Absence04 Oct 2014
My father died Thursday morning, age 81. I wasn't there yet, I had only made it as far as London. He was always impatient, he never liked waiting for anyone when he was ready to go.
It's not like we weren't ready for this. He's been on oxygen for 11 years, at first only at night, and later 24 hours. I always wondered how I would feel when the time came. Now I know. I feel his absence. Absence, as in the opposite of presence.
Now I'm home with my mother and brother to together go through the rituals. We spoke with the funeral home yesterday, made the decisions, gave details for the obituary, looked at the plot, picked out flowers. Viewing is Sunday afternoon, prayer service that evening, funeral 10:30 Monday morning. We tried to do things to make it informal and not all too a somber and sad affair.
The obituary will be online. That's a thing now I guess. If you have Flash music will play, you may want to turn it down first.
Our son arrives from Germany today. He brought his bagpipes. I hope he's up to playing.