A little more than a year ago I bought a day on the NYC Sex Blogger Calendar. And a little less than a year ago I changed that day to today.
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My father died a year ago today. Sometime in the morning – I’m not sure exactly when. I don’t think anyone knows exactly when he died, only when he was finally declared dead. That happened in an ambulance, in my parents’ driveway. I like to think my mother was in the ambulance with him, while they worked to keep him breathing.
And at the same time I like to think she wasn’t, that she didn’t actually have to watch them work hard and focused, and that she didn’t have to actually watch him go. That she was sitting in the living room, being taken care of by the friends who rushed to her aid that morning. The same friends who called me, just after I walked into work, and told me that I should come home, and head straight to the hospital, as soon as I could make it.
I put the mug I was holding down, walked back to my desk, grabbed my bag and was out the door in under a minute. I didn’t run, I didn’t even rush. I just moved, with purpose. I don’t remember talking to anyone, but I must have told someone where I was going. My absence wasn’t commented on. I walked out of the building and realized I had no money for bus fare. I walked to a nearby convenience store, bought a pack of gum and got change for the subway. Still, not rushing. Just moving.
On the subway I looked out the window at the grey dark tunnel and didn’t think about much. I hit Union station with more than enough time to buy a ticket and get on the next train to Oakville. As I was buying my ticket my phone rang again. It was my mother’s friend, the one who was with her, telling me to not bother to go to the hospital, to just come home.
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I wrote about my father being sick a while back, here, and how it affected some of my thoughts on my identity, my public face, and the direction I want my life to take. At the time I wrote,
Things going on in my life right now make hiding any part of myself, especially a part that has given me and continues to give me so much, self-destructive and self-denying to a truly upsetting degree. To continue to spend even the smallest amount of energy in any kind of masking is counter productive to the point of insanity.
I wasn’t sure what I wanted to post today, considering this is the day that a lot of new people might be coming to visit the site, seeing the link on the calendar and clicking through. I wasn’t sure if I was going to write about rope, or about sex, or non-monogamy – the challenges and rewards of all of them. I thought about posting a picture, something fun and sexy and ropey. But you know when I thought about all of those things they didn’t feel right. All that stuff, that’s deeper in the blog. What made sense was to refer back to that old post, and that quote above, and realize (even just for myself) that my focus has not changed. If anything, this past year has sharpened it. Sharpened it and made me realize what an amazing supportive caring community I’ve found myself a part of, both here and abroad. I’ve felt very taken care of over this past year, and this year I plan thanking those who had a hand in that.
For now I’m going to make myself another coffee, sit by my window, enjoy the breeze and miss my father. Someday, I’m sure – not in the near future, but down the road a spell – this day won’t be so full of sadness. It’ll be a late July summer day that I’ll try to fill with as much life as I can.
But today, today is only one year out. As I write this, one year ago, I was on a GO train heading into Oakville, having just got off the phone with my mother, telling me dad was gone. I wrote this almost immediately after hanging up.
upon waking, this Grief
like a thick water-filled stone
sits and eats my breath
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