Just Not Right

It’s been a long weekend. The first time off work that didn’t involve death in far too long.

It’s only been 6 weeks (less, actually: July 24, 2007) since Daddy died, but it seems like decades. I’ve traveled more since then than in most of my life. 3,000 miles by car, and at least as many by air.

I’ve gone from worrying about Daddy’s health to worrying about his health insurance coverage to how well his life insurance will take care of Mama. I’ve worried about everything I think needs to be worried about and tried like hell not to think of the things that aren’t important.

Or at least aren’t too important just quite yet.

I’m just plain-old, old-fashioned depressed. I’ve done what I can for my family, and now I’m just tired.

I made peace with God about the “How” part of Daddy’s dieing, but I still haven’t made it to the “Why” part.

Yes, I was privileged to help make decisions about his care and the ultimate withdrawal of it. Yes, I was privileged to be there when he died and help ease him into his next life.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

So many yeses and so few answers.

My question is still “Why? Why? WHY?”

He was a good man who still had things to give. He always gave more than he got from anyone. He was always ready to do what he could to help someone else.

He loved children, and even though he wouldn’t admit, had a special affection for animals. Daddy fussed all the time about one of our cats when I was growing up, but, if you got up early enough in the morning, you could hear him making “that damned cat” her own eggs. Then they had breakfast together. He talked to her the whole time like he would have to anyone he considered a friend.

When my little sister couldn’t take care of her kids anymore, he insisted that he and my mother take custody. Daddy was able to see the two of them graduate this past spring.

We’re all left without him. None of us have a good answer to why, other than a liver disease that we still don’t have any answers about, either.

None of it seems right. Even after making the decisions, watching him die, making burial arrangements and picking out a headstone, none of it seems real.

It’s not right.

There’s just nothing right about it.