***Updated: 9/08/2007 6:00 am***
We buried my father today.
I keep waiting for the realization to hit that he;s really gone; but he was in-and-out of my life so much I'm used to this kind of "disappearance" of his. This "missing-him" feeling is so usual for me, it's like an old sweater -- worn but comfortable.
I opened the day with breakfast with my cousin Kelly at the restaurant he used to work at -- a little hole-in-the-wall off the town square in Centerville called the Tuscany (and was called the "Smoke Shop" when he worked there.) We talked about him, about his annoying habits, his good (and great) points; the times he was there when he needed him, and the times he wasn't.
And then the power went off all over Southern Iowa -- everywhere.
A word of explanation. Dad was a child of the Depression, and had it literally beat into him that electricity costs money, and to turn off the lights when you leave the room. So frequently I'd be in a room with him and he'd get up to use the bathroom and he'd shut off the lights when he left. Two seconds later he'd realize what he did, yell "Sorry!", and turn the lights back on again. Happened ten thousand times if it happened one, right?
So here we are, my cousin Kelli and me, talking about my Dad, and the lights go out for two seconds in Centerville. And not just the lights -- my cellphone rebooted, Kelli's went off entirely, and my cousin Jim reported his car radio turned itself off as well as he was driving.
Somewhere, my Dad was yelling "Sorry!" and laughing his butt off.
The service was at 10:00 am, and about twenty people turned out, which really surprised me. Both of my sisters and I showed up, as well as my cousins Jimmy and Kelli; Aunt Joanne and her husband John; wife #9 (Lana) with her entourage of four; and several regular customers from the restaurant he used to work at. My Dad was a very personable and pleasant person (when he wanted to be, of course) and could be very generous and giving and caring (when he wanted to be.) He had said to me as recently as two weeks ago when I last saw him that he wasn't sure he wanted a memorial service "since the line to piss on my grave would probably be several blocks long and tie up traffic."
And I had agreed with him. He could certainly be annoying, rude, and downright terrifying when he wanted to be as well, as his nine wives can attest. (Mom was both #3 and #7 -- the only one to last into double digits.) I wore my blue polo shirt with the embroidered Chicago Cubs logo I got the last time I was at Wrigley Field. My cousin Jim wore his Cubs tie. Dad would have liked that.
Dad was cremated (that's him on the left in the mahogany cremation urn) and interred into the cemetary next to the grandfather Espy he loved so much.
After the ceremony was completed my cousin Jim nudges me. He says, "Hey John -- let's sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." At first I thought he was crazy, but just that suddently it came to me -- somewhere, he was laughing about it, and loved the idea. I bumped into the ghost of my father, and he was singing.
So Jim, Kelli, and I sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" and most of the people joined in, too. I think if it's good enough for Harry Caray's funeral, it's good enough for my Dad's.
I stayed after everyone had left and helped the funeral director place the urn into the ground. I literally buried my father today.
Afterwards I spent about a half-hour in the cemetary doing some legwork by photographing headstones of relatives I never knew but heard so much about. It will help my genealogy research immensely, and gave me time to walk and process the moment.
My Dad used to love to do jigsaw puzzles, and this is the one he was working on when he died. My father's life; a puzzle left unfinished.
So we finished up moving all the furniture out, and Aunt Joanne will finish cleaning the apartment this weekend so it can be rented next week. Job well done, I think.
One bonus for the afternoon; during the cleaning of the apartment we found $40.00 he had squirreled away in a book and forgotten about. So we trotted down to the restaurant he used to work for, and he bought us dinner, as he had done so many times before. Once again, I bumped into my father that day without his actually being there.
As I stood at my Aunt Joanne's house saying goodbye, I told her about the power failure that morning and how Kelli and I had been talking about Dad at that very moment. No sooner did I mention his name than the automatic light in the driveway went off -- even though there were four people milling around the driveway at the time.
Took almost a full minute before it came on again. Again my Dad was present, without even being there. I could almost physically hear my Dad was yelling "Sorry!" and laughing -- again.
Heading back in the morning. I think I've had enough of my Dad for the day. I keep tripping over his memory, it seems. I said to Aunt Joanne as we left that I keep waiting for him to walk through that damn door. She did, too.
~~JD~~
