Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

Otherwise known as... Surviving with a little help, from my friends...

I think it was back in September, when my blog hit 3000 pageviews, that I told my dad, I feel like my stories really matter.

Jen, you've always mattered.

Yeah... Dad was really good at making me feel like I was special.  But I think that's a dad's job, isn't it?

Even if it was his job, he was good at it.

I miss my dad, and I hate that.

This time last Monday, I was at My County Memory Gardens, in a roomful of people who came to honor my father.  It was a conglomerate of my entire life present in one room with my embalmed father at the far end of it.  His hands were shrunken; the light gone from his being.  He didn't look anything like the man that I knew him to be; someone told me it was because he wasn't smiling. 

That's probably mostly it.

The rest is that he was dead. 

My dad isn't supposed to be dead at 62; and yet he is. 

I really hate this version of my life.  But it is my truth, and so it shall be written. 

That sounds tremendously melodramatic.

I hate that too.

Last Monday I was receiving hug after hug.  My body was mostly numb; I had too much to do to feel.  Colleagues where I've worked, and colleagues from the schools my father worked lined up.  My assistant principal, friends from high school, neighbors from my parents' development, colleages and friends from a past life, and my old boyfriends rounded out the attendees of my father's viewing.

Linette arrived around 6 o'clock.  She looked great, having come straight from work.  After the regulatory hug, she looked at me and asserted, I think you have a surprise visitor.

My eyes widened.  Even though I knew it was practically impossible and I had told him not to come, the tiniest part of me hoped that GDA would surprise me at my time of need.  Never mind the fact that I had a multitude of friends to support me at this time; I still had a tiny glimmer of hope that my sweet would forgo everything rational and hop a plane to be own personal shoulder to cry on.

For the record, I am sooooo glad he didn't.  Not because I didn't want him here (I'm human; I did), but because he only gets a very limited time each year with his family and friends in Argentina, and you know, I'm a counselor... I have coping skills.

Not to mention the fact that I was giving the eulogy at Dad's funeral, so I had pretty much cut myself off from feeling.  I was my mother's rock; I made call after call to family and close friends the entire day after my father passed.  (That Friday was the worst day of my life thus far and that is not being melodramatic.  It really was.)  I organized food (thank God for Facebook; I don't know how I would have gotten through the week without it!) and made sure that the arrangements were appropriate.  I performed my duties thoroughly, without qualms or regrets. 

My mom needed me.  I was there.

Her sisters were there for her; if they had not been come so quickly when they got the news, I could not have done everything that I did to prepare for my father's services, and I am very grateful for everything they did for my mother while they were here in central Florida.

So, when Linette said I had a surprise visitor, my eyes widened.  I wanted GDA to be there; I am human.  It wasn't GDA; my surprise visitor was the Neighbor.  My dad had liked the Neighbor very much when we were dating.  He didn't necessarily like him for my boyfriend, but he liked his sense of humor and how he was a man's man.  Neighbor hugged me and we talked for a minute, before it was time to hug another mourner.  Throughout the evening I became aware that Neighbor boy was sitting in an armchair at the opposite end of the room from the casket, watching me greet the folks who had come to pay their respects.  It wasn't creepy; it was sweet. 

He was watching out for me.

A bit later, Dr. Dance arrived.  Dr. Dance and I dated a few times before we decided we made better friends.  We hugged, and spoke briefly.  He lost his mother to breast cancer about 20 years ago.  When I had a moment a bit later I talked to him some more.  I felt bad that he had come all the way from Orlando and I couldn't give him more than about five minutes. 

Lovely Louise came in, a good friend from work who hugged me fiercely.  She told me she had never met my dad but she knew me and wanted me to know that she was there to support me.  Just then I was made aware that it was time to begin the Rosary Prayer service.  We prayed around my dad's body the same way we had prayed back in March for my grandmother, except this time the rosary went much faster.

After the rosary, family and friends stood at the pulpit relating stories about my dad.  It was wonderful hearing how he touched so many lives.

And yeah, I already knew that.  But it was still nice hearing it.

After the service, Joe walked up to me.  I didn't know you were here, Joe.  We hugged tightly.

I got here just as the service was starting.

Want to come over to my house for a drink?  

Sure-- that would be great.

Jack showed up at that time, too, and I extended the same invitation. 

They followed Jessica's car, who was driving me home, and when we got there I opened a bottle of red.  Aunt A. sat at the table working on a cross-stitch project, and Joe, Jack, and I traded stories.  They talked shop for a bit, and I told them they had exactly 15 seconds to finish up.  Joe did just that, and it was an amazing feat.  It was great to have my boys there to support me when I needed them.  They left around 9:30, and I went to bed.  I was exhausted, and Tuesday was going to be a big, big day.

I survived the day, and was gearing up for an even bigger day.  I had cut myself off from feeling mostly everything so that I could be the daughter my mom needed me to be.  I survived... with a little help, from my friends. 

Addendum:  The author has been incredibly busy and is sorry to have neglected her blog for the past week.  That said, some things are more important than a blog, and her mother's well-being is one of them.  Mom is doing well, considering, and the author is content that she has done everything within her power to ensure that her mother's pain is lessened a little bit more, each day.  And so the blog, just as life, continues...