I can't stop needing to come here, needing so badly to bleed these words.

I left the house finally, drove in my Dad's big stupid Oldsmobile, to the grocery store and the bank. Wandering up and down the aisles, numb and quiet, staring for whole minutes at the massive amounts of stuff on the shelves.

I drove down to Long Beach, Nina on the car stereo, and put my feet in the water, the whole world swelling out in front of me, nothing pulling me back from it.

I am deeply moved by this and this.
5:24:29 PM     comment []

I feel so still inside, so empty, so aware of the space and air surrounding my body, the distance between my flesh and the furniture and objects around me.

Everyone is gone. The phone has not rung all day. The house smells like a florist shop, lilies and roses on every table. Jazz station on the stereo, doors open to the patio, the kitchen dark and quiet behind me. I am undeniably alone.

I don't really know what to do with myself now. I'm not hungry. I don't want to read or watch tv. I don't even really want to leave the house. My head is pounding from lack of sleep. All the phone calls have been made, the correct people notified. My half brothers and sister are all still on the East coast and my father made me executor of the estate.

I haven't been able to shake this feeling of childishness for the last few days. I've filled out the death certificate application and called the mortuary and the medical supply companies to come and retrieve their equipment. I've called the VA and his insurance company. Later I will work on the obituary.

There is nowhere that I have to be, nothing pressing to do right now. His body won't be cremated for a few more days and I keep coming back to the image of my father's hands, his funny bushy eyebrows, the smooth skin of his cheeks, in a dark and frigid locker somewhere, miles from where I sit.

His room is empty. Eric and I had moved his old king size bed to the garage weeks ago and yesterday the hospital bed and oxygen tanks, the wheelchair and bedside table were all taken away. His dentures still sit in their container on the bathroom counter, his glasses on the bedside table.

I was there with him, just as I promised I would be. I hardly left his bedside for thirty six hours, my muscles in knots, my knees aching. I held his hands all the while, running my fingers over his knuckles, tracing the veins and ridges in his fingernails.

I held his hand up to my cheek, my tears streaming through his fingers, as he took his last breath. I watched the vein in his neck cease to pulse, and the color drain from his face. I watched my father leave me.
2:25:16 PM     comment []