Today marks the one year anniversary of my worst day.
One year ago I was forced to say goodbye to my Father in a hospital room in Rochester Minnesota.
I've tried to write this half a dozen times today... and failed miserably each time, until now.
Why? Because today was so very much easier than I expected. And so very much worse than I could have anticipated. To be perfectly honest I went to sleep last night somewhat dreading today, but when I awoke this morning I was so busy with getting to the right class on time that I honestly forgot to take note until I was sitting at lunch and a close friend pinned me down and asked how I was doing. And then asked again. And demanded a real answer. At that point it all began to come back. I left lunch and quickly headed back to my room... and curled up in bed in an almost identical fashion to a hotel room a year ago. An indeterminate amount of time later I fell asleep and when I awoke the numbness that was life for most of February had settled over me... and I haven't really been able to shake it, and I'm not sure I want to.
Now, I should also mention that today wasn't all miserable, in fact as I mentioned it was also easier than I expected. I've had several friends text, or ask, how I'm doing knowing and caring deeply that the answer was unlikely to be good and offering whatever support they can. I also get to lean on the wonderful picture of faithfulness we were blessed with this week; Even as we mourn the passing of a year, and the unfortunate truth that both John Sr. (my grandpa) and John Jr. (my dad) are no longer here... John David Oegema (my newly born second nephew, given a mighty namesake from both sides of his family) has joined us with impeccable timing.
I should also mention that even as I slipped out of the cafeteria with my rapidly decaying emotional state I checked my mailbox to find a letter from my dear Aunt and Uncle who were with us that day. Expressing the shared pain and an enduring hope: That Dad is gone, but that his (and my) redeemer lives and is at work even now through this.
The simple act of being given a plant as a reminder of life amongst the unavoidable pain of death. Not knowing quite what to send when her first choice was gone, my Mother told the florist to send "something that'd go well in a college guy's room" and having them deliver a vibrant bamboo plant. The same wood that was used to make a small box where Dad's ashes were placed. Coincidence? perhaps, but either way a blessing.
And the brotherly pride of reading the words of others (my sister) who are suffering through this in their own way, amidst the pain of searching for my own thoughts. And the blessing of finally finding some however inadequate this is.
I miss you dear ol' Dad... I wish you could have been there to see the coyotes game on new years, you would have had a blast. I wish you could have met your namesake. I wish I could have let you know how well I did this last semester, and the wonderful community I've found here in Omaha. And more than anything I wish I could give you a hug... and let you know that I love you. But I can't...
Right now I just have the pain, and the knowledge that for many tomorrows I'll be forced to walk this road without him. But thanks to the crazy, mind-boggling grace of God we'll be together again, and I can't wait to tell Dad everything I've learned while I waited for that time.
