Listen Yall: The After.

No one ever talks about life after death. I don’t mean life after death for the loved one who moved on, I’m talking about life continuing for those left behind, after a loved one has crossed over.

A week after the funeral, or even less in some cases, everyone just moves on. But not me. Not you. We are stuck here feeling empty. Broken. Lost. Everything around us keeps moving yet we are here and we are stuck. We are still. The world buzzes by. Kids have school and practice, spouses have work, friends have their own families to take care of. Other people reach out to you for other things they need help with but don’t think to ask how you are doing, like really doing. Let me tell you how I’m really doing.

This past Saturday and Sunday, we hired Junk Removers to come and literally remove junk from my parent’s house. You wouldn’t believe the amount of saved paper and plastic bags, six-pack cardboard beer holders, beer bottles (my Dad was a homebrewer), magazines, old toys, etc. that have piled up over the years. Even though the beer bottles were a bit excessive, seeing complete strangers pick them up and throw them into the back of a box truck as if they once meant nothing to someone (my Dad) and hearing them shatter was gut wrenching. It was like everything that made my Dad my Dad was being thrown out to be forgotten. Eventually, we got down to what made that house a home. What made that home a huge part of my childhood, my past. We found baby clothes of mine that my Mom had saved. Cute little dresses with ruffled sleeves and trim. Handmade Christmas stockings my Grandmother made way back when. Special Christmas ornaments my parents had collected together over the years. Notes I had written to my Mom apologizing for sneaking out the night before and causing her distress. Pictures of birthdays and other family gatherings that took place in that very house.

Eventually it became all too much to bear. I went upstairs to my old room. My safe space. As I lay there staring at the ceiling, memories flashed through my head, as if I were looking through an old View Master. Remember those? I heard my Mom calling me from downstairs in her usual ‘upset with me’ tone.. “Hey HaiLEYYYY!” I heard my Dad come up the stairs, the stairs creaking beneath his step, and walk into his beer room. He sighed deeply, procrastinating cleaning it out but unable to find what he was looking for. I heard my childhood dog, Winnie, snore at the top of the stairs. The longer I laid there, the more memories flooded my mind. I lost it. I cried on and off for a good hour before finally falling asleep. I’m not sure how long I was asleep for but I woke up to my husband sitting on the edge of my bed.

I cannot explain exactly what I was feeling this past weekend. I don’t believe there is a word for it. All I know is that there was definitely pain, heartbreak, loss, misplacement, loneliness, emptiness…to name a few.

I know in my last post I said I would plan out my next few posts and really get into the nitty gritty on taking care of my Daddy, and I will. In due time. It is a lot to process and a lot to bear.

Stay true,

Hails