Monday, May 25, 2009

the day the music died...

It's been one week since my dad passed away. I ache, I physically ache.

I am still in shock - sometimes I literally scoff out loud because it seems absolutely absurd that he could no longer be "here". I cannot process this. i cannot!

then come the huge wave of emotions...

there are thoughts of all the things and moments i will miss with him, the moments my kids will miss - it seems so unimaginable.

i whispered in his ear at the hospital that i knew that even if he were 100 years old i would never be ready for him to go, but halfway there is just impossible for me to comprehend. i needed more time.

every morning since the day i got the call, i have thought... if i could somehow just go back 24 hours, 48 hours, then 72 hours, then a few days...and it goes on.

if somehow, i could travel back in time and beg him to go to the dr. or call him the morning of and convince him to just go straight to a hospital - i know these are crazy irrational thoughts, but i have them. every day, several times a day.

it just doesn't seem like it can be real.

and my life now seems to be divided into two parts:
1. when dad was alive
2. after dad passed away.
the spiderman balloon hovering in the bottom of my closet from ian's birthday party - dad was still here; the milk in the fridge that i pour into hudson's bottle - dad was still here; the beautiful flowers and plants sitting on my porch - after; the water sprinkler ian runs through laughing hysterically - after.

in the midst of this enormous pain, there is a peace that God has covered us with. He has kept me from exploding from the inside out - even though it feels like i am suffocating.

We had a Celebration Of Life for dad on thursday evening. we sat outside on his friend's land where he would spend many evenings playing guitar on the porch.

and i can say with everything that i am, that dad would have loved it!

when we walked into dad's house for the first time a week and a half ago, on the dry erase board hanging in his kitchen was the quote, "Be the change you wish to see in this world" - and Chris spoke about dad being that change.
people ate and remembered how goofy and fun and loving and talented he was.
his friends that he is in a band with played a song that he co-wrote called, "Goodbye Everybody" (it was written this past january and we found it in one of his guitar cases while he was still in icu).

Another way that God comforted us.

we watched a slideshow of pictures of pieces of his life. we stayed late into the night sitting on his friend's porch listening to them play their acoustic guitars and singing.

i hated to leave - it felt like he was there.

i know that dad is okay, i take peace in that. but i ache beyond words of the pain that is caused by the separation.


Heidi said...

Oh Rachel, reading this makes me ache for you. We love you! We are here in any way you need us to be...

Anonymous said...

Rachel, I couldn't even imagine the pain you are going through right now and will in the years to come. I could only dream of having a daddy half of what Rick was to you and your brother. My heart aches because yours aches! We love you and are here for you when you need a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, and a friend to hold you when you need held. We are praying and thinking of you daily. WE LOVE YOU!

Leilanni said...

Your heart comes through so clearly in this post - you have a beautiful way of expressing the range of emotions you experience daily. I am heartbroken for you and lift you up in prayer daily. Love you!

Rachel said...

What a heart-breaking, yet beautiful post, Rachel. I hurt for you all over again...