30 Days later

So it's been a month now since I lost my father.  I realized this Monday morning at my orthodontist appointment, as my last was the morning that my father died.  It's been a hard and weird month, but I'm doing much better.  Have been very busy with a trip to Tucson to be with my mother, then a business trip to Maine (recap TK), and then lots of catch-up work since. 

Tucson was good, we spent a weekend going through my father's office, as he was a defense attorney, we had to go through and keep 6 years of case files and shred the rest. It made me never want to get into law, but H has been inspired to consider a career in criminal law.  More fun was the memorial party at his favorite bar, the Kon Tiki, where I heard stories and sides of my father that I'd never known.  My mother compiled a book for me of all of the wonderful emails she's gotten from long-time friends and colleagues.  One thing my father wrote shortly before he died was a bar napkin detailing his favorite defenses.  They ranged from the familiar "My client is too dumb to have committed X crime" and "Cops hate my guy because (fill in the blank)" to the inscrutable "What me worry?" and "Rope a dope."

While the first two weeks were very emotional, filled with sad moments when I realized things like my father had never gone to Europe or that I would never be able to ask him about the "Rope a Dope" defense, but I haven't had the major breakdown I've been expecting.  It's like that feeling when you know you are going to throw up and you stand hovering in the bathroom, eager to get it over with.  Sorry for that image, but it's the best metaphor I can think of.  Since I'm not surrounded with reminders every day, it's more like a series of tiny shocks, like the other night when I called my mother late at night and worried that I might wake my father up.  I emailed pretty much everyone I've ever met with the news, to avoid the awkward "'How are you?' 'Fine.  Oh, but actually…'" conversation, but I still wish I could wear a sign that said "My father died so give me your subway seat/don't worry if I seem out of it/buy me a drink, etc."  More than anything, it's the finality of death that is so hard, but I'm trying not to drive my self crazy with the what ifs and the if onlys.

At the end of this month, we are going to Boston for another memorial party with my father's MA friends (we are from there originally) and desperately looking for a hotel for one night.  Naturally, it is the most expensive time to visit Boston (fall foliage and many colleges have parent weekends), not to mention the Red Sox.  I feel torn about wanting the Sox to go to the World Series since my father was such a huge fan, and not wanting them to go so that I can get a cheaper room!  Plus, the party is at a bar near Fenway, so it will be a nightmare in many ways if they are in the Series.  But I look forward to hearing more stories and meeting other Animal House peeps.

Back to the much more comfortable subject of travel soon.

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