My Daddy

I don’t want to type the address into the search bar because that will make me cry. And I’ve been holding it together for the last couple of days because there are things to be done. Lists to be made. Lots and lots of lists. On mismatched scraps of paper. And flights and hotels to book. Phone calls to make. Lots and lots of phone calls. On hot, low battery phones. Texts to be written. But mostly phone calls. Because when one is sharing the news that someone they loved, someone they’ve known and looked up to their whole life, has passed, an old fashioned phone call seems best. Not the easiest, mind you. But the best.

And Mom and I did our best to reach everyone we could by phone before the condolence messages showed up on Facebook. Where someone who hadn’t yet gotten the phone call, like, oh say, my grown children, would see it as they perused social media on their lunch break. On their lunch break from their first Grown Up Jobs—a work day during which their father and I decided to let end (including the traffic laden commute home) before we delivered sad news.

And yet isn’t a place like Facebook such a convenient clearing house for sharing news with a large group of people? “Maybe yes. Maybe no.” a wise relative once said. Well, back then we were asking if it was going to rain, but I’m running with his answer.

So, here I am, feeling (hoping dearly) we’ve reached everyone who needed to hear the news from a live person’s voice—even if it’s five calls down the family phone chain—as I ready to post the news to my friends on Facebook. This includes many actual “real life” friends, former colleagues, classmates, neighbors and many wonderful, caring folks whom I’ve known only on the pages of Facebook but who, over the years, have become fabulous prayer warriors and sources of support, laughter, fun, wisdom, intellectual and spiritual growth and yes, comfort.

I might want to say how humbled and grateful I am that, because Dad said he wanted me here sooner I flew here a week earlier than planned. And, how honored and grateful I was to be with my mom at his side when he left this life for the next. But what needs to be included—what I’ve been asked from family and friends to include, is my daddy’s obituary. You know, all those details for visitations and Mass and such.

Except that means I’ll have to type the address of the funeral home into the search bar. Which means my daddy’s picture will appear under “Recent Obituaries”. And it will make me cry. Because I’ve been holding it together for the last couple of days….