Sincere condolences to you and your family David.
Even knowing you were going to have to say goodbye, I’m sure it was still a ton of bricks falling on you when you’re Dad passed.
Thinking of you.
The time you had with him, David, was a blessing. My own had a sudden, massive stroke, and died three days later without regaining consciousness. So much left undone and unsaid. My prayers are with you and your family.
David, My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family. I know how hard it is to lose a parent. As Glynn said, it was a blessing you had time with him, and as Kristen said, even knowing you will have to say goodbye doesn’t make it any easier. Know that he is watching over you all the time.
Thanks, Kristen and Glynn. (Yes, Glynn, I lost my mom suddenly too, and I much prefer this process; I have been able to say goodbye to him in great detail and with great love.)
This morning I’m singing this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqiblXFlZuk
So sorry, David. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers, as well. You can’t–and probably don’t want to–stop the hurt, but you can temper it with all the good memories, and know that a piece of your father lives on in you and all the people he touched–even including those of us who knew him through your blog.
I know where he went, David. He’s alive in you. You’re lucky to have had such a great dad, and he raised a great writer for a son. You have my deepest sympathy.
Thanks, all. It’s weird to have this blog, to have established a certain amount of candor and then to almost have to let readers know about this terribly personal thing (partly because I’ve been talking about my dad all along)–and then to be so comforted by your response. It’s a new way to grieve. And: I recommend it.
Here’s from today’s Middletown Journal. http://www.middletownjournal.com/hp/content/oh/story/news/local/2009/01/09/mj010909murray.html
Hi, David,
What a nice tribute to your father in the Middletown Journal. I’m so sorry for your loss, but glad for you that you got to spend such valuable time with your dad at the end.
I had that experience with my dad, to a certain extent (we aren’t much on explicitly discussing our emotions in my family), and I’m so glad I got to show my dad how much I loved him by being there. As you know, that is a privilege.
I look forward to reading more about your dad when things settle down and you have had some time to reflect, or speaking to you about him in the future. In the meantime, thanks for sharing that Woody Guthrie tune.
Lots of love…
Kate
Yes, Kate, the older I get the more I realize that relationships are like writing: show, don’t tell.
We all grew up in the dawn of pop psychology, and I think that age informed us well: I didn’t love my dad more than he loved his, but he and I sure were better at talking about it, and at hugging.
Still, all things being equal, we’re better off judging our friends by how often and how gladly they show up, than by how often they tell us they love us.
I’m so sorry for your loss… My grandfather died two weeks ago so your post hits very close to home for me.
“Show, don’t tell” is so true. After my father died unexpectedly several years back, I learned that I needed to say “I love you” more often and be sure to back that up with actions (as you say).
But, no matter how much you try to get ready, the sadness is there.
I wrote a letter to my grandfather that a friend read at the memorial service. Fortunately, the contents were all things that I had told (and hopefully showed) him before. The good memories and acknowledging all the parts of him that make me a better man didn’t replace the pain of losing him, but I could smile while I cried.
There is comfort in memory… in friends… and in sharing the pain. Thank God for friends and for writing.
I’m thinking of you and your family…
Sincere condolences to you and your family David.
Even knowing you were going to have to say goodbye, I’m sure it was still a ton of bricks falling on you when you’re Dad passed.
Thinking of you.
The time you had with him, David, was a blessing. My own had a sudden, massive stroke, and died three days later without regaining consciousness. So much left undone and unsaid. My prayers are with you and your family.
David, My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family. I know how hard it is to lose a parent. As Glynn said, it was a blessing you had time with him, and as Kristen said, even knowing you will have to say goodbye doesn’t make it any easier. Know that he is watching over you all the time.
Thanks, Kristen and Glynn. (Yes, Glynn, I lost my mom suddenly too, and I much prefer this process; I have been able to say goodbye to him in great detail and with great love.)
This morning I’m singing this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqiblXFlZuk
So sorry, David. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers, as well. You can’t–and probably don’t want to–stop the hurt, but you can temper it with all the good memories, and know that a piece of your father lives on in you and all the people he touched–even including those of us who knew him through your blog.
I know where he went, David. He’s alive in you. You’re lucky to have had such a great dad, and he raised a great writer for a son. You have my deepest sympathy.
My sincerest sympathies for your loss.
Thanks, all. It’s weird to have this blog, to have established a certain amount of candor and then to almost have to let readers know about this terribly personal thing (partly because I’ve been talking about my dad all along)–and then to be so comforted by your response. It’s a new way to grieve. And: I recommend it.
Here’s from today’s Middletown Journal.
http://www.middletownjournal.com/hp/content/oh/story/news/local/2009/01/09/mj010909murray.html
Hi, David,
What a nice tribute to your father in the Middletown Journal. I’m so sorry for your loss, but glad for you that you got to spend such valuable time with your dad at the end.
I had that experience with my dad, to a certain extent (we aren’t much on explicitly discussing our emotions in my family), and I’m so glad I got to show my dad how much I loved him by being there. As you know, that is a privilege.
I look forward to reading more about your dad when things settle down and you have had some time to reflect, or speaking to you about him in the future. In the meantime, thanks for sharing that Woody Guthrie tune.
Lots of love…
Kate
Yes, Kate, the older I get the more I realize that relationships are like writing: show, don’t tell.
We all grew up in the dawn of pop psychology, and I think that age informed us well: I didn’t love my dad more than he loved his, but he and I sure were better at talking about it, and at hugging.
Still, all things being equal, we’re better off judging our friends by how often and how gladly they show up, than by how often they tell us they love us.
So sorry for your loss, David. That is a beautiful article that they ran in the Journal. Hang in there.
Knowing it’s coming doesn’t make it easier. You’re in our thoughts and prayers, David.
Oh, David. I am so sorry. – Amy
I’m so sorry for your loss… My grandfather died two weeks ago so your post hits very close to home for me.
“Show, don’t tell” is so true. After my father died unexpectedly several years back, I learned that I needed to say “I love you” more often and be sure to back that up with actions (as you say).
But, no matter how much you try to get ready, the sadness is there.
I wrote a letter to my grandfather that a friend read at the memorial service. Fortunately, the contents were all things that I had told (and hopefully showed) him before. The good memories and acknowledging all the parts of him that make me a better man didn’t replace the pain of losing him, but I could smile while I cried.
There is comfort in memory… in friends… and in sharing the pain. Thank God for friends and for writing.
I’m thinking of you and your family…