My Dad’s memorial is today and I’m sitting here in his kitchen procrastinating on getting ready.  I have the notes for my speech all written up, I’m trying to sate the butterflies in my stomach with sour gummy snacks (it’s not working), and I’m watching my husband and brother watch a program on UFO’s in the living room.

It’s the kind of program my Dad would have loved.

He passed away Thursday night.  My brother and I were there, holding his hands, and when he was gone I smoothed his hair back to the way he liked to wear it and closed his eyes.  Being here in his kitchen, knowing he’s not going to just come down from his room ready for the next adventure is surreal.  I was there when he passed, but the fact that he’s gone hasn’t sunk in.

He was a good man.  The best, really.  Quiet, quirky, moral, and skilled, he made his way through life with confidence in who he was.  He never apologized for being so quiet, or for enjoying the things he enjoyed.  He loved watching birds, sailing, and working with his hands.  He was marvelously talented, and he had the best sense of humor of almost anyone I know.

We’re going to miss him, and I have the feeling that the next year will be filled with moments when I wish he were there.  He was really excited to be a grandfather, and I have the feeling that when Squishy is born I’ll wish more than ever he were still around to meet him/her.

We take comfort in knowing he lived a very full, very good life.  We smile to know that he lives on through us, in our ridiculous senses of humor, our appreciation for nature, our skills with woodworking and cooking.  We’ll miss him, but we’ll also celebrate him.

I’m writing this brief update from the waiting room of a hospital in California.  In a completely unexpected turn, my Dad’s health crashed last night and the doctors warned us he didn’t have much time.  I jumped on the first flight I could find and, after two hours of sleep and a short flight, here I am.

The doctors are certain that this is the end of the line for my Dad, so I’ll be staying in California for at least the next week.  Updates will be light.  My Dad fought an amazing fight, and now it’s time to say goodbye.  I’m just so blessed to have gotten here in time to do just that.

I feel like I’m awake and dreaming today.  I slept in on purpose this morning, knowing full well I didn’t have time to do that thanks to laundry and breakfast duties.  Then I skipped putting makeup on because I looked at my face and thought, “Good enough.”  A driver cut me off on my way to work and I barely noticed, hours keep slipping by with alacrity, and not a whit of any of it is registering with me today.

I’m not sure how many of you know this, but my Dad has cancer and has been fighting it for almost two years.  He’s incredibly strong, and more brave than anyone I know, and, against all odds, makes having cancer look like not a big deal.  I don’t talk about it much, mostly to respect his privacy.  I also keep mum on the topic because, when I look back on my archives, it delights me to re-live the things that made me smile, or fascinated me, or drove me to distraction.  I have little interest in re-visiting the things that make me cry.

That’s why I’m sharing this today.  My brother called me Monday afternoon to let me know my Dad was checking into the hospital for surgery and would be expected to stay for around four days.  I fretted most of Monday night, and spent Tuesday obsessively checking my phone for updates.  Testing it to make sure it was receiving calls, stopping myself from calling my brother, typical waiting stuff.

He did finally call and all is well.  The surgery went well, and my Dad’s recovering nicely with every intention of transferring back to a regular room later today.  After a call like that, it’s hard to get irritated about the petty annoyances of life.  I feel disconnected from everything, but not because I’m depressed or angry.  I’m transcendent at knowing that, once again, my Dad has demonstrated his remarkable ability to make impossible things look easy and that he’ll be much more comfortable now.

When someone you love fiercely pulls through surgery and comes out the other side waving and well, it’s pretty silly to get all bent out of shape over getting cut off in traffic.