Broken burning Heart
My incredible Dad died a week ago. Last night he was cremated in a place called Acacia in Seattle. The funeral director, an amazingly compassionate young woman named Joan, made it easier for me than it might have been, and still I howled with grief, alone, miserable, inconsolable last night. My papa, who loved me so much, gave me so much support every day of my life, my beautiful incredible friend. Ah, I tell myself death is so natural, and that I can take about his passing, just barely. But the thought of his dear body burning was just too much for me. And the fact that now his ashes will be mailed up here to me, convenient but earth shattering.
Also, I have anger about how he was catapulted into his last dying week by the unthinking prescription of a scopolamine patch by a doctor who had never known him. The thought of that little round bandage he so trustingly wore behind his ear which caused him to throw himself out of bed with convulsions reminds me of when I was a little girl and the feeling I had when he accidentally walked right into the edge of my bedroom door after tucking me in and broke his glasses. How dare the universe hurt this man? He is my beloved father and I want to protect him from all harm. Yet I signed the papers, as was his will, that caused him to be burned up. He was no longer alive, but I still want NO HARM to come to him. My faith is hard to find in this regard.
Lopez is such a wonderful place to be during crisis. People hug me all over the place. Write cards, understand my grief. Even at work, I get time off when I just can't do it anymore.
And there are such layers arriving. Memories of my mother, grandparents, others gone on...Jeff, my marriage, long over. I find old journals as I make room to squeeze my dad's desk into my room....a love letter from my husband, funny comments my kids made when they were young.
I am concerned that I have contributed in derailing an existing friendship by possible thoughtlessness and selfish actions. I need to focus elsewhere, life feels out of control job-wise, relationship-wise, too much stuff-wise. But that is normal for what's going on. Breathe.
So I am doubly bereaved. And yet, so blessed too, of course, to have had so much love in this life. I am still alive. I must act so, with all the grace and energy and love and compassion I can muster. I ask for help, from the sources beyond who are in line with that infinite compassion and love. With music please. "And when I have required some heavenly music, which even now I do." The next line is about breaking the magic staff, but right now I need one not to be broken...
