I Lost my Dead Dad

...file this under "Words I never thought I'd Say."

Not-My-Dad’s-Grave

I eagerly opened my older sister’s text. I could see she’d texted me pictures. Pictures always grab my attention. I clicked to bring them full screen. “What the ____? Why is she sending pictures of the cemetery?” My Dad had been buried 3 days and dead just over a week. “Just in case you need to know where Dad’s grave is. The cemetery looked different today when I stopped by, “ her text announced. “I’m not an idiot, I know where Dad is buried. We all were just there,” I defensively thought back in my best/worst ‘You’re-not-the-boss-of-me 12 year old Mind’ which was currently inhabiting my 56 year old body. I didn’t invite my 12 year old Mind. She just shows up and pops out to take over whenever the OG family unit is together. “Thanks,” I had texted her in response.

My siblings and I had just spent the majority of the past 3 weeks together. The last couple of weeks of my Dad’s life and then planning and pulling off my Dad’s funeral in a matter of days after. At this point, we all were ready to go back being “People-we- saw-a-couple-of-times-a-year.” Don’t misunderstand, there’s plenty of love there, but also it was a lot of togetherness.

Over the next month and a half, each sibling and my Mom, all made a solo trip to the cemetery. Some went multiple times. It was mid-October, and I’d yet to go. There’d been plenty of opportunities, I just didn’t want to. Six weeks earlier, I was with my Dad, holding his hand looking into his eyes, breathing with him, breath-by-breath-by breath for his last minutes of life. “Dad, we have you here, do you feel us holding your hands? In a second, you’ll be holding Jesus’ hand. Start looking for him Dad. He’s there. He’ll be reaching out for you. Keep looking,” I coached. My Dad was awake and looking at us until the last few minutes of his life. His death felt holy. Complete. I was honored to have been with him. I also believed his soul was no longer in his body. He was with Jesus. I didn’t have a desire to go back to the cemetery. He wasn’t there.

His Birthday came in mid-October. Weird is the word that best describes it. My Dad had been sick for a long time. He was 88 years old when he passed away. He hadn’t protected me or provided for me in decades. Yet, I’d still felt untethered this last month and a half, floating in this world with no anchor. It surprised me. It made me feel guilty. I knew plenty of people who’d lost a spouse, a parent, a child even much-much younger. Yet, here I was. Grief is grief, it’s similar and unique for each person. All at the same time.

I’d not cried since his funeral. “Is this healthy?” I wondered to myself daily. Shouldn’t I cry? After all, I am the person who cries at commercials. I cry when someone I love is hurting, heck I even cry when I’m happy. Much to the befuddlement of my husband. Trust me, I don’t understand it either. Yet, my Dad died and I’d barely cried. I was choked up several times during his funeral, but also determined to make it through his eulogy, I’d pushed through those emotions. I’d cried a little at the cemetery as the soldiers folded the American flag and handed it to my Mom. But that was it. I’d been happy for him. He was free. He could not only get up and walk, he could run. He was with his loved ones, his best friend and his brother. His parents. His sister. And most of all Jesus. I just wasn’t sad. Until that day, his Birthday. This was just weird. I’d spent the majority of my Dad’s Birthdays with him. Often bringing him a pumpkin pie, or other pumpkin dessert. He was a Pumpkin Spice lover, long before Starbucks was even a dream. I didn’t like this. I was feeling melancholy all day. Finally around 1pm, I told my husband, “I think I’m going to go to my Dad’s grave.” and promptly got in my car and left. I was in a somber mood that didn’t match the 80 degree sunshiny day. “The nerve,” I thought. “It should be dreary. This isn’t a happy day. Maybe today I’d cry.” Yes, I was sure of it. I’d definitely cry at his grave. I just needed the right circumstances.

“I know,” I thought to myself, “I’ll stop at a gas station on the way and get a rootbeer and a pack of Necco candy wafers.” Two things that always remind me of my Dad. Our very own roll of Necco candy wafers, was the reward my Dad gave each one of us kids, when he’d return from a business trip. I imagined myself sitting next to his grave swigging my rootbeer and slowly eating my Necco candy wafers like the Good-Daughter I was. “Here’s to you Dad. Happy Birthday,” I’d toast. Maybe I’d even leave him one or two on his grave. Yes, that sounded perfect. Suddenly, I was eager to get there. I had a plan. I was sure my Dad would meet me there and be happy to know I’d come. Although I didn’t believe he lived at the cemetery, I believed he’d show up there in a spirity-soul-kinda way. I believed he could meet us anywhere and certainly he’d be happy to meet me there. I pulled into the first gas station I happened upon, lost in my thoughts. I cruised the aisles, once then again. “Crap, no Necco candy wafers!” Ugh. I’d have to stop at another gas station. I know I’d seen them here and there. They aren’t everywhere like they once were, but I was sure I’d purchased them in the last 5 years. “Where from though?” I wondered, as I got back in my car and drove off. Chastising myself for not at least buying the rootbeer. “I’ll get them both at the next one.” Except, the next gas station I came upon decided it was not cooperating with the “Good-Daughter script” I had in my mind. No Necco candy wafers AND no rootbeer! Well, crap, I didn’t know if there’s another gas station before the cemetery. I considered my options and grabbed a Diet Coke and a Snickers. I didn’t know if my Dad liked either, but I did. That would have to suffice. My vision morphed to now show me sitting happily by my Dad’s grave eating my Snicker’s bar and drinking my Diet Coke. A poor substitute for the Necco candy wafers and rootbeer, but it’d have to do. I’d be better prepared next time.

