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mcintyre

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09:45 am: roll away the stone
blah.

spent the night at harleys when i guess i shouldve been home fretting or doing something ...meaningful.

yesterday marked three years to the day my dad died, alone, in the early hours at st. joes...well, i'm sure he wasnt alone, but none of us were there...

mom was on her way...did he know?

no matter, i'm sure he does now.


he also knows i'm sorry, i regret, i remember, i treasure him, i forgive, and i miss him and feel him close by



my heart just aches to see you sometimes

Comments

From:leon_thecleaner
Date:October 22nd, 2004 02:01 pm (UTC)
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*hug*
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From:mcintyre
Date:October 22nd, 2004 10:55 pm (UTC)
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hey, thanks big g.
i probably couldve posted this entry and turned off the comment thing - but didnt think of it til later-
nonetheless, your thoughtfulness s truly appreciated.
have a super swell weekend, doll
d.

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From:paularubia
Date:October 22nd, 2004 06:36 pm (UTC)
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he also knows i'm sorry, i regret, i remember, i treasure him, i forgive, and i miss him and feel him close by

I'm sure he does.

My father died 4 years ago. My mother, brother and I had been with him in the hours before he died - at my mother's house with a hospice nurse. The nurse said his condition probably wouldn't change drastically in the next few hours so I went home to take a shower around dawn. My mother called to tell me I should go back - actually, she just started crying and didn't say anything, really. He died while I was on my way back to him. I had had a last little semi-lucid conversation with him a few hours before. It still seems so recent. There are so many things I wish I had said. I know you know how this feels.


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From:mcintyre
Date:October 22nd, 2004 10:52 pm (UTC)
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hospice is amazing.


theres never enough time, never..
there never could be though, hey?

i mean, i still see my mom as her 65 year-old self, and shes 76 this year. same with my pop. so strange.

i so suck at letting go. of everything.
(as my cluttered house full of funky old things would confess).

as with most fathers, (hopefully), they were so much more than that, than just fathers, y'know?

my dad was father to ten of us. he was funny and sad, quiet and insightful, tough at the wrong times but tender in his own way at the right, wise but still almost boyishly foolish it seemed, easily hurt and strangely stoic...

they broke the mold for sure...i'd like to think that there was only one of their kind, our poppas.

we were/are really lucky, paula.

well, i'm off to scoop up my mom then head up to northern michigan. we'll spend the weekend at the family cabin, the dearest place on earth to my pop. we'll no doubt have a good cry, hopefully more than a few laughs, (along with some two-handed euchre), and surround ourselves in his comforting spirit, and the blessings of the north woods draped in fall.

so for now, i'm squeezing your hand across the miles, p., and wishing you a lovely, lovely weekend -

heres to the boys,
d.
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