Stumbling Around

It's been about three weeks since my Dad died. And he was sick for almost eleven months prior to his death, a time span that should seem short but actually stretched on in a most torturous manner.

It's not that his death was a surprise. Watching a decline such as his makes death the obvious last act. But now, we wander around, wondering how the world looks the same and yet we all feel vaguely lousy. You don't forget your father has died, exactly, but it can't be on your mind every minute. Going to the market, Swiffering the muddy floor, getting coffee all take a spot on daily lists. This is life. Life goes on (as do cliches). But then, there's a dizzying moment of remembering Dad driving us somewhere and cursing madly, or picking out cheese at Trader Joe's for a party (lots of smelly brie), or I drive past Cassell's and remember how we used to get burgers there, and the world tips in a sickening fashion. He's not here anymore.

In fact, I'm not sure where he is, quite literally. Who has his ashes? Are they in a box at the Neptune Society? Did my stepmother pick them (him???) up? Should I pick them (him???) up if she hasn't done it? I wasn't present for his death, never saw the body (completely my choice), so those ashes are the only evidence that some part of his body is still here. Although, frankly, if you've ever seen "cremains," you know it could all just be leftover chimney sweepings from half of Los Angeles. It's probably not even him.

Sometimes I think it would be far easier to be religious. It would all be organized and structured. If we were practicing Jews, he would've been in the ground by now, the funeral and sitting shivah completed, rugalach scarfed and respects paid. But no, we're heathens, or at least confused goy/half Jews, and there hasn't been anything planned yet. Hazy plans for a memorial service in "six to eight weeks," which probably, given family schedules and the amount of pomp and circumstance (Dad was a big deal, you know), will be stretched to four months from now. There's no way to finish it, drive the nail into the coffin, rend our clothing and howl if we'd like and then, finally, get back to the grocery shopping without distraction.