But I felt the urge to bring a sketch pad with me out to the west coast. If that results in anything worth posting, you will know almost instantly.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Longest week so far
On February 23rd my father passed away. This was not a total shock as he had recently had many health problems, but I think we were all under the assumption that if he was not getting better, he was, at least stable. I feel like I've been living in a haze for the past 8 days, keeping busy and largely distracted. I've caught up with old friends, which is fantastic, but of course, it would have been nice to have other circumstances prompt the reconnection. There is definitely still a feeling that none of this is real, which makes me nervous that it's going to hit hard at some point.
We had his memorial service last night, one week after he passed. I had prepared something very basic to say, but I don't think that I would have been able to deliver it very well, and luckily I didn't have to. I also felt that, as much as I appreciated everyone being there, my thoughts would have primarily applied to a very small segment of the attending. I've decided to post the very rough draft here, as it's something that is meant to be shared with more of my friends. There are no combinations of words in the human language that are equal to this task, so instead of trying, I just wanted to offer a glimpse. I apologize in advance for the crimes I'm committing against grammar, if I come back to see red ink, (or green, or purple, or teal, or etc) I'll know my dad has read it :)
I don't really have a single memory that sticks out about my father, which I guess means we were very lucky, we have so many to choose from. I remember him sledding with us on Hospital Hill in Northampton, MA. Not just a parent's observation, but I remember him borrowing my brother's sled and going right for one of the Jumps (capital intended) that the big kids had made. I remember him attending our plays and concerts, and not just attending, but devotedly recording them for posterity with a camcorder and tripod virtually tied to his hip. I remember getting him into Metallica and the Terry Pratchett Disc World Novels. I remember a feeling of accomplishment when ever I found something that he enjoyed. He wasn't some one that was just there, he was someone who joined in.
My father had lymphoma when we were very young. I don't have many specific memories, so perhaps it's subconscious, in knowing how close we came to not having a father for the past 28 years, but I tried to say what I felt though out my relationship with him. I don't have many regrets, and for that I once again count my self lucky. He was a brilliant man, a talented artist, a student of life. My friends remember him as someone they could talk to. Everyone he spoke with, he had genuine interest in, and that left an impression. He never stopped wanting to know more, he never closed himself off to new information, new experiences. In all of the modest ways I am like him, I am proud.
A few weeks after his resuscitations on Thanksgiving 2010, I asked him if he had any memory of near death experiences. He said that he did not, that he was not afraid of death, was still curious about what the next part of the "adventure" of existence was, but he wouldn't mind waiting a while to find out. At that time, I'm sure he would have liked more than a couple of months, but I know we all treasured each of the days of his life.
We got to have a father for 28 years longer than we might have, but it still doesnt seem like enough.
My whole life, my perception of my dad had been rooted in his physical presence. It's not easy, but now we have to switch to a bit broader definition of what he is. I hope he's enjoying the next chapter.
We had his memorial service last night, one week after he passed. I had prepared something very basic to say, but I don't think that I would have been able to deliver it very well, and luckily I didn't have to. I also felt that, as much as I appreciated everyone being there, my thoughts would have primarily applied to a very small segment of the attending. I've decided to post the very rough draft here, as it's something that is meant to be shared with more of my friends. There are no combinations of words in the human language that are equal to this task, so instead of trying, I just wanted to offer a glimpse. I apologize in advance for the crimes I'm committing against grammar, if I come back to see red ink, (or green, or purple, or teal, or etc) I'll know my dad has read it :)
^^^
I don't really have a single memory that sticks out about my father, which I guess means we were very lucky, we have so many to choose from. I remember him sledding with us on Hospital Hill in Northampton, MA. Not just a parent's observation, but I remember him borrowing my brother's sled and going right for one of the Jumps (capital intended) that the big kids had made. I remember him attending our plays and concerts, and not just attending, but devotedly recording them for posterity with a camcorder and tripod virtually tied to his hip. I remember getting him into Metallica and the Terry Pratchett Disc World Novels. I remember a feeling of accomplishment when ever I found something that he enjoyed. He wasn't some one that was just there, he was someone who joined in.
My father had lymphoma when we were very young. I don't have many specific memories, so perhaps it's subconscious, in knowing how close we came to not having a father for the past 28 years, but I tried to say what I felt though out my relationship with him. I don't have many regrets, and for that I once again count my self lucky. He was a brilliant man, a talented artist, a student of life. My friends remember him as someone they could talk to. Everyone he spoke with, he had genuine interest in, and that left an impression. He never stopped wanting to know more, he never closed himself off to new information, new experiences. In all of the modest ways I am like him, I am proud.
A few weeks after his resuscitations on Thanksgiving 2010, I asked him if he had any memory of near death experiences. He said that he did not, that he was not afraid of death, was still curious about what the next part of the "adventure" of existence was, but he wouldn't mind waiting a while to find out. At that time, I'm sure he would have liked more than a couple of months, but I know we all treasured each of the days of his life.
We got to have a father for 28 years longer than we might have, but it still doesnt seem like enough.
My whole life, my perception of my dad had been rooted in his physical presence. It's not easy, but now we have to switch to a bit broader definition of what he is. I hope he's enjoying the next chapter.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Malaise
At times I have ideas bordering on brilliant spinning through my head. Unfortunately they don't bring their friends "Motivation" and "Start Typing" along with them all the time.
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