Today’s the one-year anniversary of my dad’s death. As I write this, I’m looking at a picture of the two of us, taken on a Father’s Day back in the early 80s, sitting in the back yard of our house on College St. It’s my favorite picture of us, thanks to my wife Robbie who took it.
I don’t seem to be experiencing any emotional fallout from his death. I could be wrong, of course, but it doesn’t seem so. The invisible loyalties to him that tripped me up for much of my marriage haven’t come back in force to haunt me. They’re still there, to some extent, and probably always will be but they’re not messing up my relationships like they used to.
My sister said on Thanksgiving that she senses his presence once in a while. I don’t doubt her experience but I do doubt that his spirit is around somehow. I think he’s just dead, but regardless, I don’t see how it matters.
I have yet to get some of his ashes from my brother. It’s on my list. That, and trying to get to a better place with my mother.
I went through all the links to my weblog from the Eulogy I wrote and read them as I updated them. I’m very glad I kept a journal during that time. Looking back on it now, I did what I could, and experienced it in the fullest.