He whom we love and lose is no longer where he was before. He is now wherever we are.
–St. John Chrysostorn
The nights are the longest, the quietest, the loneliest, and the saddest. It doesn’t seem right to be here, awake, at almost midnight, without my dad also toiling around downstairs or in his garage or watching tv in his room. I cannot sleep because I want to spend the nights the way I would have if he were here–with him. Usually talking, or playing cards, or watching a movie–these late night hours belonged to us. It feels wrong and disorienting to think that this is the longest I’ve been home in the past few years, and he’s not here to share it with.
Right now, his presence is still so strong, as if his breath is still lingering in the same air that I am now breathing. It still smells like him. Things he touched are still where he left them. His clothes are neatly folded; ready for him to put on tomorrow. I’m terrified to leave because I know that as time passes, so will the tangibility of my dad. I don’t want to leave him behind. I don’t want him to just become that visceral notion of what my dad was. I want to wrap myself in his sweater; his blanket, surround myself with his books and his machines and his music, and pretend as if he is still here.
My sadness, like my love for my dad, is unshakeable and bottomless. I feel like I want to scream, but I have no voice. I feel like I want to cry, but the tears will not come. I am numb and empty and my life no longer feels like my own.
Tomorrow, we will fly to DC. On Friday, my dad will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery. I know that my emotion will get lost in the procedures. It’s not my dad, anyway. Just like it wasn’t my dad in the hospital – not really. And it wasn’t my dad lying in the casket. And it won’t be my dad that they put into the ground.
My dad is right here. In this kitchen. In this place. In all the things that he once loved and treasured.
I’m afraid to leave because I don’t want to move on. I know that when I come back, it will have been weeks, maybe months, since my dad last sat and laughed and ate and wrote and was. Time will have passed. Without him.
I don’t want to say goodbye to this place and face the fact that the emptiness that I feel now, will be forever.
