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Nov. 20th, 2011 12:10 amAgain, thank you for your thoughts. I will try and answer you all eventually.
I started to tell you what happened, but I can't do that now it would seem. I can say the basics. Sudden (so sudden) heart attack. Near instantaneous death and no suffering. I can say that, but of all else that has been happening I can't.
And not, I guess, that you'd particularly want to hear it.
I feel scared all the time. Like I'm waiting for something dreadful to happen. Which doesn't make sense, 'cos it already happened.
I'm scared and I don't know how to be any more.
And of course, and naturally and understandably and of course, everyone is coming round, visiting and hugging and holding and asking questions and *being sorry*. And in a card, or on a text, or a mail, or a letter it helps, it really really does. Every single one of your messages has given me a moment's warmth, and a reminder of who I am. But when Auntie X comes round and needs tea and details and time - or offers me sympathy I break a little bit more.
And Mum is so small, so crushed, so... stunned. And she's worrying that she isn't crying all the time, that she can smile or laugh about Dad, or talk about cups of tea. She thinks that people will judge her and assume she isn't mourning. She's utterly broken and thinks that she's being cold because she isn't wailing aloud 24 hours a day.
Daddy wanted to leave his body to medical science. He did all the paperwork and had it all agreed and, although none of us wanted it, we agreed and signed his consent forms at the time. And Wednesday, when it happened, we remembered. None of us wanted it, ever, and certainly not when it became real. And we couldn't find the paperwork and I had to call and track down people and find out. And then, because he died at home and needed an autopsy, they don't want him. So I feel guilty that we couldn't do it, even though we tried, and I feel guilty that I'm glad and now we're sorting a funeral and.
But he had signed the organ register. They called me on Wednesday morning and asked me for his eyes. And again, it's what he wanted and I know and I'm glad. And I know that we'll be glad to hear of those he helped and I'm on the register myself. But I gave away his eyes.
He was my Daddy. Is my Daddy. He made *everything* alright. always. And I'm letting people chop him up, and I'm never going to see him again, or hold him. Or have him hug me and take away my problems. And I know I'm an adult woman, I'm almost 40 for fuck's sake, and my world has ended because I've lost my Daddy.
I started to tell you what happened, but I can't do that now it would seem. I can say the basics. Sudden (so sudden) heart attack. Near instantaneous death and no suffering. I can say that, but of all else that has been happening I can't.
And not, I guess, that you'd particularly want to hear it.
I feel scared all the time. Like I'm waiting for something dreadful to happen. Which doesn't make sense, 'cos it already happened.
I'm scared and I don't know how to be any more.
And of course, and naturally and understandably and of course, everyone is coming round, visiting and hugging and holding and asking questions and *being sorry*. And in a card, or on a text, or a mail, or a letter it helps, it really really does. Every single one of your messages has given me a moment's warmth, and a reminder of who I am. But when Auntie X comes round and needs tea and details and time - or offers me sympathy I break a little bit more.
And Mum is so small, so crushed, so... stunned. And she's worrying that she isn't crying all the time, that she can smile or laugh about Dad, or talk about cups of tea. She thinks that people will judge her and assume she isn't mourning. She's utterly broken and thinks that she's being cold because she isn't wailing aloud 24 hours a day.
Daddy wanted to leave his body to medical science. He did all the paperwork and had it all agreed and, although none of us wanted it, we agreed and signed his consent forms at the time. And Wednesday, when it happened, we remembered. None of us wanted it, ever, and certainly not when it became real. And we couldn't find the paperwork and I had to call and track down people and find out. And then, because he died at home and needed an autopsy, they don't want him. So I feel guilty that we couldn't do it, even though we tried, and I feel guilty that I'm glad and now we're sorting a funeral and.
But he had signed the organ register. They called me on Wednesday morning and asked me for his eyes. And again, it's what he wanted and I know and I'm glad. And I know that we'll be glad to hear of those he helped and I'm on the register myself. But I gave away his eyes.
He was my Daddy. Is my Daddy. He made *everything* alright. always. And I'm letting people chop him up, and I'm never going to see him again, or hold him. Or have him hug me and take away my problems. And I know I'm an adult woman, I'm almost 40 for fuck's sake, and my world has ended because I've lost my Daddy.
