By Stormi.....
I think because I wasn’t able to go to Oklahoma to help my sister after my dad’s death, it still hadn’t really set in for me-even a few weeks later. Telling people over and over he had passed away and receiving condolences from wonderful family and friends, still did not seem to make me face the harsh reality that I no longer had a dad. I still hadn’t cried much which really bothered me, especially considering I was pregnant and something as simple as a Cheerios commercial would get me choked up. I felt guilty and angry at myself for feeling almost numb. I don’t if it was because I hadn’t seen him in so long, or because as a child you never seem to think about losing your parents or maybe it was just because I just simply didn’t want to believe it. I’m not sure, but nothing makes a reality set in until you’re holding it in a small, eight pound box.
My sister and I, taking into consideration previous discussions with my dad and the fact that he had let his life insurance lapse just two months before (strangely out of character for him), decided to cremate him and spread his ashes in the places he loved most in this world. The places he always talked about going back to, the places that seemed to be a part of his soul, and later the places he mentioned frequently in his writing. We also decided to have the ashes shipped to my home in New Mexico for me to hold onto until we had a plan to return him to where he always wanted to be. At the time, the thought of this was fine with me, and still is, I just didn’t expect it to finally bring all of the emotions I was denying to the surface.
I received the slip from the post office that said I had a package to pick up. I work during post office hours so I had to make a trip during my lunch break. Like many teachers, I have learned to eat my meals quickly- 30 minutes goes by in a flash. So I went into the assistant principal’s office trying to figure out how to ask for extra time at lunch to go pick up my dad. This sounds reasonable if you are picking someone up from the airport or bus station, but having to pick up a loved one in a box from the post office seemed strange. Fortunately, my assistant principal is one of the kindest people I know. Without a blink of an eye after I explained what I needed to do, she said, “Of course, are you sure you want to come back this afternoon?” I thought she was crazy, because again, I just had to pick up a box- I would be fine. The denial was holding on tight.
I walked into the empty post office (which was the first and last time I had ever seen it this way), and handed the slip to the cheerful woman behind the desk. She left for what seemed like quite some time and returned with a much smaller box than I was expecting. I’m not sure why this of all the things I had experienced in the previous weeks shocked me, but it did. The woman handed me the box with tears rolling down her face, grabbed my hand and said, “I am so very sorry for your loss. My thoughts are with you.”
I didn’t know what to say. How could she know? I looked at the box with the scripted return address from the funeral home-aha. I said thank you and walked out to my car. I sat in my car for a few minutes, reading my name over and over wishing it was in my daddy’s beautiful handwriting. I sat there and sobbed. I sat there and prayed- for him, for me, for my children. Holding that box is what finally made it real.
That woman at the post office will never know what she did for me. She did more than hand me a box- she did something else no one had done. She held my hand through a difficult time. I felt like a small child. No matter how old you are, when you lose a parent, you feel like you’re two years old. You want someone to hug you and hold your hand through it all. She knew exactly what I needed right at that moment. I think about her often. She helped me in ways I cannot explain, and more importantly I didn’t have to explain myself to her. I didn’t have to talk to her about what happened; the broken relationship with my dad and how I loved him anyway. I didn’t feel like I needed to make excuses for him or myself. In that moment that woman, a total stranger, grieved right along with me. She held my hand and helped me in more ways than she will ever know. My sister and I have had a lot of experiences since my dad’s death that we cannot explain but deep in our hearts we know they were meant just for us. This postal worker and compassionate woman was a Godsend just for me.
I think because I wasn’t able to go to Oklahoma to help my sister after my dad’s death, it still hadn’t really set in for me-even a few weeks later. Telling people over and over he had passed away and receiving condolences from wonderful family and friends, still did not seem to make me face the harsh reality that I no longer had a dad. I still hadn’t cried much which really bothered me, especially considering I was pregnant and something as simple as a Cheerios commercial would get me choked up. I felt guilty and angry at myself for feeling almost numb. I don’t if it was because I hadn’t seen him in so long, or because as a child you never seem to think about losing your parents or maybe it was just because I just simply didn’t want to believe it. I’m not sure, but nothing makes a reality set in until you’re holding it in a small, eight pound box.
My sister and I, taking into consideration previous discussions with my dad and the fact that he had let his life insurance lapse just two months before (strangely out of character for him), decided to cremate him and spread his ashes in the places he loved most in this world. The places he always talked about going back to, the places that seemed to be a part of his soul, and later the places he mentioned frequently in his writing. We also decided to have the ashes shipped to my home in New Mexico for me to hold onto until we had a plan to return him to where he always wanted to be. At the time, the thought of this was fine with me, and still is, I just didn’t expect it to finally bring all of the emotions I was denying to the surface.
I received the slip from the post office that said I had a package to pick up. I work during post office hours so I had to make a trip during my lunch break. Like many teachers, I have learned to eat my meals quickly- 30 minutes goes by in a flash. So I went into the assistant principal’s office trying to figure out how to ask for extra time at lunch to go pick up my dad. This sounds reasonable if you are picking someone up from the airport or bus station, but having to pick up a loved one in a box from the post office seemed strange. Fortunately, my assistant principal is one of the kindest people I know. Without a blink of an eye after I explained what I needed to do, she said, “Of course, are you sure you want to come back this afternoon?” I thought she was crazy, because again, I just had to pick up a box- I would be fine. The denial was holding on tight.
I walked into the empty post office (which was the first and last time I had ever seen it this way), and handed the slip to the cheerful woman behind the desk. She left for what seemed like quite some time and returned with a much smaller box than I was expecting. I’m not sure why this of all the things I had experienced in the previous weeks shocked me, but it did. The woman handed me the box with tears rolling down her face, grabbed my hand and said, “I am so very sorry for your loss. My thoughts are with you.”
I didn’t know what to say. How could she know? I looked at the box with the scripted return address from the funeral home-aha. I said thank you and walked out to my car. I sat in my car for a few minutes, reading my name over and over wishing it was in my daddy’s beautiful handwriting. I sat there and sobbed. I sat there and prayed- for him, for me, for my children. Holding that box is what finally made it real.
That woman at the post office will never know what she did for me. She did more than hand me a box- she did something else no one had done. She held my hand through a difficult time. I felt like a small child. No matter how old you are, when you lose a parent, you feel like you’re two years old. You want someone to hug you and hold your hand through it all. She knew exactly what I needed right at that moment. I think about her often. She helped me in ways I cannot explain, and more importantly I didn’t have to explain myself to her. I didn’t have to talk to her about what happened; the broken relationship with my dad and how I loved him anyway. I didn’t feel like I needed to make excuses for him or myself. In that moment that woman, a total stranger, grieved right along with me. She held my hand and helped me in more ways than she will ever know. My sister and I have had a lot of experiences since my dad’s death that we cannot explain but deep in our hearts we know they were meant just for us. This postal worker and compassionate woman was a Godsend just for me.
It is so hard to understand how an entire life can be lived and in the end, this is all that is left. Once more, the reason we felt strongly about starting this website was because we truly feel that Daddy's life had much more meaning than could ever fit into a box.