I pulled into the cemetery and parked on the side of the drive. Right in front of the section including my Dad’s grave. It didn’t have a No Parking sign, but it also didn’t announce “Park Here!” I wondered what the cemetery parking protocol was. Was there a parking lot? I swiveled my head in both directions. I didn’t see a parking lot. I didn’t know if there was one. The day of the funeral we’d all just pulled up here, and parked in the drive. The rule follower in me, didn’t like the uncertainty. “Well, I thought, it’s not like I’m staying all day.” In fact, since arriving, my emotions had switched back to not wanting to be there at all. This would be quick. “Hi Dad. I love you. Happy Birthday. Bye.” That ought to do. Grabbing the candy bar and soda, I glanced around to be sure a “Cemetery-Policeman-or-Woman” wasn’t waiting to make me move my car. The coast was clear. I headed toward the grave site feeling like I was breaking all kinds of rules. I knew his marker hadn’t arrived yet, but I had a pretty good idea of where he was. “Obviously, his would be the one that was freshly dug. The grass couldn’t have overgrown it yet,” I thought. Shaking my head at the memory of my big sister’s text showing me it’s location, “How dumb did she think I was?” I made my way through the rows of graves until I got to the general area I remembered. No grave. No Dad! I looked around. Ah, there to my left was a grave that looked relatively new. “That must be him,” I smiled. But wait…a little further down, there was another one. Same exact condition. New, but grass on it. I looked back to the other direction, another one. Oh my gosh! I honestly didn’t know which one was his. Now there were 3!! All in the same row, yet none were exactly where I thought his had been. I had no idea which one was my Dad’s. It did look different without the canopy, the chairs, the military honor guard, and the people. Ugh, my sister was right.

This day was getting worse and worse. Any minute I was about to be yelled at by the imaginary Cemetery-Policeman-or-Woman, this wasn’t funny. “Dad, where are you?” I called out. Half expecting a sign. There was none. Silence. I checked behind me again glancing both ways on the drive. No one there. Whew. But also, no Dad. I started to laugh. “Well dammit. This is nothing like the moment I’d planned.” Maybe I’d leave some candy on each grave. This would’ve been easy with the individual Necco candy wafers, but looking down I realized I’d already managed to eat half of the Snickers bar. The remaining bit couldn’t easily be broken into thirds. “This is dumb,” I thought. “He doesn’t need candy.” I pushed the rest in my mouth and went back to the graves. This one was Dad. I was sure. Sure-ish.

I walked back and forth and stood in front of each one of the three. They all looked just-about-right. Finally I resigned to the fact, I’d have to pull up that old text from my sister and find those pictures. It took some scrolling. Of course, in my smugness, I hadn’t saved them. By now, half the soda was gone too. I stood and searched. Where was that text? Which thread? The fam, the siblings, the one with my cousin in it, or just to me. Ugh. Why so many options?! A few minutes passed as I stood and scrolled back, alternately drinking the remaining Diet Coke and checking the drive. Jackpot! After way-too-long, there were the pictures! I zoomed in. Oops, this grave was definitely not it. “Sorry mamn or sir,” I moved on. Okay, I was pretty certain this was the one. Except when did that huge hundred year old oak get there? It wasn’t there on day of the funeral. I clearly remembered there being one tree by the drive. Now there was the tree I remembered, and here was this new-old tree. I double and triple checked the pictures again. Yes, I was fairly certain this was the right grave. Tree be damned. I guess I didn’t notice it on the day of the funeral. I stood awkwardly. “Hi Dad. Happy Birthday, I guess.” Should I sit like I’d imagined? Looking down I saw most of the ground had goose poop on it. Nope, I definitely wouldn’t be sitting. I had an idea, I’d clean off the goose poop from his maybe-grave. I easily kicked each piece off. After I finished, I decided just in case, I should also clean off the other graves. I did. “Welp, Dad, you and your neighbors are now goose-poop-free. Hopefully, next time, I’ll do better. Love you. Happy Birthday. Um. Bye.” What was one supposed to say at their Dad’s maybe-grave?” I wondered. This would have to be good enough.

I walked back to my car and remembered it had annoyingly dropped my phone pairing when I’d arrived at the cemetery. Glancing both ways I saw there was still no imaginary Cemetery-Policeman-or-Woman to be seen, so I thought I’d take a second to re-connect it. I hit the necessary buttons and there on the car screen, was my phone ‘Kathi’s iphone’ as a selection. Followed by the previous two owners, ‘Dylan’s iphone’ and ‘Steve’s iphone.’ “Your phones still work in my car” I thought to the guys I’d never met. And then at the bottom. One name was there on the ready to connect page. “Albert,” My Dad! I’d never seen that before. My Dad and brother are the only Alberts I know. Neither of the Alberts had never ridden in this car. I certainly had never seen this before. Yet, there it was “Albert” on my ready to connect screen. Not ‘Albert’s iphone” just “Albert.” I looked up to my Dad’s maybe-grave and laughed. “Dad?” I said, half expecting to hear his voice respond. I clicked to see what would happen. Nothing. The next screen popped up with a messaging saying “Unable to connect to Albert.” I smiled as put the car in drive and pulled away. My car didn’t connect, but I did. “I love you Dad. Happy Birthday.”

Photo by Joyce Hankins on Unsplash