Hi friends. I decided to follow in the footsteps of my writing sisters and make one of these spaces so I don't fall behind the times. So, here I am.
As many of you know, my brother Adam Everhard's and my father died on the night of July 8. He had a serious heart attack two days before my birthday. His heart was badly damaged. Because of his age (and the fact that he isn't Dick Cheney and can't pull those kinds of strings) he was not a candidate for a transplant, which is really the only thing that could have saved him. So he went into congestive heart failure, and he died.
Dad's body was cremated and we will have a memorial service tomorrow evening. It will probably be a lot more sentimental than he would have liked. Dad was very pragmatic. I'm not sure how he ended up with a couple of wet blankets like Adam and me. Our eldest sister is a lot more like he was. Mom isn't a particularly sentimental person either.
I just know I'm not going to sleep well tonight. I'm glad that I have a husband who understands my weirdness and doesn't tell me how I should be.
You have not ceased to exist, Dad, you have just flown beyond the horizon where we can't see you any more in this life. But we will see you again.
We love you.
July 16, 1981
My brother and I were up at the crack of noon, like usual. He was seventeen, I was fifteen. My nineteen year old sister had just left for her job at Dairy Queen, and Hank and I figured we'd go to the pool, then go see Ursula and get some ice cream and piss her off because we got to go to the pool and she didn't. Pretty typical summer day.
At two o clock, everything went to hell.
Mom came to the pool in a panic, screaming that Dad had been in an accident and was at the hospital.
He was dead on arrival.
The guy driving the pickup truck was going close to 100 miles an hour. He was on the wrong side of the road to pass the car in front of him. Turned out that he'd been drinking and tooting up. He went to jail for 13 years. I try not to even think about him. I don't know where he is and I don't want to know. It wouldn't help me to know.
Dad was riding his motorcycle. He was wearing his helmet. But when you get clipped by a vehicle going that fast, it doesn't help.
I always thought about how Dad's death didn't make much difference in the scheme of things. He was just another blue collar worker, a forklift operator. He never went to college. He and Mom had my sister right out of high school. They were only 18 years old, twenty when my brother came along, and then 22 when I arrived. We lived in a little suburban house that my parents did their best to make nice. We were nobody, but when that one average Joe died, the world went to hell for four people.
Hank tried to suck it up and be the man of the house. I resented him telling me what to do. Ursula had already been bossy, but now my best buddy was trying to act like my father. I did my damndest to let him know that he wasn't.
I became a handful, and I feel bad about it now. I started cutting myself. My mom, brother and sister didn't understand. They didn't handle it very well, but back then people weren't given a lot of guidance. Things are getting better, but there's still a long way to go.
I will never forget the way I felt on that day. The world stood still and I wished the everything would just be erased, because I didn't want anything to exist if my dad was gone.
It was like standing in the middle of a tornado and just wanting to yell "stop!"
But it didn't stop.
I did a lot of drugs and drank a lot to try and get it to stop. It would slow down for a while. But partying isn't going to take away the pain. It just numbs it for a time.
It took me a long time to get my shit together. I'm still flying by the seat of my pants a lot of the time, but at least I have some kind of an idea.
My dad never made it to 40. I'm almost ten years older than he was when he was taken.
That's kind of a weird thought.
I've come to terms with what happened as best I can. This morning I had the thought that Dad is just chilling in Heaven waiting for the rest of us. He's playing a few hands of poker and drinking some beers with the other angels. That's the kind of guy he was. That would be his kind of Heaven.
I'll be seeing you again, Dad. I know I will.
The girls (my writing sisters) have been at me to start one of these Posterous blogs. Today seemed like a good time to do so.'
Thank you to my lovely Writing Sister Tempest LeTrope for her condolences regarding my dad's death. He passed away last night at 9:51 P.M. He had been struggling after having a massive heart attack on Valentine's Day. Just two days before my middle sister's birthday, which is really harsh. He was 79 years old.
I'm mucking about on the Internet for a while, kind of in shock, trying to pretend things are normal, misspelling every other word. I didn't sleep well last night. So here I am, creating this new blog in the most fucking faggoty colors I could possibly choose, because nothing bolsters my spirits more than pissing off homophobes. Even if no homophobes ever end up reading this blog, the idea that they might see it in all it's pink glory gives me a nasty little zing of glee.
I'll probably talk about my dad here. Our relationship wasn't perfect, but actually, he wasn't a homophobe. He was just super pragmatic and practical, and being gay in this world isn't very practical. He didn't quite get how anybody could be gay because he wasn't. But he didn't give me any shit about it. When I came out, he said "you sure?" and looked at me like I was nuts. But he already thought I was nuts because I'm such a wet blanket. He let it go after that.
Dad actually liked my fiancé. I think he really liked Dylan being a physician's assistant because he could ask all kinds of medical questions for free. Like I said, he was pragmatic. He also liked the fact that I finally chose a guy who wasn't a complete shithead for a change. He found my previous choices a little questionable. He wasn't the only one.
I know I need to try to get some sleep or I'm going to fall apart. I need to hold it together for Mom, and my sisters. I don't feel really sad right now, just numb. As a counselor I know how this goes. It will come in waves. Right now my mind is in denial.
Death isn't the end, it's just a transition. I'll see you again, Dad. Rest in peace.
Proud to have been your son, even if we didn't always see eye to eye.
Here come the tears.
Adam
To my writing sister Aurora Hylton and Mister Writing Sister Adam Everhard, I'm so sorry to hear about your father's passing. Much love to you both.
Check out Polar Bear – Beartown http://www.last.fm/music/Polar+Bear/_/Beartown via @lastfm
My late father gave me my love for jazz and swing. He wasn't quite so keen on the funk and dazz that I came to love as well, and he definitely wasn't into the death metal that is also on my list of favorite music, but we sometimes discussed song lyrics by bands that weren't really his cup of tea. He was an English professor and was always interested in all forms of writing. I miss him terribly.
Happy Father's day to Richard Bates, the best dad ever.
Gone way too soon.
With love always, from your little girl.
Today is the anniversary of my late father's birthday. He would have been 76 years old.
Happy birthday in Heaven, Dad.
You are never forgotten.
To my Dad, this was heaven. The mountains. It was his favorite place to be. He can now float free above them, or wander about wherever he chooses.
I do not apologize for my tears.
He suffered way too long. He didn't deserve that. I'm glad he's free now. But I miss him.
