I still haven’t cried. I still haven’t cried over Daddy dying and I feel like a complete ass. Illogical as it seems, I have to wonder if I loved him at all, if I miss him at all, if his being gone really matters. That’s silly, of course. I loved him with my whole heart, and almost every day I think of something I want to tell him. His passing has brought forth a multitude of changes in my life. If anything has ever mattered, this does. But I haven’t cried.
I have always been a “Suck it up, buttercup” type of girl. A scraped and bloody knee never bothered me. Break-ups were something to deal with and move on. Grades were a different story (neuroses rearing their heads at an early age), but for the most part, I was always logical, never emotional, but when my grandpa died in 2010, a switch clicked. I cried. I cried All. The. Time. I would cry watching nature documentaries. I would cry because our Christmas tree was so pretty. I’ve cried because Bryan would save me the last cupcake. I would cry because someone’s perfume smelled like my grandma’s. All the time.
I cried the entire time Daddy was in the hospital- the day we heard the word cancer, the day he went home, the day the oncologist told us that the biopsy couldn’t be read, the day we finally got a diagnosis… I didn’t stop crying. I think, at one point, I cried over how terrible my hospital cafeteria cheeseburger was. I cried the day before he died, when 100 family members were at the house and Bryan walked in. Finally, when it was just he and I, I cried. 6 hours later, when Daddy died, it stopped.
I was terrified, walking into the funeral home the day of the visitation. I just knew that seeing my dad laying cold and in a box would shake lose whatever tears I had. I was wrong. Instead, I thanked Mr. Brown for making him look so good (why do people always say that at a wake? “He looks so good.”), sat down and waited for the mourners to arrive. My eyes welled up a bit when I saw one of my best friends walk in, but it lasted only a second, then it was over. Tuesday morning, I hugged a hundred people, several of them crying, thanked them for coming, then sat at a graveside service where even the sound of Taps being played didn’t shake me. I came home that night, my mom in tow, all of us knowing our lives were changing, finally took a breath, and slept. I didn’t cry.
I know we all mourn differently. I wonder, often, if I’m too busy accepting the change- the idea that we’re now a household of three, wondering if I can take as good of care of my mom as Daddy did, knowing I’ll never grow tobacco again, or buy another cow- to be able to have my emotions run wild. Maybe the shock of losing him has just rendered me emotionless for a bit. Perhaps, one day, something will flip that switch again, and I’ll be able to let everything out. Right now, it doens’t even feel like there’s anything stored up to expel.
There’s more change coming, more adjustments to make, and a huge step to take, though, before I have the chance to stop for a minute, and will the tears to come.
** Summer, 2015. Teaching Bryan to drive the new tractor. **
