Lounge of Tomorrow - That Call Before 7am

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- - That Call Before 7am (http://74.208.121.111/LoT/showthread.php?t=10443)

I was so happy to be there to celebrate the life of a man who was such an amazing father to a dear friend. There were so many people there (and an AMAZING amount of food) it was so obvious he was so loved and respected. It was an honor to be there and to spend time with EH and NM. I know the past week was a tough one and I'm so glad I could give them hugs in person.

Oh my gosh. I am so sorry, Audra.

I know Mindy's parents made it but it just didn't work out for us having Grandmothers to deal with. Nevertheless, you were not far from our thoughts.

I was horrified to see this tonight- I've been out of town and offline for the past week. I know how very much Audra loves her dad, and I am truly heartbroken for her. I'm mostly heartbroken that he won't be here to see you two continue on building an amazing life story together, but I know that he left this world with the knowledge that his girl was with her boy, and was happy. As a parent, that is all I could ever wish for, and I'm so glad you were able to get to know him as well as you did. Now, when Audra speaks of her dad, you'll know how he would have spoken, or what mannerisms he would used, or .....well, you know. You knew him, and that is what it truly important. I don't know why, but it is. My daughter didn't get to know her grandpa- he died when she was nearly two, but she knows him from us, and we tell her everything- how he laughed, what things made him mad, annoying and endearing traits- everything. I suppose it's a small sort of immortality, but it works for us- and hopefullly it will for you two. Hugs to you both, from all of us.

Thanks again to everyone who attended. Long drives up to the valley from as far away as San Diego (KS rocks something fierce). One of Aud's friends even flew in from NY! That sort of support and love is incredibly moving, warming and comforting. Thank you Kevin for the A/V setup, it wouldn't have been the same without it. And thank you all for the support.

And now, with the party behind us, begins the rest. But man, what a party it was. We are estimating over 250 folks were there throughout the day. Possibly considerably more. The flowers, food and bottles of wine rained from the sky as hugs and laughter sprouted from the ground. It was, epic. I can think of no greater showing of the impact the man had, than the party held in his honor. RIP Peter. I hope you would have considered the final send off to be a right proper one.

Greetings, Pals of Tomorrow!

Last week was the quickest impossibly long week I've ever had. I woke up yesterday morning feeling like I had just received the news but I also felt like I’d lived a year in seven days. Right now I'm mostly exhausted and relieved to be back at work. My melancholy isn't overwhelming; it's a thread that loops in and out of the fabric of my day. Mostly I am being practical and accepting: Death is the period at the end of a life sentence.

But I experience after shocks and will continue to do so for a while, I imagine. His death was unexpected and sudden and I still have moments of disbelief. Not denial, just…how? How is it he won’t be sending me an IM about getting together for breakfast? How is it that he isn’t sitting at his computer when I walk into their house? How is it that I won’t ever again see alive, up close and personal, that happy, beautiful, masculine face I’ve loved my whole life? I long for those hands, those large and gnarly arthritic hands that could enclose and disappear my own. My brother said they should have donated our father’s hands to science and, agreeing, I think they should have been bronzed and displayed in the Philadelphia Mutter Museum.

Thank goodness for gallows humor. It’s really gotten us through this week and pushes us into the next one, and probably the next one, and so on. We can have a laugh, even now. Phew!

As we sift through his personal effects I am sometimes pierced through the heart by a surprise find:a short story he wrote, a photograph, or a letter he kept that I wrote to him fifteen years ago, etc. I don’t constantly feel his absence yet but when I contemplate it, when it crumples me, I repeat sentences in my head, the usual Wants and Can’t Haves that haunt our mental cemeteries when someone we love has departed.

There are thanks too personal for a message board, some even too personal for emails, cards, and telephone calls. But I do want to post a general and public thanks to our LoT pals who have written here, stopped by, sent cards and letters, phoned, and provided assistance. Everything (and I mean everything) has been a tremendous help. I never really knew what to say or how to behave when someone else went through this. I was worried a call would be an imposition, a letter a sad reminder. I figured hands were too full and anything I could offer would just seem like another ball to juggle. Sometimes I got it right must mostly I think I got it wrong.

