how long I will (may) live without him in mine.  After all, one of the biggest lessons I've been reminded of through this experience is that none of us is promised tomorrow.

Sorry to end on a deep note.  That's all I've got for today.  I promise the "funny" will be back in full swing at some point.  Right now, it's just an accomplishment to write anything.

Thank you for reading.  Love to all.