Denial

“The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them--words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.”

- Stephen King

My dad and I used to send the above quote back and forth to mend our bridge that we would burn and rebuild through the course of our lives.

My Dad died Saturday.

Ok, perhaps I’m still in the Elizabeth Kubler Roth stage 1 –Denial. Because I write that and feel an inappropriate giggle bubbling around my heart.
Because it simply cannot be true.
My Dad was a formidable giant in my eyes. I think I have always seen him from the perspective of a 7 year old (the age my son is now, the age I was when my dad left, the age I was when my mother’s father died)
One of the last dreams I had about my dad; he was enormous, like a Macy’s Thanksgiving day balloon. Huge, bombastic somewhat foreboding..
He was going to die within the next 5 years or so, his lungs were slowly failing, but instead had a heart attach while vacationing earlier this month, in Las Vegas. I flew out to see him in the ICU, on a ventilator and told him I loved him. He held my hand.

There were important things to say that I didn’t get a chance to.
I suppose there’s a stage for that.

I am curious about what Roth meant about bargaining. I’m going to take it as shopping.

Retail Therapy as my dear friend calls it.

The radio witch has been kind, she has yet to hit me with “Old Man” by Neil Young. But on the day he died, actually in the moment he died she put “Wish You Were Here” on the radio while driving with my family on vacation. (yup I was on vacation, actually on the return home when he died) And then my step mom called while we were checking our bags. On the plane I drank beer and listened to the XM radio and once again heard “Wish You Were Here”.

My dad and I spent many years estranged; on and off; me in my 20s, him in the bottle.

Now in our 40s and 70s we finally were able to talk about love and life and regret.

We had just found the way to each other’s secret heart.

And then his stopped.