So I stink...

I haven't posted in a really long time. Life has a way of getting in the way. I wish I could stay home and write and paint all day while taking breaks to  play with my dog.
One day I will......

A feeling of relief and sadness

For those of you who have lost a loved one, you know there is a process to it all. A funeral, a memorial service,etc.... Then the loved one is laid to rest. When my dad died in 2009, he gave his body as an anatomical gift to the med school. He had signed all of that paperwork when I was in high school and as far as I knew he had never changed that information. I had attempted to hold a memorial service the way I felt he would have wanted, but his widow did things her way. I was able to have his military rites performed, but things were overshadowed by overly dramatic behavior. Then that was it- no final resting place, no place to visit. Just gone.
 I had assumed that once the medical school had utilized the donor's body, they disposed of the body in a respectful way- possibly giving the ashes to the next of kin. I really didn't know. My granny (his mother) had donated her body as well in 2004 and since my aunt, dad or I did not receive her ashes , I just didn't know where they remains went.

Out of curiosity two weeks ago I looked up the anatomical gift program at Marshall University to see what all it entailed. Truthfully, I was thinking that although I am in my 30's, it doesn't hurt to have a plan in place for the inevitable. While I was reading all of the information, I came across the part about what happens when the med school is finished with the donor. It turns out that unless the donor wrote in the notorized paperwork that the remains were to be returned to the next of kin, the remains are placed in the Corbly Mausoleum at Spring Hill Cemetery. It also said that if the donor wishes for the remains to be returned, then the next of kin is responsible for those costs. I know my dad would not have wanted anyone to incur costs associated with that, but I really did not know if someone his widow had done something to get his remains. (As his wife, she was his legal next of kin and she and I haven't spoken in over 2 years and I don't plan to speak to her).

I contacted Spring Hill Cemetery after reading all of that information. I explained that I didn't know if my dad or grandmother were in the mausoleum , but that they had donated their bodies to the anatomical gift registry. The lady at the cemetery was very kind,helpful and respectful. She informed me that my grandmother had been placed in the mausoleum October 25, 2006 and my dad was placed in the mausoleum October 29,2010.  I began to cry and I wasn't sure why.  I felt it was NO coincidence that they were both laid to rest in the same place in the same month, albeit different years. I was so relieved to know that he was with his mother for all eternity.  But I was so sad because all of this time I could have been visiting them.

I told my husband where they were. He told me I had some visiting to do. :) Since that day I have had plenty of opportunities to go visit, but I keep putting it off and I don't know why. Maybe I don't know what to do or what to say...

Good intentions

I just need time to sit down and write as different memories come to me. I think I had wanted to write out a memory each day so I wouldn't forget him. But the more I think about it, I think I shouldn't force that. This process should be organic and just evolve into what it is. So, the dad memory project will just take its time and evolve over time.

Memory #

When I was about 20 or so, my dad adopted a retired racing greyhound....except he didn't tell me. I walked into his house without knowing about this dog when I heard what I thought to be a small angry horse. I was met by this large brindle greyhound who was growling and showing his teeth. I immediately thought " He is going to eat me". The dog got right to me and stopped, sniffed me and licked my face. About the time, my dad came around the corner and said, "Tut! Leave her alone. She's ok". I looked up at my dad and said," Wouldn't it have been helpful to tell me about that BEFORE I got here?" He laughed that wonderful laugh of his and shook his head. I sat down on the couch and Tut stood there staring at me. My dad said, "Honey, that's Tut's seat." I said, "No, its not. I am the human, he is the dog. I sit where I want." Tut stared at me, then jumped up on me and the couch and laid across my lap. My dad said," I told you that was his seat". Tut and I grew to love one another. He loved me, my cats and my dad. When my eldest cat passed away  when I was 20 (my dad was caring for her), Tut wrapped his body around her to keep her body warm. My dad said that when he came down the stairs that morning and he saw that, he knew something was wrong. He said he went to touch the cat and Tut wouldn't let him near her at first. My dad told me how Tut mourned her death more than the other animals. I thought that dog was great and my dad loved him so much.

Memory #11 A song....

He adored this song and often played it on vinyl for me. For me it sums up a lot about his thoughts on God and Heaven- simple and profound at the same time. As a child, I merely enjoyed the musical aspect of this song- thought the music was cool and there was hand clapping involved.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=umQCgaZnO0o

Memory #10 Pea Soup and a tantrum

I remember being a small child and accompanying my dad to a local child care facility where he worked. I recall they were serving pea soup for lunch with celery and peanut butter on the side. I distinctly remember this because I HATE peas and have for a long time. I threw a tantrum yelling at the teacher that I didn't have to eat that "stuff" because my dad worked there and I was "special". That yelling prompted my dad to come into the room as he heard me. He pulled me aside and said quietly that he knew I was special but that didn't mean I could show myself. He instructed me to taste the soup, as well as the celery/peanut butter and if I did not care for it then so be it. But I was not to yell at anyone or spit food out; I could sit quietly until my friends were finished. I hung my head and went back to my seat; tasted the soup and gagged but sat there quietly.

#9 Thanksgiving Memory

I hate holidays. I don't have very specific Thanksgiving memories of my dad. At least not specific to a year or anything like that. What I do remember is watching him (and sometimes helping) prepare his Thanksgiving ham, mashed potatoes and stuffing. He wasn't the best all around cook, but when he cooked something well, he did it right. I don't know how he did it, but his ham was always so good.

There was one year he attempted to make a chocolate pie. It was not successful. It turned orange. How does that happen? But what I remember most about that experience is how much we laughed about and sat down in the kitchen floor with this chocolate orange colored "pie" and ate it with spoons from the bowl.
I just miss him. The holidays always make it worse and I know that I am no different from others. It still just sucks.