Wednesday, January 27, 2010


I remember all too well the morning my dad died in early November. I had just come home from the hospital with Aaron the day before. My mom came in the room just about at 5am sobbing and woke my husband...she was sobbing. A sense of relief washed over me. It was over. Dad had stepped into eternity. His time here was over, his pain gone. I was relieved.

The next hour involved calling the hospice nurse to verify his death, keeping the children out of the bedroom where he lay, and getting them out of the house with as little trauma as possible... as for the rest of us....we waited for the team from the funeral facility to pick up my dad's body...

kids out the door with daddy...


mom stayed upstairs with my dad's body which to me seemed very strange, but whatever worked for her....

finally the doorbell rings.... and the funeral director and his assistant arrive... paperwork, signatures and then


I seemed to do OK through all of this.

but now it seems to haunt me. Not in a gripped by fear sort of way all the time. just at night alone. downstairs. I can't stay downstairs alone at night. my imagination starts moving and i see in my mind the gurney with my dad's body and I simply don't want to be down there alone with the memories. I know its my imagination and I know its not real, but emotionally it still feels so very real.

I hate that he died here in my house. I hate them memory of him sitting on that gurney until they were able to load him into their van. I hate that THAT is the last memory I have of my dad.

And I know God has not given us a spirit of fear...and I am not actually afraid of being down stairs... but the memories paralyze me and I don't know how to shake it. So once the kids are in bed and Frank heads upstairs I am not very far behind....

Praying this will pass soon..

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