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.