Over You

It's been almost a year since I last blogged. I wanted to write in a journal tonight, but I couldn't find one that wasn't filled with random teaching things. So until I can find a nice journal, I decided I'd write here. It's taken a complete life-changing event to make me blog. Yes, I've gotten a new job since I last wrote. Yes, I've had 2 nieces born since my last entry. Neither of these bring me here tonight. If you are reading this, you likely know that my amazing father passed away 2 weeks ago (15 days, to be exact). To say that we were shocked is an understatement. No, he wasn't the epitome of health, but he was Rocky. He was as his name implies - a rock. He was the glue, the cornerstone, the father to which all others should be compared. These 15 days have been hell - pure and utter hell. Every day I wonder how I will live in this world without him. How can I possibly exist when he doesn't anymore? I then realize that I'm not the first nor the only person to lose a father. My own siblings are experiencing this same pain, this same void. My sweet step-mom has lost her best friend and spouse. How do any of us just go on living? Yet we do, and others before us have. In these past few weeks I have realized just how many other people have gone through this same experience. It's clear that I took my relationship with my dad for granted. I could call him when I wanted, see him when I was in town, send him notes in the mail. I could do all of these things that I'll never do again.

Driving home from the movies this afternoon, I felt the need to call someone. Who would be easy to talk to? Who wouldn't require a detailed update from me? With whom could I have a nice conversation? Dad, of course. He is the exact person I would've called. In 2 weeks I haven't brought myself to take him out of my phone, and it was all I could do to not just dial the number. His voice was never on his voicemail for me to simply call and listen to, but the familiarity of calling him would've been comfort enough. I didn't call, and suddenly I didn't feel like talking to anyone.

On Friday, I heard a song that I have loved for a couple of months. It was sad when I first heard it, but in the past two weeks it has taken on a new meaning. It's "Over You" by Miranda Lambert, and the phrase that runs through my head constantly says:

"You went away.
How dare you?
I miss you.
They say I'll be ok,
But I'm not going to
Ever get over you."

Two parts of that resonate the most with me: How dare you and They say I'll be okay, but I'm not going to... I can't understand why my dad was ripped from my life. It simply does.not.make.sense. I'm sure I'm not meant to understand. This whole experience has not made me lose my religion, but I am angry. I have 2 Psychology degrees; I can figure it out. I know there are stages of grief, and that they are less stage-like and more cyclical. For years I've known that I'm a snob about what people say in times of loss. "God needed an angel." "Everything happens for a reason." "It'll be ok." "You can't see it now, but you'll understand some day." These things make me completely crazy. This does not mean that I know what is the right thing to say. I have no idea - none at all. I can tell you this, Justin Warren seems to have it down pat. He doesn't say anything. I cry every day. Every single day. He hugs me and listens to me cry and scream and question, and he simply stays quiet. It is exactly what I have needed.

Today my Papa (dad's father) called me. I cannot recall him ever calling me before. Before Dad passed away, I called him once a week. I try now to call him every 3 days, and I just talked to him yesterday. Today, he called me on his own accord. He said that he hadn't had a visitor today, and he just wanted someone to talk to. Today I was reminded that I'm not the only one who lost someone. My grandfather has buried two sons and a wife. I am not the only one grieving. 

Starting soon I would like to start writing down the memories that I have of my father. I have to record them now because I'm hypersensitive to the thought of them. I can draw up hundreds of them right now. I fear that even one year down the road I'll forget. All I have right now are memories. I don't have a future with my dad. I don't have weekends or birthdays or Father's Days to look forward to. I have these tiny moments to look back on and hold forever. They must be recorded because I have to tell Harper how wonderful her Papa was. She has to know that he loved her from the very second he found out about her. That he went into David's in Granbury for the sole purpose of buying her the very first pair of pink cowboy boots she ever owned. That he begged to take her on the mule when she was less than a month old. I have to remember him for the times that my sweet nieces and nephew can't. I have take 29 years of memories and remember them as hard as I can. Rocky Rhoades was one of the most amazing men I've ever known, and I was damn lucky to spend 29 years with him. I will spend the next 50+ talking about him to everyone I meet. He was not a perfect man, but he was the father that God gave me, and there has never been a day in my life where I wondered if he loved me. I love you, Dad. I will always miss you.