Every thought has counted, but I would be remiss without a few special shout outs:

- Death is a huge ****ing inconvenience and I want to thank everyone who altered their plans so they could be with us on Saturday, especially those who traveled from afar (Katie Sue, hug your neck!). In large part because of you, I’ve never felt less lonely in all my life.
- Thank you Heidi and Tom, who set aside much of their vacation prep time to speedily put together a wonderful and lengthy memorial video that combined some of my father’s TV performances with photo/music montages. It was looped all day (so your presence was felt), widely complimented, and we’ve had many requests for copies.
- Thank you to Kevin and Susan, who made it possible to blast my father’s eclectic iPod tunes all day long, and who also made it possible for us to speech and speech loudly.
- Thank you, Lisa, for the symbolic, personal, and beautiful necklace. (You know how much I adore mourning jewelry!)
- Thank you to everyone who brought food and drink.

I suppose this falls under “too personal for a message board”, but I’d be an absolute heel if I didn’t mention Erik. His words here are evidence of the love he had for my father, for my family, and for me, but his actions are Love itself. I am cherished. With regards to me, nothing could make my father happier. So I must also thank those who have given their support to my mister. He’s been constantly vigilant and I know it helps to have our friends be there for him as much as for me. Erik, I love you beyond measure by choice as well as by happy accident. Every day my heart chooses you and will continue to do so forever and ever.

And for those who are interested, the eulogy I wrote:

Quote:

People say we should live each day as though it is our last, but my father took this one step further and lived as though he'd never have a last day. Ultimately I think this is awesome, but it would have been nice if he at least pretended he would have a last day, and maybe told us where the will is kept, or the lease papers for the car, or what each of the 300 keys we’ve found are for. It's been postmortem treasure hunt for important documents but instead of clues we find more keys. Sophie said it was like we were in a Pinter play, and that certainly suits my dad.

If I am angry about anything it's that this is, despite his age, a serious case of unfinished business. He had so many ideas and plans, he was still in the middle of so many projects both at the theater and at home, where he was planning a garden. He was the most active participant in this life that I have ever known, and I always looked forward to seeing what he had in the works. Right now I’m not sure where to refocus my anticipation and I find that it’s hard to love someone who has died because it feels so unrequited. A not-so-little piece of me is lost with him forever, but I can live with that. That piece belonged to him. I am so happy and lucky to have been this man’s daughter and friend. We were simpatico.

I will easily remember my father and the thirty-three years we had together. What I already deeply miss is the body that held me as a baby, spun me around as a child, and embraced me as an adult. He did not withhold affection for special occasions. He hugged you because he felt like it, because it was a good and right thing to love and be loved. Because the self-called girly man just couldn’t help himself. He hugged you when he was happy to see you, and he hugged it out with you when he was mad.

What he wanted out of life was simple: he wanted more of it. I wanted that for him, as well. But the way to get through this is to think about all that he did and not what he’s unable to do now. He had an epic and amazing life, and he was the most compassionate, interested, active, enthusiastic, and kind man I’ve ever known. He could also be a tempest in a teacup, a trait I inherited, but that only added a dash of enigma to his charm. And what he loved most in life was also simple: he loved people. He loved you, he really, really did. I am so grateful that he spent the last two and a half years also getting to know Erik, the man I’ve chosen to share the rest of my life with.

A friend and colleague summarized him well, “He fell off a roof. He made a great dog. He was my mentor, hero and friend.” I’ll add to that, “He saw the Red Sox win the World Series.” And, thanks to my mother, they finally made it to the Baseball Hall of Fame for the first time.

I thank him today for all the breakfasts we’ve shared these past few years, with all the philosophical discussions, our talks about art, the one-sided political debates I tried to avoid, the fights over nothing, the fights over something, and the endless respect and love we had for each other that they included.

I’ll close with a quote from the evolutionary biologist, Richard Dawkins:
We are going to die, and that makes us the lucky ones. Most people are never going to die because they are never going to be born. The potential people who could have been here in my place but who will in fact never see the light of day outnumber the sand grains of Arabia. Certainly those unborn ghosts include greater poets than Keats, scientists greater than Newton. We know this because the set of possible people allowed by our DNA so massively exceeds the set of actual people. In the teeth of these stupefying odds it is you and I, in our ordinariness, that are here. – Richard Dawkins

EH1812, that was and is beautiful. Your eulogy, your thank you to your friends, your love for your Dad. I'm weeping, just beautiful. {HUGS}

That was beautiful Audra.

That was beautiful. I also suffer from the same reticence to say anything in these situations for fear of whatever I come up with being hollow and inadequate. I dearly wish I could have been there to have tried.