September 11, 2019
This was written a little less than a month before my dad passed.
A picture is worth a thousand words.
This afternoon my dad insisted we go in to the garage to clean out things. I was reluctant.
We started with his desk, the one I want to keep, but we have listed for sale as we are trying to clear out a home of 30+yrs in preparation to sell.
Do you know what it feels like to go through physical things that hold memories, while the person is still present? Things that were a part of their daily life all but one year ago?
We both knew why we were doing it, why it had to be done.
Then we moved on to his work bench. Mind you, he can't talk, so he would look at something and then write to put in the garbage.
My heart was breaking but I fought the tears.
He finally wrote 'this is really depressing for me.' And I broke.
As I cried, he wrote, 'Some guys don't get at long as me. I am fine. No pain,' followed by a smiley face with a beard and a head full of hair.
He wrote to ask if there was beer in the fridge, and I said no. We agreed on giving him coke for now (in a sippy cup I bought for him from the baby section at target), and I poured myself a glass of wine.
We then sat in the sun in the garage in silence for awhile.