The Aftermath

It's hard to read my blog from January after the Christmas trip to Nebraska--it's hard to read the negative thoughts I had and the blame I had on Dad for my lack of motivation. What a crock. Dad's mood was far from the reason I didn't want to grade or clean or make phone calls to athletes. I know better than that. I am a procrastinator; have been all my life. I just wanted to point and blame.



I do recall his mood and I know it waring. No matter who we saw in Pawnee after chemo, Dad had very few nice things to say about them. I specifically remember thinking: "He knows everyone in Pawnee County and can't stand 90% of them...but I bet they'll be at his funeral; I'll bet his funeral will be huge." I was right.



His funeral was big. Standing room only in basement I was told. People I had never seen before; people I knew he didn't even like. But for some reason or another, they came; they had a special connection or maybe occurance where they wanted to pay their respects. I was glad they came. I was relieved it was big. I know Dad and I didn't have to best relationship--especially the last few months of his life. So to see everyone there was softer on my heart, I guess. Not that the abundance of friends could replace the relationship of ours, but it just put some of the guilt at ease.



I wonder if they knew the side of Harold we knew--Mom, Steph, Rhonda, Kim, Bobbi and I. I wonder if any of those people saw his negativity and sometimes hate. And then I wonder, what does it matter whether they had or hadn't? It's easy to forget the bad. It's easier than I thought it would be. I thought I would have some anger towards him for the rest of my days. But I don't. And that's good. I know it's good.

Toleration

I went home for 12 days. Home is Nebraska and the stay seemed far too long. All of the sisters live out of state so family gatherings mean ALL of us (spouses and kids included) stay under the same roof. It's usually Mom and Dad's roof, but sometimes a hotel must accommodate our family of 13. It's tense. I wonder how the hell I managed to live there for 18 years. I wonder if we've all changed that much or if we just can't tolerate it as much anymore.
It's exhuasting. So exhausting I don't have any energy to grade papers in my own home...or clean or work on my resume or contact volleyball players about practice tomorrow night. No desire. I wonder if that house in Lewiston, Nebraska did that or if he did...Dad. I read what I write and guilt overcomes. How dare I point a finger at him? How dare I blame my happiness or lack thereof on him? Can't do that, Denise. You just can't. No matter how many negative things pour from his mouth, no matter how many looks of disgust he displays for us notice. You just can't do that.