Jul. 14th, 2025 04:40 am
Way too early
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k2daisyI am an extra early riser, but 2:30am is way too early even for me.
At first my brain was buzzing with ideas about re-arranging my big booth, which is my main project this week. How am I going to take everything off the shelves and store it safely within the booth so I can then move the shelves to new locations? How many boxes should I bring in? Oooh, take the long folding table too. Etc.
Then my eyes started leaking, and a full-on cry burst out of me. (Note: get a new box of tissues by the side of the bed.) Eventually I acknowledged I wasn't going back to sleep so I moved to the living room so my husband and dogs could get their sleep.
The memorial is on Saturday, the water burial is Sunday. We fly out on Friday. All of my nervous energy around the booth redesign is just a distraction technique from the wall of pain I am about to run into. I'm going to bury my parents in less than a week and it's already wrecking me.
+++
I was contacted by two very different people last night about the memorial. That's probably what brought this so close to the surface.
The first was my Dad's best friend. He's been texting me from time to time, to check in on me or offer a kind word about the house, or something he and Dad would talk about, etc. He's so kind, but every time his name pops up on my phone, I start crying. Because my Dad would be doing the same for John's oldest son, if John had passed away first. John and Dad were friends for 50 years because they were so alike; John's thoughtfulness is so like my Dad's. Dad would have sent a congrats text when the house sold, asked for an update on the memorial, told a story about them texting while watching women's basketball at the same time, told his son how proud his dad was of him. John is caring for his ailing wife Betty (she has Alzheimer's) like Dad cared for Mom during her cancer treatments.
John's message last night: Kristen, Betty and I will be attending this Saturday. We will only be staying a short time as we are going to do a round trip. It's important to me to see you, Kate and Alison. See you Saturday.
It made me cry so, so hard. They live in New Jersey, it's not a short drive. But I am so grateful he is coming. I haven't even seen them in at least forty years. But the 4 of them saw each other every year during that time. My dad had a pile of t-shirts, 15-20 at least, of Barnagut Lighthouse, where the 4 of them vacationed together on the Jersey shore for years and years. My parents knew how to be good friends to their friends, a trait I wish I emulated more.
The other message was from a random relative of my husband's. Not sure even he knows who he is. A cousin or something, I assumed from Pennsylvania where his dad is from. We're facebook friends but I don't know him at all. Anyway, he had commented on one of my posts saying he wanted to see me when we were in Connecticut, but wasn't sure if he should come to the memorial. He jumbled up my husband's and father's names, he didn't know why we were havng it in Cheshire, and I didn't respond because it felt rude and intrusive of him. Then he posted again last night to say I hadn't replied, and maybe we could meet while we were in town. He emailed me too, same thing.
I replied back in email this morning, and said this was an extremely emotional visit and I was not up to seeing any new visitors, but maybe next trip. But you know what? Fuck you, buddy. No, I do not want to meet you, this is not a casual fucking trip. You are a facebook friend, you have had access to all of my honest and painful posts about losing my parents. Read the fucking room.
Anyway. That's been my way-too-early morning.
At first my brain was buzzing with ideas about re-arranging my big booth, which is my main project this week. How am I going to take everything off the shelves and store it safely within the booth so I can then move the shelves to new locations? How many boxes should I bring in? Oooh, take the long folding table too. Etc.
Then my eyes started leaking, and a full-on cry burst out of me. (Note: get a new box of tissues by the side of the bed.) Eventually I acknowledged I wasn't going back to sleep so I moved to the living room so my husband and dogs could get their sleep.
The memorial is on Saturday, the water burial is Sunday. We fly out on Friday. All of my nervous energy around the booth redesign is just a distraction technique from the wall of pain I am about to run into. I'm going to bury my parents in less than a week and it's already wrecking me.
+++
I was contacted by two very different people last night about the memorial. That's probably what brought this so close to the surface.
The first was my Dad's best friend. He's been texting me from time to time, to check in on me or offer a kind word about the house, or something he and Dad would talk about, etc. He's so kind, but every time his name pops up on my phone, I start crying. Because my Dad would be doing the same for John's oldest son, if John had passed away first. John and Dad were friends for 50 years because they were so alike; John's thoughtfulness is so like my Dad's. Dad would have sent a congrats text when the house sold, asked for an update on the memorial, told a story about them texting while watching women's basketball at the same time, told his son how proud his dad was of him. John is caring for his ailing wife Betty (she has Alzheimer's) like Dad cared for Mom during her cancer treatments.
John's message last night: Kristen, Betty and I will be attending this Saturday. We will only be staying a short time as we are going to do a round trip. It's important to me to see you, Kate and Alison. See you Saturday.
It made me cry so, so hard. They live in New Jersey, it's not a short drive. But I am so grateful he is coming. I haven't even seen them in at least forty years. But the 4 of them saw each other every year during that time. My dad had a pile of t-shirts, 15-20 at least, of Barnagut Lighthouse, where the 4 of them vacationed together on the Jersey shore for years and years. My parents knew how to be good friends to their friends, a trait I wish I emulated more.
The other message was from a random relative of my husband's. Not sure even he knows who he is. A cousin or something, I assumed from Pennsylvania where his dad is from. We're facebook friends but I don't know him at all. Anyway, he had commented on one of my posts saying he wanted to see me when we were in Connecticut, but wasn't sure if he should come to the memorial. He jumbled up my husband's and father's names, he didn't know why we were havng it in Cheshire, and I didn't respond because it felt rude and intrusive of him. Then he posted again last night to say I hadn't replied, and maybe we could meet while we were in town. He emailed me too, same thing.
I replied back in email this morning, and said this was an extremely emotional visit and I was not up to seeing any new visitors, but maybe next trip. But you know what? Fuck you, buddy. No, I do not want to meet you, this is not a casual fucking trip. You are a facebook friend, you have had access to all of my honest and painful posts about losing my parents. Read the fucking room.
Anyway. That's been my way-too-early morning.
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