Even when I worked a crazy/non-traditional schedule and Fridays were my Mondays -- alright, maybe Friday wasn't my favorite day of the week back then, but it still always had that je ne sais quoi undertone. That somewhat adventurous, never-know-what-to-expect sort of thing. Then, of course, I went back to working Monday-Friday and Friday went back to signifying the end of the week, which we are conditioned to look forward to from the time we start school, because it signals the coming of the WEEKEND! Two days off in a row! Yee-haw!!
But now...now, I don't know. For the foreseeable future, all that comes to mind when I think of Friday, is that it marks however many weeks since I last saw my Dad. Today, it's 3. That does not seem like very many weeks, and it seems like a lot of time. I don't remember the last time I went three weeks without seeing my Dad. I miss him. I miss the way his face would light up when he'd see me. I miss his voice.
This week at work wasn't as bad as last week was. This week I feel a little more human again, a little more empathetic, a little less like I want to quit nursing altogether and find a job working with inanimate objects. I don't think I cried at work this week, at least not in front of anyone.
My Mom and I went and picked up my Dad's cremated remains this week. That was not nearly as difficult as I thought it was going to be! Maybe because I've had so many pets cremated so I kind of knew what to expect, I don't know. For some reason, it put me in a better mood, which surprised the crap out of me because I don't believe that those cremains are "my Dad" any more than I believe that cardinals are him coming to visit. This is where I pull the science card, and maybe that's just to protect my sanity right now. But I really honestly feel that after about 7:30pm on August 2nd, when my Dad's heart stopped beating and his lungs stopped breathing, the physical body that was lying in that bed was not him anymore. For one thing, it looked nothing like him. Not the way I think of him or remember him, or know that he wants to be remembered. When the life and soul left that mortal shell of tissue and bones, that body stopped being my Dad. Therefore, those cremated remains are not my Dad, either. But, they mean the world to my Mom, and for lack of a better term, I refer to the package we received from the Cremation Society as "Dad's urn" or "Dad's remains" or sometimes even just "Dad" when I'm talking to my Mom. It makes her feel better, and that's what I'm supposed to do right now.
Me? I'm indifferent. I'm glad he's not buried -- I do like the idea of cremation better than burial -- and there are provisions for what to do with the cremated remains, but not until both of my parents have passed. So until then, Dad's urn will live with my Mom. Presently sitting on the side table next to her recliner in her living room. And if you thought I was kidding when I said I was going to put googly eyes on it, I am so definitely not kidding. Dad would want it that way. I have big plans for "decorating" his urn over the next few weeks and months. Heh heh heh.
That reminds me, one thing I do kind of feel bad about, is that my Mom keeps saying that she wishes he would come visit her in a dream. I don't want to tell her that I've had lots of dreams with him in them in the last three weeks. The first one was just like a day or two after he passed. A few of them have been horrible nightmares where he's actually died again in the dream -- thankfully I haven't had any of those for about a week or so now, because they're terrible. And it's not like he's "come to me" in my dreams with some beautiful message about how everything is going to be okay and blah blah blah, they were just, like, regular dreams where things are happening and then he's just there and I'm like, oh, hey. In one dream, we were grocery shopping. In another, we were hanging out in the backyard on a summer day (along with, like, every Boxer I've ever had, and even Nicker). They weren't like, "HERE I AM FROM THE DEAD WITH AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FOR YOU!" They were just, you know, I just wake up and I'm like...awwwww. That was a nice dream. But I do feel bad that my Mom hasn't had any dreams like that yet. I don't know why I feel bad, it's not like it's something I can control or anything.
Alright, alright, alright. I should dry my eyes and get back to work.
TTYL!
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